Dark Adaptation – Dead Men Working.

DISCLAIMER: Yami no Matseui and its' affiliated characters, concepts and locations belong to Yoko Matsushita and I am earning nothing but the sole satisfaction of telling this story to you fine people.

A/N: Part six is up! Thanks as always for your support and I hope you all enjoy!

~ X ~

"A gentle hand will help the dead

To find the way to their last bed,

Who engineers the mortal's end

Will tell you he is man's best friend…"

~ Unknown

~ X ~

Soulless Requiem

Tsuzuki

We made our way out of the library, killing those bodies that had started to wander and retrieving the soul of the Librarian. We could salvage nothing more. Where the souls of the numerous other victims had gone I didn't know but I had a horrible sneaking suspicion that the demonic child had devoured them. My nerves were shot, just about every muscle in my body throbbed with pain and my mind was swollen with sadness. Leaving that library felt like walking from a cemetery thick with the memories of long departed loved ones; though of course I hadn't known a one of these people.

It was an hour since we had entered and the backup forces from the Ministry had arrived to perform a secondary sweep of the area. Watari, Hisoka and I were forced to move aside once leaving to avoid being trampled as they stampeded into the library, some calling out greetings as they went.

I heard Watari groan from beside me and shortly thereafter realized why. A number of white vans, emblazoned with various network logo's had pulled into the partitioned parking lot of the Tachiagari and were clambering out with camera's, recording equipment and an entire arsenal of attitude at their disposal. One crew was already in place, headed by a thin necked, middle-aged man, bearing the distinct toothy smile of a game show host. His thick hair was carefully combed back and ruthlessly intelligent eyes glimmered with ever surmounting anticipation from behind a pair of delicate, wire-framed glasses. He had an earpiece set into his left ear and a microphone in his hand, which he immediately raised to his lips upon our emergence.

"We are now coming to you live from the Tachiagari library in Tokyo, which has become an unlikely scene of complete chaos!" He spun about, as though on a turntable and had the microphone hoisted so quickly into my vision that it very nearly lodged itself up my nose. "Excuse me? Are you gentleman the specialized SIT agents who stabilized the situation?"

Watari cleared his throat and pushed the microphone down and out of my face with the tip of one, (still rather blood stained) finger. His eyebrow was beginning to throb in that distinctive fashion indicating imminent trouble. "Do we look like SIT to you? Excuse us."

We tried to get around them but the reporters keep jostling in closer with their microphones shoving in at us from all directions. I was a little concerned that at any moment one of them would jab itself into an incredibly uncomfortable location.

"Would you care to clear it up for our viewers exactly what the situation is?" Came the voice of the same reporter. "The theory racing around at the moment is that each of the victims has been completely drained! Until now, only occult enthusiasts have acknowledged the vampire theory!"

I could feel anxiety welling up in my chest like so many layers of steel pressing one over the other onto my heart. The strain of the afternoon was finally taking its' toll on me and I felt expectantly sapped of all energy, unable to muster up even the most meager of reprimands.

"Please just… leave us alone…"

The reporter was not one to be dissuaded and even went so far as to follow us down the path leading away from the Tachiagari, avoiding Hisoka's patented glare, sometime akin to most individuals as dismissing genital Herpies. "And for an incident of this nature to occur at a library, of all places! We, the TBTN (1) would like to represent the citizens of this city and interview the three of you exclusively…"

Watari spun about, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles showed white between the gaps of his leather gloves. "Not meaning to be rude but… you really need to get the fuck out of our face-" His expression morphed instantly from cold ferocity to surprise, as the reporter was suddenly knocked sideways by someone administering a hearty clout the side of his face. As he toppled to the ground like a felled tree, the head of our department, Chief Konoe, moved into unobstructed view, massaging his knuckles and twisting his jaw from side to side in his usual, gruff display of aggravation.

"And there'll be worse if you continue to harass my agents, buddy." He growled, looking down at the plastic reporter with every trace of great dislike. "Now, take a hike."

The reporter spluttered pathetically, one hand clutching the already welling bruise on the side of his jaw. "A-ARE YOU CRAZY?! Yoshida! Did you get that on tape?"

Whether or not Yoshida had caught Konoe's display on tape soon proved to be irrelevant. Konoe struck out, one hand flattened; driving his stiffened fingers directly through the camera, sending up sparks as the internal wiring was destroyed. The cameraman shrieked and released the mangled camera, which Konoe dropped onto the ground and delivered a hearty stomp to its' already smoldering remains.

"I said, beat it!" He snarled, jabbing one thumb aggressively over his shoulder. "Don't make me repeat myself!"

The reporter scrambled to his feet, looking outright scandalized. "You can be sure your department will be hearing about this!" And with this parting shot, both he and the cameraman took off back towards the TBTN van that was parked not far from the Cutlass.

"Ha! Good luck with that!" Watari jeered, making a rude gesture behind the reporters back.

Konoe turned to us with a reposed sigh, raking blackened fingers back through his tousled head of hair.

"Goddamn paparazzi bastards. I was hoping I would get here before they started to give you boys grief." He looked us over one by one, with genuine fatherly concern. "You all OK?"

"Chief Konoe…" I said, feeling grateful to him beyond my weary ability to convey. I offered instead a bow, hoping it would supplement those words I was unable to provide at that particular time. "Thanks."

Rokuro Konoe had been the Summons Department Chief for almost as long as I had been employed there. I'd heard he was over two hundred years old, though he didn't care to confirm this for reasons that escape me. He was a little shorter than I was but stockier in frame, bearing the appearance of a muscular man gone somewhat to seed over the years. Considering that he was a black belt in more than several martial arts and had passed away in his late fifties, I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me. He had rather thick eyebrows, usually well-groomed hair of a salt and pepper shade and a weathered, yet charismatically handsome face. Though he could be a stern authoritarian in the workplace, I'd come to look to him as more of a father figure during my time spent in his employ. And I'm rather sure I'm not the first to think so either. Konoe trained me as a Shinigami and knew all about my past that led to my premature death so many years ago. I owed him a great debt, in more ways than one. It was his soft spot for me and his influence amongst the other high up's in Meifu that kept me from being fired countless of times. He was kind of gruff, much like an elderly military sergeant but he had a big heart and I think it's fair to say, an even bigger sweet tooth. We'd often come to blows' over food, sharing much the same taste in this area.

"Don't sweat it." Konoe replied in response to my demonstration of gratitude. "I gotta watch out for my employees, after all. Especially if I send them out for last minute overtime." He gestured with one worn hand to a refreshment area that had been conveniently set up behind the wall of ambulances attending the scene. "Let's grab some coffee."

We all headed towards the coffee table but were accosted on the way by a paramedic, who appeared almost desperate to be of some use to us.

"Excuse me, you're the guys who entered the building before, right?" He was just about slathering for an excuse to patch at least somebody up that night. What, did these guys have a quota or something? "You should probably come on over and get your injuries che-" He took a second between babbling to actually visually evaluate us and seemed naturally surprised by what he saw. "Well that's weird… it doesn't seem as though you have ANY injuries…"

"Why should that seem strange?" Hisoka questioned, almost challengingly.

"Yeah, it's not like we're incompetent or anything." Watari retorted, with an offended huff. I laughed, trying to hide my embarrassment of their behaviour.

"But thanks anyway! We'll let you know if we need a checkup!"

The Paramedic nodded, seemingly stumped that for all the blood on our clothes we seemed to have not sustained so much as a graze within the library. (Little did he know.) He ambled back amongst the throng of ambulances, mumbling in bemusement to himself as he went. Watari grinned, hands on his hips as he looked about the front yard in an interested way.

"Tell ya what, boys; we're popular tonight! I think this is the most underhanded publicity the Summons Section has ever got! Think we'll be on TV?"

"Not with Mr. Konoe around." I answered with a small smile.

"Come on boys; show some hustle." Konoe called from over by the coffee station. We made our way over and as soon as we each had a steaming cup of caffinated beverage in our hands, I took it upon myself to fill Mr. Konoe in on just what had happened inside of the library.

"… and that's everything." I concluded, draining the last dregs of coffee from the Styrofoam container. Watari had already gone for another refill and Hisoka was searching through the refreshment stand supplies for tea bags.

"I see…" Konoe murmured, examining the writing pad into which Watari had written his decoded message. "Does this mean anything to any of you?" He asked, waving it about in our faces.

Watari shrugged as he returned with his second steaming cup, which looked suspiciously devoid of milk. I suppose he was trying to prevent himself from becoming fatigued. "Not at the moment. It sounds to me as though whoever wrote it was trying to warn us that something bad is coming."

Konoe swatted him on the head with the notepad. "Well, even I can interpret that much." He said gruffly. "Why couldn't they have just written what they mean instead of being so damn cryptic?"

"World we live in, boss." Watari muttered, rubbing his head. "Whoever left the note may have been trying to get around some sort of gag order. Demons have been known to tongue tie those in their service. Literally, that is."

Hisoka held up the book in which the message was conveyed, displaying the title for our convenience. "Recount of the Infernal Squalor.' A semi-fictional work, theorizing the existence of a conjectural Otherworld, demonic figures and humanities true origins."

I raised my brow as I looked over the plain black covering and the obscure symbol beneath the title. "How did you know all that? Have you read it before, Hisoka? Doesn't sound like light-reading…"

"I had a quick look on the library catalogue system, while we conducted our final sweep of the building." Hisoka said, flipping through the books pages and curling his lip. "It's certainly not light reading. And the author seems unusually passionate about such an obscure topic, as though he knows more about it than he's letting on."

"According to him, humans are a race entirely separate from all other organic organisms on earth and that on a cellular level, we have more in common with parasites." Watari explained, shaking his head as though utterly bemused by the driveling pursuits of others. He was certainly not one to be judging. "The unsubstantiated and uninspiring work of a bloke who has far too much time on his hands."

"This coming from the fellow whose life work is to create a sex-change potion." I reminded him, not content to let him get away with that kind of hypocrisy.

Watari however refused to buy into it. "That has some sort of basis for use, at least." He blithely insisted. Hisoka and I just exchanged a look but neither one of us chose to pursue the argument any further. "This book, on the other hand, has no factual foundation behind it."

"I checked it out." Hisoka informed Mr. Konoe, holding up a library slip that he himself had filled out. God bless the boy, he had even gone so far as to enter his name and (fake) details into the Library computer. Never mind that all but one member of the staff was now deceased; Hisoka wasn't about to compromise his moral standards for anything. Tough though the boy pretended to be, he was truly a good and noble person at heart. "Not sure how much use it's going to be in the long run but I thought it was better if we at least had it on hand."

Konoe inclined his head reverently. "That was good thinking on your part, Kurosaki." He sighed, glancing back towards the library. The flashing lights of the surrounding police vehicles threw shadows beneath the craggy lines in his face, making him look even more old and tired than he truly was. Mr. Konoe may have been an elderly man but he had the verve and energy of someone at least a quarter of his age. It was easy, as such, to forget just how many centuries had passed since he had actually been a young man himself. "It's a shame… but I think this show was well and truly over before the three of you even got here. The Ministry will have another team run cleanup." He reached around to pat both Watari and I on the shoulders. "I appreciate you both taking the time to come down here."

"Well, what's a dead guy to do?" Watari said with his usual, cocky wink. I still felt uneasy however.

"Wait… that's just it then?" I asked, following Mr. Konoe over to a white van, which had transported the Ministries backup forces to location. "No further investigation necessary?"

"Not by our department." Konoe explained, moving aside as a body was carried on a hand held gurney towards the rear of the van for inspection by the medicinal personal. Konoe lifted the white sheet covering the corpses face and sighed for the travesty of what had afflicted these unfortunate mortals before their untimely demise. It was the bearded man I had euthanized on the ground floor. "My God… it really did a number on them, didn't it?" He lowered the sheet back into place and gestured for the ministry staff to carry on. He turned to face me, smiling understandingly. "You can write up your report tomorrow and forward it off to the head office, along with any samples Watari might have gathered. Let them decide if they wish to examine it more closely. That's… really all you can do, now. Let's hope this is the last we hear of it."

I shook my head, simply unable to rest easy with what had happened that night. So much remained unanswered… and so much of it was personal! This wasn't just a case of cut and dry; why couldn't the Chief see that? "I just… don't understand. All those people… there's gotta be something more we can do!"

"Hey, Tsuzuki. I know this has got you really bent outta shape but come on…" Watari murmured, coming up behind me and laying his hand upon my shoulder. "You gotta learn when to let stuff go or it'll eat ya up. Head office will let us know if there's anything else we can do. And until that happens, try not to stew on it or you'll just end up with a big hole in your guts."

"He's right." Konoe said, looking quite relieved that he was getting some support at last. "You did a damn good job in there today." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll finish up here. You boys head off and take some time for yourselves. I'll see you first thing tomorrow for the staff breakfast." And before I could say another word, he was walking away towards the milling police officials, whose memories were currently being authenticated for the purpose of concealing the Ministries involvement. Watari groaned as he stretched his arms up above his head, stretching out cramped and no doubt aching muscles.

"Cheers Chief." He groaned, rolling his head about in order to relieve the tension. He turned on me with a wild grin. "Well, well, looks as though I'm well on the way to being taken seriously around here."

I looked at him strangely as we made our way back over to where the car was parked, wondering still how he could remain so light hearted after taking a veritable walk through Hell. "Watari… I've never known you to be so insecure. Is this a new development?"

Watari shrugged as he fished around in his pockets for his keys. "It just keeps me trying hard, no harm in that."

"You gonna be joining us for dinner tonight, Watari-san?" Hisoka asked, leaning back against the passenger side door, arms tightly crossed. "I've found some really nice snapper I'm planning to fry up." He always insisted on doing the cooking whenever we had dinner. I'm not sure why exactly and believe you me; I've offered plenty of times.

"Ooh, that does sound tempting, kid… But I'll have to pass." Watari said with a grin, hoisting the keys out of his trouser pocket before then taking them around to the back of the car and unlocking the boot. "I got my own dinner plans to be gettin' to."

"Yeah, about that… you might wanna change first…" I drawled, looking at his tattered, blood stained pant legs as they pressed against the back of the car. I heard Watari laugh from somewhere deep in the recesses of the trunk.

"Hey, whatta you-a-talkin about!? Ripped denim is bangin'!"

"Yeah, if you're eighteen, maybe!"

Hisoka looked very surly all of a sudden and too late I remembered that he was in fact eighteen.

"And what exactly do you mean by saying that, Tsuzuki?"

"Oh, nothing!" I insisted, scratching the back of my head nervously. Hisoka had beaten me for less in the past and I hadn't yet reached the stage where I was numb to it. "Hey, Watari! You needing a lift anywhere?"

"Don't try and change the subject." Hisoka growled but thankfully the conversation moved on without him.

"Ah… no thanks." The blond said, slamming the boot shut and re-emerging with a plastic bag stuffed with some neatly folded items of clothing. So he had come prepared for any eventuality. "I think I'll drop you guys back at the Sakura Zensen and walk to the restaurant from there. I'm sure it'll be all right if I return the car first thing tomorrow morning."

"Oh, come on!" I cried. "That arrangement is totally awkward, even to my ears! Just let me drive. It's not that far!"

Watari growled at me. "Tsuzuki, you're not good with anything mechanical. Remember when Tatsumi tried to teach you to drive the all-purpose SUV? You kept panicking and pulling on the handbrake."

"Well it's a good thing I did; those newspaper stands weren't even slowing me down."

Hisoka laughed softly to himself and I turned on him like a shark smelling blood in the water.

"Hey, what are you laughing about? You don't have a license either."

"At least I'm learning." Hisoka shot back with an irritatingly smug look on his face. "I've got some hours up."

"Really?" Watari said, looking interested. " Well, in that case, we'll pop up the L plates and you can drop me off at the restaurant, bon." My mouth dropped open as he tossed the keys to Hisoka, casual as you please and proceeded to sift through the glove compartment for the L-plate decals supplied to ever Ministry vehicle.

"You trust him more than you trust me?" I said, feeling rather hurt.

Watari made no bones about it. "Damn straight."

I swatted at his head as he climbed into the backseat of the car with the bag of clothes he was intending to change into before buckling into the passenger seat myself. Hisoka slid into the drivers' side, taking a moment to adjust the seat before then starting the engine and slowly backing out of the crowded car park. Under Watari's careful tutelage, he nosed the car back into the mainstream Tokyo traffic and we drove into the night, leaving the horrors of the Tachiagari behind us.

"So, who is this date with anyway, Watari-san?" Hisoka asked, after we had driven in silence for some minutes.

"Oh, just some guy…" Watari commented airily. I could see him in the rearview mirror, struggling into a tight black turtleneck t-shirt, using another piece of clothing and a bottle of water to scrub the blood from his face and neck. Standard Shinigami procedure.

"What, you don't even know his name?" I asked skeptically.

Watari tossed some hair out of his eyes as he pushed his arms through the shirtsleeves and started undoing the button and zipper on his jeans. "I've wanted to go to this new restaurant for ages and since this guy seemed pretty eager for a date, I thought it would be a good opportunity to check it out."

"Is it that new theater restaurant you were telling me about?" I asked, remembering an article he'd shown me in one of the local tourist magazines promoting theme restaurants and the like.

Watari nodded as he wriggled and shimmied his way out of the ripped jeans.

"Mmmhmm. Got The Tempest playing tonight."

Hisoka looked over his shoulder to check if the lane beside us was clear and then twisted the wheel gently in order to merge. Having successfully completed this maneuver, he glimpsed in the rear view mirror with a raised brow. "Watari-san… correct me if I'm wrong but… don't you hate the theater?"

Watari chuckled dryly. "You got that right… the cocktail list is supposed to be excellent though." I heard a rustling sound, so I gathered that he was stuffing the crumpled, blood stained jeans into the garbage bag. "I dunno… I've felt compelled to go there for ages but just never sort of got around for it. Tonight's date was just the excuse I needed."

"Just don't let the Chief find out." Hisoka warned, shifting gears with such an obvious lurch that I had to wonder whether he was double jointed. "You know the Ministry's policy on 'hanky-panky'."

Glancing in the rear view mirror, I saw Watari give an evil smile as he tossed a couple of aspirin into his mouth and chewed on them. He wasn't trying to appear tough in doing so because I saw him visibly gag at the taste and not bother to follow up with a gulp of the bottled water beside him. I'd heard that some individuals, who were recovering from chemical addictions and even alcoholics, often become adversely addicted to the taste of chewed Aspirin, as a means of assuaging their cravings. But of course, I was ignorant to Watari's circumstances and ultimately; it was not that important to dwell upon, especially when considered in light of the dozens of deaths we'd witnessed that night.

"I know I've never followed it." Watari was saying as he clumsily slid down into a pair of tight black jeans, giving a persuasive wriggle here and there in order to make them fit. "But that's just between us fellas, ne?" He reminded, holding a finger up to his lips. I sighed, sliding the fuda paper out of my pocket and flipping through them to see how many total I would need to replace.

"You'll get caught one day Watari and then you're going to cop it." I said, half-hoping it would happen, just so he could learn a lesson. "It sounds as though you're not even really into this guy. If you're not interested, why bother?"

"That's right." Hisoka concurred. It was very rarely that we agreed on something but when it came to ethics and morals, we were usually on the same page. "Wouldn't it be better to find just one compatible person you'd be happy with on a long term basis?"

Watari finished changing and took a deep gulp of his water, swallowing with a visible wince on his features. "There's no long term when it comes to the Shinigami, kid. Think what falling in love would be like knowing that they would grow old and die before you? Could you guys knowingly do that to yourselves? To someone else?"

He made a very good point and something we immortals were always loathe to discuss. Many a time has a Shinigami wasted away from mental and emotional anguish because they had fallen in love with a mortal, whom they were destined to watch die. Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, a Shinigami might strike a deal with Enma; that they be permitted to return to the mortal life and live out their remaining days with their lover. But those that choose to do so do not return to the service of the Ministry of Hades and possibly, if you are to believe the rumors, forfeit their soul to the Lord of Hades himself.

There are many reasons's why Shinigami are not allowed to engage in 'hanky panky', to use Chief Konoe's own, oft-repeated words. Primarily, it is because Shinigami are the dead reborn and to engage with the living in a sexual manner, dances that very fine, dangerous line into necrophilia. Also, as I mentioned previously, there is that very small issue of the Shinigami being forced to watch their loved one die, which can lead to them wasting away in agonizing, ceaseless anguish. Additionally, if the love is strong enough, a Shinigami might be tempted to barter with their soul, as a means through which to return to mortal life and remain with their lover. And it was not always to Lord Enma whom these desperate individuals might go. A soul is not something to be offered lightly.

Penalties for interfering with the life choices of a mortal were dealt with both swiftly and severely. I had seen Shinigami stripped of their jobs, titles and right to remain as a passenger between worlds. Was it ever worth the risk?

We'd like to think so. We need to be loved, just like anyone else.

"It's hard to believe that there's no one special…" I queried, finding it awfully sad just how restricted we were in our rights to do nothing so much as feel for another.

Watari grinned slyly. "They're all special."

Hisoka groaned, taking Watari's comment at face value. "That's not what we mean."

Watari laughed gently, sinking back into the leather seat behind him and gingerly dabbing cologne onto his pulse points. "I do admit; there is someone I think about more than anyone else… that must be special. Not that I'll ever tell you guys about it." He added as I spun about so quickly that I almost put my neck out of joint.

"Oh, you can't just leave it at that!" I insisted, shocked and amused by the small pink flush that had sprouted on the blonds' cheeks. I'd rarely heard Watari speak of someone with such a romantic nuance! "Come on; tell us! Don't be such a tease!"

A cloud of sweet smelling mist suddenly obscured my vision and I shut my eyes, spinning about to protect myself from the defensive burst of cologne Watari had unleashed upon me. "It's no one you know, nosy. No one I really know either, come to think of it…" I stared at him through watery eyes, confused by his words. "Besides… it's not someone I'd ever have a chance with…"

"Watari-san… you're very insecure lately…" Hisoka commented, watching as a motorcycle cop went weaving by in the neighboring lane. I had a vague, sneaking suspicion that he was watching us but when I looked again, he was staring straight ahead, indicating to turn off down a right hand street. I glanced at his back, as we sailed past, feeling an odd sense of de ja vu stir in my guts but having nothing more to base it on than that original nagging sensation.

"It's strange, I know." Watari said, breaking me out of my musings. "Believe it or not, I do know my limitations, bon, much more than most folks give me credit for." He leaned forward between the drivers and passengers seats and pointed out the windscreen. "It's the next left."

Hisoka obediently steered the car down the left hand lane, emerging into a hustling, restaurant district not five blocks from where our apartment building was situated. I recognized the sign for our favorite watering hole as we sailed past and wasn't at all surprised to find the place already packed.

"But isn't it better to be with the person you have true feelings for, rather than just settling?" Hisoka said, refusing to let up on this point. He seemed entirely set on reforming Watari's casual ways before the blond was shot of us for the night.

Unbelievably enough, the kids' words seemed to be having some effect. Watari's expression became rather dour, his eyes taking on that familiar, regretful caste I had only moments ago witnessed. It was wrong to assume for a moment that a Shinigami, despite appearances, is coping with their lot. It was at times a loveless, thankless, bitter existence. And not even Watari could pretend that it didn't wear the slightest bit thin.

"Maybe in the cartoons, kid." He finally said, giving me an apologetic look, as though he need be contrite for succumbing to this momentary self-pity! "This is real life, unfortunately. 'Sides…" The corners of his mouth hitched upward into that trademark roughish grin and the last traces of that pitiful visage evaporated entirely. "You don't see me exactly miserable, do ya?"

I laughed. "No, sir! Not our Watari!"

We pulled up the restaurant just as another car was pulling out. Hisoka slid neatly into the vacated spot and allowed the engine to idle whilst Watari pulled his gear together. He reached for the passenger side door but went no further, his fingers lax upon the lever.

"Everything okay?" I asked, spotting an anxious looking guy standing outside the doors, looking back and forth urgently as though expecting someone. I gathered this must have been the man Watari was seeing tonight and if appearances were anything to judge by, it would have been cruel to keep him waiting a second longer. The poor fellow was practically working himself into a lather!

Watari seemed deep in thought as he swiveled about to face me. From his expression, I gathered he was having a hard time putting his thoughts into words. "… The library tonight… that was one Hell of an incident, don't you think?"

"Probably the biggest we've seen since Kyoto, I would say." Hisoka agreed, examining a spot on his chin in the rearview mirror. Being stuck in puberty must have been a real drag sometimes. "I don't think the total body count has yet been determined."

"Obvious it was significant though." I stated, resting my elbow on the windowsill and setting my fingers against the side of my face. I still couldn't shake the image of the reanimated bodies from my minds eye. It sure as shit wasn't the first time I had come face to face with a zombie but this was certainly the very first instance where I had sensed some form of intelligent evil surfacing beneath the corroded flesh of the wasted body. It was unnerving.

"Tsuzuki… don't you feel like…" Watari paused, looking embarrassed by whatever it was he had been about to say.

"Like what?" I pressed impatiently.

"Like, we were being watched today. In the library, I mean."

I examined the blood caked beneath my nails, starting working them out with the head of a small pencil lead I kept in my upper pocket. "Given the situation, I should think that's a fairly safe assumption. Why do you ask?"

Watari bit his lip, glancing out the window as though he were expecting something to appear in the street beyond. "There was a strange feeling I had. … Nostalgic. Like old wounds lain bare."

Hisoka exchanged a look with me that seemed to suggest Watari was losing his nerve. "That's a bit of a strange thing to say, Watari-san…"

Watari gave a grudging smile and laughed at himself. "Yeah, I guess it is. It's just the feeling I got, is all." He made to get out but I reached out to grab his bare wrist, suddenly understanding just where he was coming from.

"No, I know what you mean." I confessed, recalling that earlier sense of reminiscence I'd felt even before entering the library. All day it had assailed me. "I felt that way too… as though old feelings I had a long time ago were rising to the surface." I rubbed a hand over my forehead, weary then, more than I had been when I was fighting for my life. "The whole atmosphere was just… oppressive. The saddest memories and emotions kept taking over. You felt like you could burst from it after a while." I wanted to shrug it off but it continued to nag at me, like a tiny splinter of glass buried beneath the skin, digging ever gradually deeper. "But after that guy in the hood left… it was kind of like he took the bad feeling with him. Know what I mean?"

Watari groaned, raking his fingers back through his hair. "I don't think we could ever really explain it but yeah, I get where you're coming from." With a reposed smile, he leaned between the seats again and drew both Hisoka and I under his arms. He gave us a tight squeeze. "Well, food for thought anyway. Let's not worry about it unless we got to." He released us and jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, romance awaits! You two have a nice, relaxing night. Bon," Here, he pointed at Hisoka. "Do not let this silly old man stew in his juices. I don't care if you have to tip sake down his throat until his back teeth float, he's not to chew himself up over this!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Watari-san." Hisoka said, looking amused. I, on the other hand, felt rather insulted that Watari felt I needed to be cared for like a doddery old fool who ate food straight out of the blender.

"Watari!" I growled, all too tempted to jump out of the car and go tell his date several unsavory things about Watari's character. But the blond merely winked in my direction, saying without words that he meant no harm.

"I'll see ya tomorrow for breakfast. Try not to eat your contribution before it makes it to the table, Tsuzuki!" Before I could retort to this rather unnecessary jibe, Watari swiftly swung his legs out of the car and waved to us and he walked by past the drivers' side window. "Sayonara!"

"'Night." Hisoka replied colorlessly. I leaned over him in order to parade my middle finger up and down, much to the obvious shock of a middle-aged dear standing nearby.

"Have fun!" I called in a cheerful tone, contrary to the time hearted gesture of disapproval I directed at my friend. Hisoka pulled away from the curb before further damage could be done and five minutes later, we had pulled into the Ministry's garage. We made our way back to the Sakura Zensen Ministry apartment complex by foot.

Dinner was a solemn affair. I just couldn't get the nights events out of my mind. Hisoka made idle conversation for the sake of filling the void but gave up after a while and simply sat, picking at the remains of his snapper and casting sad, furtive glances out the window. I think he too was demoralized by what he had seen. Death, no matter how accustomed you think you've become to it, always has an effect on you. The needless taking of so much life makes you wonder just what the Underdwellers have against the human race and why they feel the need to persecute us so.

Even knowing now brings me little solace for all that I have seen come to pass. The death of women, children, men, animals, the ungodly mutation and indeed invasion of their corpses reeked of decimation of the highest order. It dredged up old memories, memories of the time Muraki had been a major part of our afterlives and without even really thinking about it, I found myself gazing at that moon again. Wondering as I did, when it would next turn to blood.

~ EC ~

TBTN: The Tokyo Bay Television Network. A fictional television station. … I hope.

A/N: Yay, part six finished! Part seven is the revised chapter content for chapter three of Dark Adaptation, which I'll also post here. Please R and R if you have enjoyed this and looking forward to seeing you all in part 7!