WEIß KREUZ
Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz

Zehn (Ten)

"So you haven't been able to unearth anything, either, huh?"

Yoji had to suppress a heavy sigh at that. Neither Weiß nor Kritiker were getting anywhere with this mission. Back in the old days, he and his partner would have already been reassigned to another case, stuck at such a dead end as this. And Asuka would have been raising hell. She always did get so fired up. A sad smile worked its way to his lips, but it vanished fast when Manx spoke up.

"Unfortunately that's it, I'm afraid." She folded her hands on the top of her desk, staring straight ahead, but her eyes weren't focused on Yoji, who sat in the chair in front of her. She was staring into space, thinking. Finally, she said, "I haven't had the heart to tell him, but I think Mr. Yori's son may already be dead."

"You think so, too?" Yoji responded. She nodded, and he continued, "It's been entirely too long a time, with no word from anyone about him. My guess is they kidnapped the boy just to get to us. Weiß was the original target all along."

Manx seemed to ponder his statement for a minute. Then she shrugged. " Weiß and Schwarz. It seems they were the motive, but what does it have to do with Kritiker then?"

"When you think about it, we are all part of the same string." Yoji stood from his chair and went to the window in her small office. He watched the people outside for a time, pedestrians and officers on the move alike.

He was glad Manx had managed to get her job back working for the police department after Reiji Takatori was killed. After all, her position was an extraordinary help to Kritiker, and of course Weiß, to be so close to the inside in hunting out the Darkness. Kritiker agents held down a multitude of important government jobs that would help locate the targets and gather information. But still, Yoji always felt entirely too awkward going to the station to see her, despite the fact that the building housed other government levels as well. That's right, folks, I'm just here to get a license for the family dog! Riiiight!

He finally turned away from the window, asking, "No leads on this Bertrüger group?"

"None. Whoever they are," she said, "they've managed to work in total secret until now."

Yoji gave a wry grin. "They're good." Manx didn't say anything.

There came a quick knock on the closed door to her office. For some reason, Yoji felt like maybe he ought to try hiding himself, and while the thought of ducking under her desk right below her feet had other benefits, he decided to play it cool. The strong silent type. He crossed his arms over his chest casually as Manx affirmed, "Yes?"

Yoji relaxed when a familiar face opened the door. Surprisingly, it was Birman, the raven-haired beauty of Kritiker. She shyly smiled when she saw him standing there, and in her eyes were a thousand greetings and even more questions. But by her sheer body language (Yoji's specialty) he knew instantly that something was wrong. So did Manx, because she quickly rose to her feet just as another joined Birman inside the door. He was tall, with dark hair that reflected a silver sheen. Both wore lanyards that ID'ed them as being with the Internal Affairs office, but also, tagged to their suits, were badges like Manx's; Kritiker agents. Not a good sign…

"What happened?" inquired Manx, keeping her tone straight-forward, despite her rigid and worried stance.

It was the man who answered, whose I.A. identification proclaimed his name as Siem Masazoe. "There's been a development." He eyed Yoji strangely after he spoke, but it wasn't suspicion in his gaze. Yoji got the impression that, because he was also Kritiker, he knew who he was. The thought actually made the Weiß member uncomfortable. If all of Kritiker knew who he was, why didn't he know them in return? A matter of trust? He turned to watch Manx's reaction.

"What?"

It was Birman who answered in her soft, hushed voice. She said quietly, as if discussing a less tragic matter, "There's been a demand."

Manx's eyes widened, and Yoji felt his jaw go slack. After so long a time, now they had a ransom demand?

Nagi laid in the bed which belonged to Weiß quietly, staring at the glass of water sitting on the small night stand beside the bed, still in the exact spot that the Weiß person had left it. It remained full. He wasn't thirsty; he wasn't hungry. But he was completely awake and fully aware of the entire situation. If he was a prisoner, they hadn't killed him for a reason. Sympathy for an enemy, that was an unacceptable answer to Nagi. They had to have another agenda. But whatever it was, he certainly would not be of help to them. He was Schwarz. He would rather die than help Weiß.

A prisoner -?

He had been listening intently to everything that happened within this trailer-home of theirs, picking up on each little tap or click. All he heard was the sound of running water at one point, the hissing sound of water being misted. Their flower shop? Even after everything, that young man was still maintaining their cover of being florists, caring for the tender new seedlings and mass of potted plants. But that was just the thing. He was there alone. Only one Weiß member present to guard him. He was locked in, but that would be simple enough to alleviate. With his powers, he could even dispatch his sole watch dog. Weiß had seriously underestimated him.

With a soft groan, Nagi pulled himself to a sitting position. Oh… He still hurt, but it was receding to just a heavy, sore ache. He could move fine enough if he forced himself. Then he suddenly felt the cold air in the sparse, slight room, remembering that he was without a shirt. Nagi turned to regard his bare arm, thin and pale, and he gingerly set his fingers against the dressings where Weiß had bandaged the wounds they themselves gave him. Strange.

Without another thought, Nagi swung his legs over the side of the bed and, ever so slowly, made it to his feet, swaying slightly. He took a hesitant step, but found he had strength enough to walk. He silently moved over to the chair where they had left his shirt, now freshly washed, and he ducked his head into it. The hard part was getting his injured arm into the sleeve, but he managed, though with the stinging pain it seemed to take him forever just to get his wrist through. The bandages were visible through the torn, shredded sleeve, but he hardly cared. It was all part of the game, getting hurt. Life was a game, and he was just another pawn.

With his small hands, Nagi adjusted the mandarin collar of his blue top, smoothing out the peasant-cut waist. Why he thought he had to look presentable before killing the lone Weiß member and returning to Schwarz, he couldn't tell. It was for his own state of mind, his low self-esteem and wicked confidence. Darkly, sorely, he turned to give the locked door a heavy look. Then he strode over to it with no noise, a predator on the hunt, and set his right hand against the knob. Closing his eyes, he reached inside of himself, seeking out that familiar, arcane and strange well of power within his mind. With it he pictured the lock, the workings and mechanics of it. It would open for him. With his mind, it would obey.

But it didn't. The lock didn't give at all. And he couldn't feel it. Nagi's brows knit together. Why? He delved deeper into the far crevices of his mind, seeking his entire imagination and thoughts, but something... Something was different. It was total blackness, like sinking into a grave, drowning beneath the folds of common human conscious. Nothing was there; he didn't touch that familiar well of power. He couldn't reach it? Nagi's eyes flew open in panic. Why? Why couldn't he connect with what was a part of him? There was a barrier there. The barrier that any normal person had.

Gone? But… Nagi felt his breath catch in his throat, and his hands began shaking. With his trembling fingers, he touched his forehead, feeling the bandage around his skull. That was it! He tore it off, feeling the crusted welt in the back of his head, under his dark, stringy hair. That's what had happened! They hit him, and now his powers -

His powers, everything he was, that familiar sensation that had always been there to comfort and protect him... Please... he thought hastily to the lock, his huge, liquid eyes fixed on that stupid, tarnished door knob. He sought deep within himself one last time, but only found what he hadn't known in quite some time. Fear. Dread. Please, open. I can unlock this... Please…

Nothing happened. And, he realized suddenly with a breathless air of foreboding, nothing ever would. His powers that Schwarz so highly prized, that which he was, that sense that gave him meaning and purpose in the world...

It was gone?

Omi blinked sorely, and moved against his bound wrists and legs. He spat out the salty, metallic taste of blood in his mouth and onto Schuldig's lacquered, bedroom floors. His pain was sharp and throbbing, and it seemed like it would never go away. Omi tried hard to laugh at himself. That's what I get for being... what did Schuldig call it? A smart-ass.

He hoped he didn't have any loose teeth; he hated trips to the dentist. But Farfarello had slugged him a good one when he didn't cooperate at first. He should have learned his lesson the first time, trying to escape, and keeping his lips shut was even worse an idea it seemed. These two men would never let him go. Not alive, anyway.

He jerked his arm, and whimpered when it twisted at an even more awkward angle. He couldn't believe it; couldn't believe they had put him in a straight-jacket! Schuldig said they always kept it on hand for punishment, and Farfarello grinned the entire time like a gleeful boy nastily gloating because he knew how it felt, only it wasn't being done to him this time. Freak, Omi thought the single word with a wave of pain. These people are... sick, for sure!

Did they even put this thing on right? His extremities felt like a twisted knot of aching limbs. He was propped in an odd position on the bed, as well, half laying down and half leaning against the wall. He tried thrashing his legs just once more, but got no leverage at all.

"Fucking moron!" Omi jumped at the sound of the voice; that pinched, German twinged, and horribly familiar tone was starting to be just as painful as anything. Schuldig said, "You're still fighting?"

"Shall we bleed that fight out of you?" hissed Farfarello sweetly. Omi saw the glint of a fine switchblade in his fingerless-gloved hands. His expression was placid, but he finally turned that lone eye to look at the boy- Weiß. And he smiled. Ruthlessly. Mercilessly.

Schuldig was leaning against the door frame, one leg elegantly proped into the other side, as if blocking the exit. There was only one shaded lamp lit outside the bedroom, which gave off a vague, muffled light, causing a drastic shadow effect to play somberly over the tall German. Farfarello was hidden in shadows, the light from the blinds causing a misty reflection on his white skin. They were the Devil's own work.

"You know, kid," Schuldig said, crossing his arms over his chest with brute authority, "we won't lay another hand on you if you just tell us where our friends are." He tilted his lavish head in a mock-sad way. "You know what it's like to miss your friends, right? We feel the same way. We'd like them back." The tone darkened. "Now."

Omi caught a breath, thinking up something fitting to his new "smart-ass" title, but as soon as the cool air hit his burning lungs, it sent him into a coughing fit, uncontrollably rattling his mangled, little body against his shackles. He made a tiny, pitiable sound when he managed to stop, and with tears blinding his vision, he glared at the two Schwarz. "I can't tell you -" He was seized again by coughs and Farfarello took that moment of gagging in a negative way, gliding up from his crouched position and ready to pounce. "- what I don't know."

"Tch!" the hissing click of his tongue was sinister as Schuldig practically flung himself off the support of the door frame, striding over to stand high above Omi, blocking out any light whatsoever from the other room. It was late in the day, but why was it so black whenever Schwarz was around? "Weiß took Nagi. Where is Weiß, brat!"

He wheezed, but Omi said heavily, "They'd move. They would have already moved now that they know." Know? Know what? Omi suddenly realized he didn't even know what the hell was going on. He was a prisoner, out of any sort of informative loop whatsoever. And obviously these two Schwarz had no clue, either, or they wouldn't -

Be torturing you to find some clues?

Omi gasped at the unfamiliar feeling in his head. It was as if his very own thoughts had acquired a voice all their own. But that voice was jarring, like thousands of little needle pricks against his brain. It rang in his ears, shaking into him down to his very core. What was that? It was strange, like someone was...

No way?

Omi lifted his head enough to look Schuldig in the face. The German stood over him haughtily, his lips parted in an all-knowing grin. And his eyes were glittering, playful. He remembered that look. When Schuldig had followed him to Ouka's apartment, threatening to tell her what Omi was, about Weiß, he had that same devilish look in his eyes. And when -

When I set you up to get Weiß? And we killed Ouka instead.

Omi gasped again, this time in understanding. He hadn't realized it then, but now he knew. "You?" A laugh suddenly filled his head, a trembling, nasal laugh that was both disturbing and enjoyable. The exterior of the man changed as well with that laugh; Schuldig bared his teeth in a pleased smile.

Now you know, heh chibi? I can invade your mind. Truth - you can't hide it from me, no matter how far away you lock it. Aloud, he said, "Unless you want to join dear Miss Ouka-chan in the afterlife, tell me what I want to know!" The smile turned into a sneer. "Mamoru Takatori."

Omi growled, a small sound deep in the back of his throat. His eyes narrowed in spite, and using his own voice inside his mind, he shot back in thought, Don't! Don't you dare call me that! There was that laugh again, annoyingly satisfied.

Pretty good, chibi! Schuldig suddenly put a knee up on the bed beside his captive body, and Omi flinched away. Schuldig leaned towards him, and his whole demeanor suddenly, swiftly, changed.

His body moved regally, not in a firm manner to suggest someone winding up for a punch, but someone casual and concerned. And seeking something entirely different. The voice that suddenly invaded his mind again was also different. It was sleek and whisper-gentle, deep and mellow. You'd be surprised, his mind's voice cooed. It was horrible and soothing. What I can do with my mind alone.

And with those soft words, a strange sensation washed over his mind, like a feather-light touch that caressed his thoughts and feelings. Sensual, languid, erotic: it was a feeling that was all of those and more, something he could never put into words. Schuldig's powers of persuasion, his sheer skilled touch and aura from his thoughts alone were beyond belief. He knew how to use his mind, pleasingly, gently - but wickedly to his own advantage. The touch against his brain made Omi's heart race; made it stop.

He flushed and shivered against that strange invasion into his thoughts, and said, not as demanding as he would have liked, "Stop... Get out of my head! You're sick!"

Schuldig's mind fled as he vocally laughed aloud, a ringing sound full of pure amusement. But he didn't pull his body away. "God, chibi, you are fun to play with!" he said after his laughter. Then he titled his head, like the true tease he was, and said, "I don't know what you boys do in your spare time in Weiß, but we don't play like that here. Don't fret!"

For a split second, Omi was at a loss. Then the thought of what he was implying hit him, an awkward scene of the others flashed in his mind, and he blushed. Quickly, he attempted to mask that mental picture so Schuldig couldn't read it off his embarrassed mind. But then he felt a sigh clutch his chest. He had thought for a moment there they would play with him like that. Thank goodness…

Suddenly, Farfarello rose off the floor, out of the darkness, and said, his plain voice now loud in the room, "Mind games aren't any fun." Click. He leveled the blade over his face, his features reflecting off the flat of it. His tongue darted out like a snake's against the metal, and Omi saw a flick of blood. "Let's play my game. God hates the game I created."

He was crazy, Omi thought. He literally was! Omi winced against the straps of the jacket in dire anticipation. Freed from one ordeal and thrown right into a new one!

"Down, boy," Schuldig said jokingly. "I'm not finished with him yet."

He actually winked at Omi, who stared at him in shock. That stare evened into a full glare, and the German made a little hmph sound of rejection in his throat. You don't want me? How rude! The voice inside his mind returned with all its serious playfulness. But this time, it was darker, deadly. Better me than him, heh? You know what he is?

Omi's eyes widened slightly as he recalled that mission awhile back; Ken had taken it upon himself to protect the devout Sunday school teacher and nun, Ruth. She had told them her story, and her dying regrets were of her own son, a boy named Jei who had slaughtered his foster family. A boy who was a lost soul, suffering, and not the raving maniac everyone made him out to be. The boy who hated God so much.

Omi glanced at Farfarello out of the corner of his eye, the pale archangel who had fallen into Hell's abyss long, long ago. But that boy was long gone, and the man that stood before him now, the Schwarz killer who was lavishing all his affection on the deadly edge of a knife, was someone to be feared. That's right! Schuldig's obnoxious voice confirmed. You should fear him. He is a killer with no remorse. His mind has been too broken to have any trace of humanity.

Omi blinked in confusion; Farfarello just stared at him in that dead, grave look he had. Suddenly, for reasons all his own, Schuldig flooded Omi's mind with terrifying images. Fear, and hate. Images of a boy stowed away in a padded cell. Fear. Locked in total darkness, alone, for days on end. And hate. The surgery, morbid, wrong; the therapy, electric shock waves that ruined thought. Omi squeezed his eyes shut against the images, but inside his mind, there was no escape.

Schuldig's mind-voice was taunting and serious. Hate him, hate me; all of us. Everyone fears what they hate. They hate what they don't understand. That voice was deep and guttural now. He was angry, and the thoughts were becoming more emotional.

He's trying to break me, Omi thought. Whatever they do to me, whatever he shows me, I can't help them! I'm Weiß!

Isn't that so, chibi? Schuldig demanded. Weiß and Schwarz. White and Black. We'll never be the same!

Suddenly, a small moment slammed Omi inside his reeling mind; the stillness, the deafening silence... Suddenly, Omi felt an incredible sorrow hit him, a powerful feeling he had never experienced before. Then a word formed in his thoughts. He opened his mouth, trembling, his voice far, far away. "Mami...?"

And suddenly, the torment Schuldig was putting him through came to a roaring halt. The German let out a startled, breathless sound as he backed off the bed in disbelief. Omi flinched, and felt tears spring to his eyes as that suffering sensation left him. What -? Whose thought was that? Whose memory? It wasn't his. Even when he was kidnapped, Omi realized, he had never felt anything that dark. Farfarello's memories were practically gone, and besides -

It was Schuldig. It was his mind that he was sharing for a moment. Then that word was German. For what? Omi looked up at the Schwarz member in confusion, wondering what he had let slip with the utterance. Soon, Omi wondered if he should have bitten his tongue and kept the intrusion as a secret - because Schuldig was gazing down on him with the most evil rage.

Schuldig's fists were clutched at his sides, white-knuckled and shaking. He was furious, yet the voice that came from the usually charismatic and snide man was... hurt. "You!" he hissed.

Instantly his hand flew out, grabbing Omi brutally by the face, his thumb and fingers around his jaw pressing so hard Omi felt like his skin would tear, his bones crack, and his teeth shattered off his gums; it felt like he would squeeze his head until it exploded. Omi couldn't stop the painful whimper that escaped from his lips. And the eyes on the German bent over him were fire, pure and powerful. But Omi could feel his hot breath against his cheek, and it was ragged and uneven. He was trembling. Why?

"Halt die Fresse!" Schuldig snarled. "Don't take peeks into other people's memories without permission, brat!" And his other hand snapped under his jacket, drew out a small pistol; he was completely done playing games.

Omi's mouth tried to force itself open, pleadingly, but suddenly Schuldig's aiming hand was wrenched away. His other arm was slammed at the elbow, instantly releasing Omi's jaw, who fell against the pillows, bound and startled.

Schuldig was practically dragged off of the bed by the gun-hand, and he hit the floor hard on his knees, the weapon clattering away from his splayed fingers. "Arschloch!" he growled heavily from the floor, flinging his hair off his shoulder and rounding on:

Crawford!

The black-haired American stood over Schuldig, his suit well pressed, his stance full of entire authority. His glasses caught the glint from the shaded window, but revealed enough of his honey-colored eyes to show his disdain and disapproval of the situation. Farfarello stood in the shadows behind him, and if he was surprised in the least, he did not show it. Schuldig's mouth fell open.

"Crawford, what the fuck?" Then his eyes narrowed. "What the hell was that for?"

The look he received in return was enough to make him back down. "I don't recall giving the order to kill him," Crawford said with a cold dignity.

Schuldig made a disgusted sound, but in the same room as one of Weiß, he kept his cool; he knew better than to challenge Crawford in Omi's presence. Instead, he pulled his feet under himself and stood, tall and resolute, and said, this time with a forced humor, "And I don't recall giving you a key to my place."

Crawford simply smirked. Then to the other two's amazement, he moved forward and began undoing the straps to the straight jacket. Omi jumped at his touch, but when he noticed that Crawford was going to free him, he gazed up, astounded, into the Schwarz leader's face. Crawford just ignored him, like he wasn't anything alive.

It was Farfarello who questioned him. "Why?" A simple inquiry. His switchblade was now closed.

"We've made arrangements," said Crawford, avoiding a direct answer. "We figured, given the circumstances, we might as well all face the current situation prepared."

"We, we," Schuldig mocked. "Who the hell is we, heh?"

Crawford rolled Omi's little, beaten body out of the painful enclosure of belts and straps, snapped the folds of the material out one time, and turned to his two men. "Weiß and I have decided," said he, "to return our members."

"Are you serious?" Ken popped onto his feet in utter amazement, pressing the phone closer against his ear as he listened to Yoji. "There's been a ransom demand? You can't be serious!"

"I've never been more serious," Yoji's voice said on the other end of the line. Ken could hear from the wail of the wind rushing by, the buzz of traffic signals, and the hum of other vehicles that Yoji was on the drive back. In the late day traffic it would certainly take him awhile.

"But, after all this time, that boy can't still be -"

"Ken."

"I mean, I'd hate to say it, but -"

"Idiot! Shut up and listen!" Yoji snapped over the static of the distance. "He's alive! That boy is still kickin'!"

"What?"

"Manx let me listen in on the call with Birman and his father. He was able to speak to his son for a minute. That kid's still alive. Sure has some guts!"

"That's good news, right?"

"Strange news, I'd say," Yoji replied. His voice, broken by wind and the threat of being disconnected, still had a confused, thoughtful tone. "Don't you think it's rare for a kidnapper to hold on to a child this long? Especially since we assumed the kid and his father aren't even the real targets here."

Ken set a fist against one hip, thinking. "You're right. This entire situation just gets weirder and weirder."

"What does Aya think?"

"Eh?"

"Aya? You remember Aya, don't you, Ken?"

Ken grimaced into the phone, but his concerns outweighed his desire to berate the playboy Weiß. "I assumed he was with you. He hasn't come back all day." He heard Yoji's small sound of alarm. "This is not a good -"

Ken was suddenly cut short by a panic-stricken, sharp wail, like a pained cry of a lost, distraught child. It startled Ken, who jumped clear out of his skin, the sad sound piercing him to the core. For a moment, he thought it was Omi's cry, for it came from his room in the trailer. Then promptly he remembered their prisoner from Schwarz, and the desperate sound made him drop the phone, his eyes wide and heart thrumming. Oh, no!

Fearful of what he might find, what had caused the boy such distress, Ken ran for the room, digging the keys from his jean's pocket, unconcerned by Yoji's voice on the other end, shouting, "Ken? What's happened? Ken! Dammit Ken -"

Ken fumbled with the key ring at first, but finally dug out the correct one and rammed it into the lock, snapping it opened. He all but flung wide the door in his haste to find out what had happened. He ran into the room, asking worriedly, "Are you alright?" But the sight his eyes fell on drew a confused sound from him, and stopped him dead in his tracks, one hand still clutching the door knob.

The Schwarz boy was kneeling on the ground, shaking and clutching his head in the middle of the floor. His eyes were enormous and wild, but vacant, without any rational recognition or emotion. He had completely drained of any living color, and his breathing was ripping from his chest in hard sobs. Ken felt a stab in his heart as he looked upon the sight before him, blinking in total confusion. He had never seen a person look so lost and afraid.

He took a step into the room, one hand slowly reaching out to the boy. "What happened?" he asked softly, gently.

But Nagi made a tormented, small sound, a frightened whimper; he visibly flinched, cowering even more in on himself and drawing his little body further away. Then, as if the sound of Ken's voice finally made its way through his shocked emotions, Nagi Naoe vaguely lifted his head to gaze at Ken, and in his eyes - Ken gasped in pity. In the child's eyes was all the sadness of the world.

Nagi drew in a hoarse breath, and said in a voice completely lost, as if coming from another dimension all together, "I -" He met Ken's eyes, held them with his terrified gaze. "I can't," he finally whispered. He let go of his head, and held his small hands in front of his eyes, staring at them like they were some rare oddity. "I could - I could throw the bed against the wall... crush this entire place with my thoughts..."

Ken arched a brow, understanding the boy was explaining his awesome powers as a telekinetic. He knew he wasn't exaggerating in the least; he had a taste of that ability back at the warehouse. Whatever the Schwarz's strength, Ken knew it all too well. But why is he rambling like this?

Suddenly, Nagi looked back at Ken again, and the look in his eyes was both pleading and frightening at the same time; it made Ken step a tentative foot back. The boy-Schwarz said darkly, "I could even kill you if I wished it."

And Ken suddenly realized that's exactly what he wished. He was fully dressed, and ready to leave. The boy had been ready to kill him.

"But I can't," Nagi finally revealed. As if the spoken words made it all the more real to him, Nagi's hands clutched into fists and he smashed them into the floorboards so forcefully Ken winced. "I can't!" Nagi wailed, and through his eyes, crushed closed, Ken saw the tears.

And Nagi Naoe, the young killer of Schwarz, started to cry, his frail, small frame crumpling over his hands onto the floor. Each wrenching sob sent trembles rippling over him. He was shivering, completely vulnerable and afraid, hugging himself against the tremors. And it hurt Ken to watch him like that. He wanted to go to him, to hold the boy and tell him that everything would be all right. His instincts as a human being told him to comfort the scared child. The parents of the kids he taught soccer to always told him he had a special way with children, and he knew how to take care of them. Because he cared.

But this was different. And his instincts as an assassin of Weiß told him to go. He knew, with this child, that was probably the best thing for him. He could see that Nagi was not use to human touch in the least, growing up in Schwarz, itself a strange and solitary group. Despite how much it pained him to do so, Ken decided the best thing to do was leave him be.

With a sad look, pity and grief weighing down on him, Ken backed out of the room, leaving the crumbled child there, and closed the door delicately behind him. He didn't bother to lock it this time. He stood in the outer room for a moment more, until the sorrowful sounds of Nagi's tears became too much for the assassin with the "big brother" attitude to stand; he went outside and sat down on the stairs into the van.

It was cold, the coming evening bringing the promise of frost for this autumn night. Ken stared off into space, thinking, wondering what they would do with the child now. Aya had hit him too hard, the force of the blow has caused him to lose his powers. And now, without them...

He really is just a helpless child, Ken thought miserably. Suddenly, it was hard to see him as Schwarz. He grimaced angrily to himself. Shit! I can't stand this! He didn't know what to do. None of Weiß knew anything about Schwarz, what caused them pain, how to get to them, but now…

Now he saw how helpless Schwarz really were. Ken sat there as the day slowly began to come to a close, mindless to the fact that Yoji was on his way back, and Aya was nowhere to be found. At that moment, it didn't matter. All he knew was the soft sound of the killer weeping.