Author's Note: Hello again! I enjoyed writing this chapter, mainly because I got to have Lana interact with Mello and Near. I do love them so. In light of this, I have decided to celebrate by making this an extra-long chapter. Because I can do that.

To WildfireDreams: Aren't cliffhangers the best? I hate when other authors pull them, but for some reason I cackle evilly when I do it.

To Guest: Thank you for your lovely comments! I'm sorry if this took too long in getting to you, but hopefully the length will make up for it.

Warnings: Profanity.

Chapter 11: Stripes

Lana was getting sick of this.

Literally, in fact: she felt as though she were going to throw up as the man made of leather pointed a large, double-barrel shotgun between her eyes. One of his black, steel-toed combat boots was pointing directly at her, an ominous warning that her face would soon be under it if she tried anything funny.

There was complete silence as he stared at her. His hands twitched slightly, and Lana closed her eyes, preparing herself for the sound of a bullet—the last thing she would ever hear.

But it never came.

Instead, the man of leather barked out an order. "Get up."

She opened her eyes hesitantly, expecting to see a boot in her face at any moment. To her great relief, that was not the case. He was still standing there; he hadn't moved an inch.

He wants me to stand? Why? Shakily, she got to her feet, trying not to betray the miniscule twitching of her limbs to her captor. She wanted to make this believable.

"Slide that bag over to me," he commanded, gesturing to her rucksack.

Shit. Near still had more supplies, but still—everything she and Ryuuzaki had was in that bag. Yet she knew she had no choice. With a heavy heart, she kicked the old brown bag over to him, her eye not leaving his face. To keep up her poor-lonely-scared woman act, she allowed a pleading look to wash over her face.

"Please," she said as he bent down to rifle through the bag while still keeping his weapon trained on her. "That's all I have. You can take half of it, but please don't leave me here to starve!"

After looking through the bag and putting the edibles aside, he looked back up at her. "You're lying."

She heard her own subtle intake of breath. "What?"

"This isn't all you have. Why would you take all of your food on a scouting mission? I saw your prints outside. And speaking of all you have…where are the others?"

She clenched her teeth. "There's no one else here. It's just me—please, you have to believe me!"

Despite what Lana thought was a stellar performance, the look in his eyes told her quite clearly that he didn't believe a word of what she was saying. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? I saw your footprints, and all the blood. And no one's dumb enough to actually take all of their supplies with them when they go out. Now, if you don't tell me where you're keeping them, I'll blow your head off. Got it?"

Lana took a deep breath to calm herself down, then spoke the words that she feared may be her last. "I'm telling the truth. It's just me here. That blood was from an injured man that I found on the side of the road. He…he died. I buried his body behind this building. And that really is all the food I have. Please don't take it from me…" She closed her eyes, hoping that her lies would be enough to convince him to just take the bag and go.

From behind her closed eyelids, the woman counted the passage of time, wondering if and when she would be shot. When nothing happened, she decided to open her eyes again.

"Are you an idiot?"

The man of leather was staring at her with so much rage in the depths of his blue eyes that a spark of fear ignited within her. He looked as though he were barely restraining himself from shooting her. But why would he stop himself?

"That's it!" he boomed, switching his gun's trajectory almost too fast for her to see. He pointed it at the door that Near and Ryuuzaki were hiding behind, and Lana couldn't stop a reflexive "No!" from finding its way out of her throat.

"What's behind this door that's so important?"

She didn't answer, mainly because she was mentally slapping herself for being so obvious.

"It seems like you care about this door a lot." He switched his gaze to the locked door, raising his voice. "If anyone's in there, you have exactly ten seconds to come out before I start firing. I might even hit the girl."

That son of a bitch! "You don't need to do this—"

"Shut up. Ten…"

Dammit! What am I going to do? He knows someone's in there!

"Nine…eight…"

"You're only going to destroy the room! Killing me won't get you anything!"

"Seven…six…"

"Damn you, listen to me!"

"Five…four…"

Lana couldn't tell for the life of her if he was bluffing or not, but she didn't want to find out. "Stop!"

"Three…two…o—"

"Okay, we'll come out," a calm voice muttered from the other side of the door. His voice was muffled, but it was definitely Near. With an eerie creak, the young boy opened the door and stepped out, his hands coming up to rest beside his head. The man of leather, to Lana's shock, even seemed surprised by the boy's appearance, but he quickly shook off the expression.

"Who else is in there?" he questioned. "You don't look like you're injured, and I don't believe that girl's story for a second."

Who the hell's he calling a 'girl?'

"Just an unconscious man," Near responded evenly.

With an annoyed growl, the intruder shoved past Near, keeping the gun trained on his two targets. Near backed up until he stood behind Lana. After taking a quick glance at Ryuuzaki's body, the blonde returned his attention to the two of them.

"Don't hurt him," Lana said forcefully, imploring the man of leather to leave Ryuuzaki alone.

"As long as he doesn't wake up and interfere, it'll be fine." He let the door close with an audible click as he turned back around to face his captives. "Now I'll ask you again: Where are the rest of your supplies?"

"I already told you we don't have any more!"

"And I already told you that I would shoot you guys if you didn't cooperate. So what's it going to be?"

"No you won't," Near said quietly.

Lana nearly socked the young boy in the head. Is he serious? This is no time to be getting smart!

"What did you say?" the man of leather snarled.

"I implied that you were bluffing. I can see it in your eyes. If you were really going to kill one of us you would've done it already. There's no benefit in keeping a child alive, is there? And if you wanted to, you could simply shoot her in the leg."

"Shut up, you little shit!"

"Near, what are you doing?" the scarred woman whispered furiously. "This is no time to be fucking around!"

"I am not. I am simply stating a fact. This man will not kill us."

"You think I won't? You want to try your luck?"

"Go ahead, then. Shoot me."

There was a large, ominous silence—the tensest moment Lana had ever experienced.

Unfortunately, Near broke it once again. "I could tell as soon as you started talking. It is very plain to me that you do not wish to kill us. You could have simply shot this woman in the foot to get her to tell you, but you didn't hurt her at all. Why?"

"I think that's a sign of bad faith—not hurting people at first tends to make them react more favorably. Force comes later."

"So why threaten to shoot me? Did you not think that that would have made her angry? Anyone else probably would have fallen for it, but not me."

The man of leather was glaring at the boy with so much malice that she was half-expecting him to turn to dust. So Lana was fairly surprised when he let out a short bark of a laugh. "So you're a genius, huh? Give me a break. I don't have time for this shit. I'll ask you one more time." The gun shifted slightly, rising until he had a clear shot at Near's forehead. Lana saw his hands move, heard the tell-tale clicking sound.

And just before he was about to pull the trigger, she moved.

"Stop!"

Everything paused as the woman found herself staring down the muzzle of a gun, her body and limbs thrown in front of the white-haired boy protectively.

Not another death. I don't think I can bear to see another kid die.

It might have been irrational, but Lana was prone to such things. In any case, perhaps her action hadn't been in vain. She was staring up into the eyes of the man of leather, and she thought she saw a brief flicker of something familiar. It was subtle, and she was sure that no one else would have seen it save for a trained eye or a kindred spirit.

Her posture instantly relaxed (though she didn't step away), and when she spoke, it was with a calm, soothing tone.

"Aren't you going to do it?" She looked right at him, into his eyes, and she saw his hand twitch. He didn't respond. "It's okay if you do. I put myself in this position, so I will keep protecting him." At this point, she sincerely believed she had said that because she knew he wouldn't do it. Her nerve wasn't perfect; jumping in front of Near had been an impulsive decision.

She swallowed the lump that was in her throat. "You understand, don't you? What it means to protect someone? That's why you're doing this, isn't it?"

His hand started to tremble in rage, and she thought he was going to yell again. However, he spoke calmly, but with a deadly seriousness. "What the hell do you know? Why are you trying to read into my actions?"

"I couldn't tell before, when you were threatening me. But that look you gave me just now…you saw someone else, didn't you? Instead of Near—"

"Just shut up."

Lana smiled crookedly, though on the inside she was already regretting her next words. "We'll give you half of all of our food, no questions asked. No resistance. Just leave us some, yeah? I have people here that I refuse to let die." She watched, holding her breath, as the man seemed to contemplate her offer.

After a few tense moments of silence, the man of leather spoke again. "Why are you doing this? Do you really think you're in a position to bargain? Or are you even more of an idiot than I thought?"

She smirked kindly, though she felt a fair amount of annoyance as well. "Nothing. Just take it and go back to whoever it is you're protecting."

The man narrowed his blue eyes. "Show me where the food is." He didn't put the gun away, or show any signs that he believed Lana's words. He was still casting suspicious glances all around him as the woman led him towards the large warehouse.

"It's in here," she told him, opening the large door with Near's key. Ryuuzaki was still unconscious, and Lana immediately knelt by his side. It looked as though the bleeding had stopped: the strips of her old wife beater were now crusted with dried blood, rather than moist. She opted to change the bandages, grabbing a nearby scarf she had spotted and replacing the t-shirt with it.

The man of leather had started rummaging around in the food boxes as soon as he came in. They had both been sitting in complete silence for at least five minutes when she abruptly heard the rustling noises cut off.

"That's going to get infected, you know. If you don't clean it properly that guy's definitely going to die," the man harshly warned her in a deep, intimidating voice. He leaned against the wall, the bag slung on his hip stuffed full of food cans and water bottles.

"I know." She returned her attention to the still-unconscious detective.

"I saw all the blood. What the fuck were you trying to do?"

"We were trying to…find someone. We got caught up by those infected people—one of them stabbed him in the leg."

The man's voice sounded paranoid. "You sure he's not infected too? You should dump him right now."

She shook her head. "I can't. I don't think they got close enough, anyway. I got stabbed by one of them a long time ago, and I turned out fine. I think it's only transferable if you get coughed on or get their blood on you."

There was another pause as he absorbed the information. "Who were you trying to find?"

Her brows furrowed. Should I tell him? It's not like it matters, but…what would Ryuuzaki say? Now that she thought about it, it seemed likely that he would refuse to tell him anything. Maybe she could simply ask him if he knew how to get to the radio station—there was nothing suspicious about that, was there? He might not even know that Stripes existed, if he didn't have access to a radio.

"Hey…" she began, uncertain how to phrase her question as innocently as possible. "Do you have any idea how to get to the closest radio station? I don't know what the building's called, but it should be somewhere between Riverwood and Gardenia Avenue."

She saw the man of leather shoot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. She thought she saw his body tense up as well, but that could have just been her imagination. "A radio station? What about it?" His voice was hard.

She swallowed. "I just remember driving by it sometimes before all of this…I thought it would be a good place for shelter, while we are trying to find the friend that we're looking for." That excuse sounded lame even to her own ears. Really—what plausible reason could she come up with for wanting to go find an abandoned (supposedly) radio station?

"You seem like you'd be better off here, if you ask me." His voice was definitely harsher, as though he were angry at her but was trying to hide it.

Why would he be mad? What had she said?

"I don't see why that should matter," Lana said quietly, confidently. "We have to keep moving if we're going to find our friend."

"Bullshit," he clipped suddenly, stepping forward intimidatingly. Lana backed up and whipped around to face him. He looked livid, his hand twitching towards his holstered gun. On instinct, she tensed in front of Ryuuzaki's body and called to Near to stay put outside.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused and on edge.

"I looked inside your bag. Who are you looking for, really?"

What does that mean? He looked inside our bag? What does that have to do with anything? The only thing we have of value in there besides our food is…our radio. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know why you're trying to find him, but you'd better tell me right now, or else."

Lana blinked, aghast at his astuteness. "So…you listen to him too? Stripes, I mean." No, wait, that didn't make any sense. Why would he be threatening her if he was just a listener? He shouldn't have any emotional attachment to him. Unless…

The pieces finally clicked into place. Lana inhaled. "No…it can't be. You're his associate?" Click. "Listen, you don't need to pull your gun on me! You're the person we've been looking for."

"Why? You still haven't given me a reason. As far as I'm concerned, you're hostile until proven not."

"I wish I could—dammit, Ryuuzaki, wake up!" He would explain this so much better; he would know what to say and what not to say about their situation. Unable to discern what she should have kept quiet and incapable of crafting a convincing lie, the scarred woman decided to simply tell the truth. All of it—starting from the beginning, at Waterfront.

He didn't say a word the entire time the woman was telling her story. However, his look of rage gradually dissipated into one of dawning comprehension and paranoia as she explained everything she had gone through in the past few days—with details that paralleled his own experiences. The timing of it all—when the fence had been destroyed, when the explosion had occurred—matched up with his own memories.

When she was finished, she stared at him with a breathless look, full of pleading. "It makes sense, doesn't it?" she implored hopefully. "Stripes hinted that he thought a person had caused the explosion and destroyed the fence—he was right. It was B the entire time."

Everything she had said—it was all on par with he and Matt's predictions. He grunted, not showing that he was beginning to believe her. "Are you sure?"

"The FBI agent told me he was loose here. She even showed me a picture. He looks like this guy." She gestured to the unconscious man at her feet, who was still sleeping soundly. "Apparently they knew each other. This B guy lost his marbles, became obsessed with him and started killing people."

"That explanation doesn't make any sense."

"I don't know the whole story between them—that's all I've heard. The gist of it, anyway. I'm sure there's more to it, but…"

The blonde stayed silent, brooding over this new development. We were right? "So our prediction was correct, after all."

"Yeah, that's great. You were right that a crazed maniac is on the loose. Whoop-de-fucking-doo."

"Did I say it was great, you nosy bitch?"

"Don't call me a bitch, dickface. And here I thought you weren't a total asshole."

"Well, you were wrong. It seems you're a terrible judge of character."

"I won't argue with that." She bit her lip, then looked back at him with furrowed brows. "Well, where do we go from here?"

He stared at her, not believing for a moment just how slow she was. Or maybe he was just impatient? Nah, that wasn't it—she was just slow. "What do you mean?" He snorted derisively. "We get out of here."

"You mean…you'll take us? To Stripes?"

"What did I just say?"

She smiled, but still looked surprised and more than a little nervous. A frown quickly took the place of her grin. "But how? How did you get here?"

"By motorcycle. It's parked outside, on the street."

"With all of the crazies?"

"They're all dead. I shot them."

"Oh. Good…I guess."

He could tell that the fact that he had killed all of them didn't sit right with her, but he couldn't bother himself to yell at her or make fun of her for it. He just hmphed at her and zipped up the bag at his waist. "You should grab the rest of this stuff. I have another bag attached to my bike. We can store the rest of it."

"Okay."

Just as he was about to walk out, she called him back. "Excuse me?"

"What?" he spat irritably.

"I was just wondering…what's your name? I should be able to call you something, right?"

His name? He thought for a moment about telling her his real one, but in all honesty, he hated it. Matt hadn't even called him by that name since the first time they'd met. He didn't even really consider it to be his name anymore.

"Mello," he said simply, turning around to walk away.

She stopped him again—not with a question, but with a word. "Emerson," she replied.

And that was all.

Emerson, huh? Weird name for a girl. It's probably her last name.

He walked out of the room, coming face-to-face with the white-haired kid as he did so. "Listen, midget. Your sister says you guys are coming with me. So get your shit together, got it?"

The kid didn't reply. He merely stared at the blonde with blank black eyes, the gaping holes making Mello's skin itch with irritation. Was this kid deaf? He asked him so, and all he got in return was what could hardly be considered a shake of the head.

Mello was fuming. This kid had barely known him for an hour, and already he was looking down on him? There was no trace of fear or apprehension in his countenance; there was merely a clinical detachment, an analytical composure in the way he observed his surroundings. Did he think he was smarter than him?

What a little prick. He briefly considered leaving him behind, but dismissed that idea quickly on account of the fact that his sister would probably lose her shit. He didn't need a woman throwing a hissy fit on top of everything else. He sighed instead, shoving rudely past the white-haired boy and towards the door. He turned around at the last second, exclaiming, "And hurry your asses up. We don't have the luxury of time."

The kid nodded again.

He sauntered back to his bike, hopping the fence again and mentally decking himself. Wasn't this the worst idea he's ever had? Well, maybe not the worst, but definitely the most impulsive. Matt was forever telling him that he made decisions hastily—would he approve? He knocked himself on the skull with his knuckle, rethinking his decision.

Still, if there was a chance that he and Matt were correct in their hypothesis…then it meant Mello was that much closer to his goal.

Ever since the whole continent had dropped the ball, he had found himself detached—essentially purposeless. He had always studied so hard when he and Matt had lived in that shithole of a group home, hoping to do what he'd always wanted: to become a detective, a successor to the famous L.

And it had seemed as though it were paying off. He always emerged at the top of his class, with his best friend a close second (though the other boy didn't seem to mind. He seemed to prefer not being in the spotlight, actually. He saw videogames as being a better use of his time).

When Mello was seventeen and about to graduate high school, all of the effort and blood, the sweat and time he had poured into his studies magically turned to shit. He could never attain his goal—he would never be like his idol.

Understandably, this realization had turned the ever-temperamental blonde into a bit of a grouch—not that he hadn't been enough of one already. Even worse was the fact that Mello seemed suited almost perfectly to the new way of living, if it could so be called. In fact, during his adolescence, the neurotic man had become proficient in many unsavory pastimes, among them the particulars of gun use and management as well as hand-to-hand combat. Most of the other kids at the home had been scared of him, save some of the more hostile alpha male types.

And then there was Matt. He hadn't given two shits about Mello, his past, or any of his frightening emotional tendencies. In contrast to the blonde's destructive tempest, Matt was calm and composed—nothing ever seemed to faze him.

So Mello highly doubted that he would be angry at the thought of having more company. He couldn't predict what the copper-haired man might say, however; hopefully nothing that would freak out the girl he'd found. Matt had a knack for turning off any female that came within a ten-mile radius of him and his Gameboy.

In building frustration—at what, he wasn't sure—Mello lightly kicked the side of his bike.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. What the hell did that bike do to deserve it?"

His head snapped to the side as Emerson and the little prick approached him, their hands full of edible goods. "I'm pissed off."

"I believe that's called 'displacement,'" the kid offered tonelessly, making Mello want to smack him upside the head.

"Stop it, Near. Let's not antagonize him, okay?" Emerson chastised softly. Surprisingly, the kid simply nodded.

So he listens to his sister, but not some angry stranger with a gun? Whatever. His brows unfurrowed as Emerson began walking towards him. He tried not to look at her face as she handed him the food she was carrying; he didn't want to be caught staring at her scar. Not because it was horribly ugly or anything—he just figured she wouldn't appreciate it.

"Here," she said as she unloaded her cargo onto him, her eyes flicking up to meet his own. "Pack this and I'll go get Ryuuzaki." She eyed him warily as she turned away. "You'd better still be here."

She returned after only a few minutes, but it was still too long for Mello. He and the kid had already finished packing all the food in the sack hitched on the side of his bike. Needless to say, the boy's personality didn't make for stimulating conversation.

Emerson came back lumbering, the unconscious man's form slowing her down quite a bit. Mello went over to take him off of her, but she stopped him, much to his surprise.

"Don't. I have to carry him. If you wanna help, take this rucksack."

There was a dirty bag hanging off of her other shoulder, and he slipped it off carefully. "It's a waste of time for you to be lugging him around. I'm stronger than you. Give him to me."

"No." She said it so firmly that Mello had no doubt that she was attempting to end the conversation.

"Stubborn bitch," he groused angrily as he walked back to the bike and slipped the strap of the bag over one of the handlebars.

Finally, she managed to drag the guy over to the vehicle; the blonde was already sitting on it, with the kid planted right in front of him, nearly squeezed up against the handles. It was the only place he would fit without the possibility of flying off.

"How're you going to hold onto him?" Mello questioned, nodding at the shaggy-haired man. He was for once more concerned and curious than pissed. It wasn't a cakewalk to fit four people on a motorcycle, much less a person who wasn't currently conscious.

"I'm good in tight spaces," the girl replied. "I'll make it work. Let's see here…"

Mello felt the bike sink a bit lower, and a heavy, limp body fell against his back. He was nearly knocked face-first into the bike's small windshield.

"What the hell?!"

"Just hold on! Let me fiddle with him, damn!"

He sensed her maneuvering Ryuuzaki's body around until a smooth chest was pressed against his back. That felt a bit better, though his personal space was at best ignored.

But then, she sat down, and he felt two arms entwine around his abdomen. He flinched in surprise at the sensation of her hands touching him, and he felt his face burn with anger and embarrassment.

It goes without saying that he was not happy with the seating arrangements. Being sandwiched between a man and a young boy while some random girl feels him up was not how he had expected himself to end up today.

"Sorry," the aforementioned girl said. "Did I scare you or something?"

"Hmph. Just don't try anything."

"No problem, man. I'm not gonna get my brains splattered on the pavement today."

With a twist of the keys in the ignition, the group rumbled off down the street.

Dammit! He had followed L and the woman from a safe distance, making sure to stay out of sight of the sick people. It had been relatively easy—but the arrival of that man and the young boy complicated things.

The blonde's voice had sounded familiar, but at the time B hadn't been able to connect it to a face in his memory. Then it dawned on him.

It was that man! The one who had seen him by the gate! Was he following him? No, that couldn't be it. B would have sensed him if that were the case. Also, he would have come from the same direction as B. When the motorcyclist had arrived at the warehouse he had instead been coming from the opposite direction. The serial killer had made sure to take a confounding, winding route so as to not be tracked. Therefore, the man had simply happened upon the scene coincidentally, and had heard the infected people squabbling.

How lovely.

And now, his two targets were rapidly moving away from him, bickering pointlessly as they readied the bike to leave.

Where could they be going, and why? Either that woman's very adept at making friends or she knows him. Or she's being kidnapped, though that seems highly unlikely given her composure. He hoped fervently that it was the first. He had never liked damsels in distress. The prospect of having to save undeserving females had never appealed to him.

Yet whether or not she was being kidnapped was an irrelevant matter at this point, because the blonde was revving the bike.

As the motorcycle sped down the street, B finally came out of hiding from behind the thrift shop next to the alley. He needed to find her again—her and L. He wanted to ask her if she had enjoyed his gift, among other things.

And he wanted to kill L while she watched. Or vice versa—whichever opportunity presented itself first. To do that, he needed to follow that bike.

He set off down the road, choosing to follow them for however long he was able before resorting to other methods of tracking. He wanted to whistle, but barely held his tongue at the thought of attracting the attention of either the passengers up ahead or more crazy people. He wasn't scared of the latter—far from it—but he was not in the mood to be dealing with them right now. Instead, he fingered his suitcase, picturing with ironic cheerfulness the image of full vials of blood stashed neatly inside. He was still nowhere near finished.

He needed a break. The two new acquaintances of hers seem healthy enough. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take a short reprieve and kill them instead.

Perhaps they'll even lead me to more.

Lana had never ridden on a motorcycle before. A bicycle? Obviously, yes. A motorscooter, yes—but only for about fifteen seconds before she had face planted on the asphalt of the cracked street. (She had learned that day what gravel tasted like. Conclusively unpleasant.) Miraculously enough, she had come away with only a minor concussion and a few loosened teeth.

So she knew from experience that if she were to let go of Mello's midsection, she would likely crack her skull open on the old, badly paved road after kissing the bike's tires.

She was holding on for dear life as the helmeted man drove the bike at breakneck speed, the ends of his shaggy blonde hair tickling her in the face.

At least he has a helmet. But what about Near? Lana could barely see over the shoulders of both Mello and Ryuuzaki, but the kid looked as though he were clutching the front of the bike as though it were a lifeline—which, in a way, it actually was.

It had been more than a few minutes by the time the bike finally, mercifully came to a stop. Mello pulled over to the side of the road, quickly removing the helmet and shaking out his hair like a dog.

"What are you, a male model?" Lana's voice shook only slightly; her whole body seemed to be shivering with adrenaline, and her face felt cold and bitten, as though she had been out in the snow.

This is what it feels like to ride a bike? No wonder his helmet has a face cover. It feels like my face is covered in ice.

"I'd shake out your hair if I were you, too," Mello snarled back menacingly. "The both of you look like you put too much hair gel in."

Lana got a good look at Near as they both dismounted. He was still impassive and uncaring, but his hair was comically windswept, plastered to the sides of his head as though it had been soaked in grease. Lana thought he rather looked like a cartoon character who had received some shocking news.

After she shook out her hair just as Mello had done, she ran her fingers through the boy's as well, ruffling it into its prior state of disarray. In response, he looked at the woman as though she smelled bad, though he did not say anything to stop her.

Ryuuzaki was still slumped over on the bike, and Lana huffed as she threw his arm across her shoulders once again. She had a harder time of it than usual—she was still tired and sore from the day's fiasco. Mello quickly grew aggravated at her struggle, and with an uncharismatic shove, he took the man from her.

"You're taking too long," he snapped, "Just go and carry the bags in, okay?"

Her mouth popped open, her blood boiling in indignation. "So I'm supposed to trust you with my friend's life?"

"I'm trusting you with my food. I figure this way we'll have incentive not to screw each other over."

He has a point, she admitted reluctantly. "Where do I carry the bags?"

Lana finally took the time to look around, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the building that they were parked next to. She had seen a radio station before, but this one was the biggest she had ever seen. It was three or four stories high, painted smooth and burgundy with trimmings of mustard yellow on the edges. She supposed it was once gold, but had faded with age and a lack of upkeep. The building was also cylindrical, lending the entire place an aura of relaxation, of cool. The only windows to be seen were on the upper floors, and were tinted dark anyhow. Nobody on the outside could see in—but whoever was on the inside could still see out. Around the very edges of the building and even overflowing into the parking lot, there were overgrown hedges and vines that seemed to be dragging themselves slowly. It was as if they were trying to reclaim the space they had lost to the building's construction.

Lana also took notice of the entrance to the underground parking garage situated to the left of the building, which was blocked off by an electric checkpoint.

"In there," Mello snapped again. "You blind or something? Just go through the double doors in front. I'll call up so he can let you in." The blonde slipped a walkie-talkie out of the bag attached to his bike, and turned it on as the scarred woman watched in interest.

"Hey," Mello spoke harshly just as he had to her, but it didn't feel as sincere. It was almost like he was forcing himself to be disagreeable. Is that how he acts with everyone? "I'm outside. I'll be up soon, after I go park my bike."

"That's all good," a smooth voice responded, immediately setting Lana's ears alight. She knew that voice—it was Stripes. It had to be.

Mello continued talking, and the woman listened hungrily, but still kept her distance from the blonde.

"But I'm pretty sure you didn't have three people with you when you left. Are the cameras messing with me?"

"Yes and no. I brought them with me. The girl will explain everything to you. I'm sending her and the kid up right now."

"Hmm…okay, man. Send 'em up."

"And just so you know, you have my permission to shoot them if they try anything. Especially the girl."

Lana resisted the urge to smack the blonde upside the head.

"Aw, really? I wouldn't want to shoot a pretty girl in the head—"

Mello hung up, and Lana pounced on him—figuratively, of course. "What about Ryuuzaki? What are you going to do with him?"

"I'll bring him up with me after I put my bike away. You're too slow when you carry him. You and the kid go on ahead of me. Just go through those big doors and wait."

"Hold on a damn minute. I'm having a hard time trusting you. You just told your friend to shoot me in the head—"

"He said that, and I never told him to. I gave him clearance to do so if necessary. If I wanted to hurt you so badly, I would've just killed you two back at the warehouse. In fact, you're starting to make me wish I had." He growled dangerously, but Lana was not deterred.

"Be my guest! The gun's still on you. Why don't you use it?"

Near just watched as the pair stared each other down, both of them giving off the air of dangerous beasts.

Mello finally let out a tch sound and looked away as he placed Ryuuzaki back on the bike. "Don't test my patience. Would you rather stay outside all night?"

Lana was hotheaded, but she wasn't stupid. "If you try anything, I'll wring your neck."

As she and Near set off towards the large cylinder, she saw Mello driving towards the parking garage, a very limp Ryuuzaki slouched over his shoulders. It wasn't entirely that she thought the blonde would hurt them—he had already failed to do so earlier. The issue was more about why he had allowed them to come back in the first place. Why was he invested in the case with B?

As they neared the double doors, Lana was genuinely surprised when they slid open on their own. There's electricity here? How?

The woman and child stood in an empty lobby, devoid of any clerks or employees, not that she had expected any. However, it was much tidier than she had imagined it, as though no one save for a maid had set foot in here for a long while. Mello probably drove everyone who came here away. Or killed them, her mind added.

"Hey there," a voice spoke from above her.

She swiveled her head all around, locking her gaze on a small camera that had been placed in the upper corner of a wall right above an old elevator. "Hey," she replied, once again recognizing the voice. "It's you, right? You're Stripes?"

"Glad to know I've got fans. Really, that's pretty cool. I was never the sort of person who enjoyed the spotlight, but this new world's got everything mixed up. That's Mello's gig."

"Yeah…"

She looked around the room, searching absentmindedly for a way out—or, at least, a way upstairs. "Are you going to let us in?"

"Well, technically you're already in, but you mean 'up,' right?"

She didn't roll her eyes. Really. "Yeah."

"Well, if Mello trusts you, I guess I have no reason not to. Just don't try to attack me or anything. Like I said before, I would hate to shoot a pretty girl. What are you called?"

The woman thought it was strange how he had said "called" rather than simply asking what her name was. It was a subtle turn of phrase, but she noticed it all the same. "I'm Emerson, and this is Near."

There was a short pause. "Look to your left."

Lana heard a click from a door on the wall opposite the elevator. She went over and tried the knob, finding it unlocked.

Inside was the brightest off-white she had ever seen, the hideous color painted on every inch of the exposed staircase. So he electronically unlocks the doors, but he can't make the elevator work? Oh, well. She needed the exercise, anyway.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, to the point where she began to neurotically count every tenth step in a rhythmic, relaxing pattern. She stopped at each level, trying to open every door she came across; they were all locked.

After a decade of climbing, the two happened upon a door that wasn't. She and the boy stepped into a hallway lined with a ratty beige carpet, an assortment of doors peppering the walls on either side.

"Over here." The same low voice, free of static, came from the second door to her right. She hesitantly approached it, automatically placing an arm in front of Near, silently telling him to be cautious. She turned the knob slowly, the suspense building in her as she pushed the door open with the drawn-out squeak of rusty hinges.

The room was unexpectedly dark, but Lana could decipher the bulky shelves in front of her, the silhouette of an old couch, the clear glass pane that separated them from what was obviously the room where the radio host went on the air.

Everything was quiet, and a pungent smell hung on the air. Lana sniffed, then wrinkled her nose, recognizing it as the lurid stench of cigarettes. It smelled fresh, but she couldn't see anyone in her line of vision.

Was no one in here? Was he hiding?

A quiet shuffle by her side caused the woman to turn to her right, and she immediately stood taut as a bowstring.

Though it was dark, the faint light provided by a burning cigarette allowed her to make out a person's profile.

He sat cross-legged on an office chair, revealing the fading spots on his worn-out jeans. He wore a long-sleeved shirt decorated with alternating stripes, and she couldn't help but think that the pattern suited him. The rest of his get-up was…strange. A pair of orange-tinted goggles were wrapped around his head, obscuring his eyes but leaving most of his shaggy coppery-brown hair untouched. Finally, a pair of headphones hung around his neck, present but unused for the moment. Lana idly thought that he had probably just gotten off the air.

He appeared to take notice of her staring, for he turned his head slightly in her direction. The shadow of a smirk ghosted across his lips as he took another long drag.

"Howdy," he said cheerfully.

I am self-conscious about this chapter for some reason. Was the pacing okay? Do you think I should have split it up? I considered doing that, but then I thought that that would be needlessly cruel.

So, how was it? Make sure to review, though that part isn't mandatory.

-Vicious Ventriloquist