A low scraping sound filled the room as Tofu prepared the knife for the coming battle, running the blade over and over again on the whetstone.  Satisfied with its sharpness, he turned it over looking for cracks.  He caught his reflection in the blade and it held him.  How quickly the past catches up with us, he thought.  How quickly it ages us.  He put the whetstone away and began the next step of preparation. 

He reached into his belt and pulled out the vial.  It was filled with an oily substance the color of old paper.  He removed the stopper and pulled out a swab, dipping it into the vial and pulling it out.  A faint scent almost like pine oil wafted up from the poison as he applied it to the blade with all the care and precision of his craft.  It was potent stuff, more than enough to kill an ordinary adult male, but it would probably just slow Mousse down.  That is, if he's fully recovered from the Red.  If not, it could be that the long hunt will be over with a mere scratch of the blade.

Tofu sheathed the knife and looked up at the old man seated across from him.  He was a professional, the old one.  He retained his silence and his composure the entire time, looking surprised only once when Tofu came up from behind with the knife.  Even now, the old man gazed fixedly at him, his face an expressionless mask.  There was no need for words.

The phone rang once, twice before the old man picked it up.  He brought it up to his ear, listening for a moment before responding.

"Good even...  Quite all right, sir…  Very well, sir."  He had barely put the phone down when Tofu was behind him, pressing the point on the back of his neck that would render him unconscious.  He slumped forward, head hanging as though he had fallen asleep.

Tofu put on his coat and shouldered the duffel pack he had set on the floor.  He stepped out onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette and taking one long drag before tossing it to the street below.  It was show time.

***

            "You live at The Imperial?" Nabiki asked, genuinely impressed.  The Imperial was usually reserved for celebrities, business tycoons, or government elite.  "Not bad for a country bumpkin from China."

            Mousse shrugged.  "They give me a good price."

            She raised her eyebrows.  "Is that so?"

            He shrugged again and smiled at her questioning look.  "My adopted family has many resources at its disposal.  I like to use them.  Shall we go in?"

            He offered his arm to her and she took it with a smile.  He got over his nervousness on the drive over, where she continued to tell him stories about who she called 'the Nerima Wrecking Crew,' a very apt name from what he'd seen.  Nothing was going to happen, he had told himself over and over again like a mantra.  She was going to come up, they were going to talk some more, and then she would go home.  Nothing was going to happen.  Nothing at all.  Oh, how his brothers and sisters would laugh if they could see him.

            "Excuse me," Mousse said as they passed by the manager's desk.  He gently removed his arm from hers.

            "Is something wrong?" Nabiki asked.

            "It's nothing, just a security precaution," he said as he walked to the desk and rang the service bell.  The manager, a slender, older woman with graying hair, came out of the office door.  She saw Mousse and bowed formally.

            "Good evening to you, Mr. Sun," she said.  "How may I help you?"

            "Good evening, Mrs. Koto," he answered.  "I need to use the telephone."

            The manager nodded and reached under the counter, pulling up an elaborately worked, silver-chased phone.  She pushed something under the counter and handed him the receiver.  He nodded to thanks and held it to his ear.  On the second ring, Mori picked up.

            "Good even."

            Mousse swore under his breath.  An intruder.  "Good even.  How are you feeling, Mori?" he asked.

            "Quite all right, sir."  Inside, possibly armed.

            "Could you draw a bath for me?"

            "Very well sir."

            Mousse hung up.  "Thank you, Mrs. Koto," he said, pushing the phone across the counter.  "Could you call my limo back around?"  The date would have to be cut short.

            "Mousse, what's wrong?" asked Nabiki from behind him.

            He turned around and sighed.  She looked at him coolly under half-lidded eyes, but he could sense the worry in her voice.  She was already suspicious.  There was no point in lying to her.

            "I'm afraid I have some business to take care of upstairs," he said apologetically.  "You should probably go home."

            She didn't budge.  "Business.  Right."

             "Nabiki, I'm serious, this is something I-"

            "I think I have a pretty good idea what kind of business you're talking about," she said in a tone that made him wince.  If she was still fuzzy from the alcohol, she wasn't showing it.  She stepped forward until she was so close she had to tilt her head up to see his face.  "And I know it's serious.  But you don't have to deal with it now."

            He looked down at her curiously.  He supposed if his head didn't feel like a balloon he would have caught on immediately.  "What do you mean?"

            "Come with me," she said.  Her expression softened.  "Whoever's upstairs can wait, just come to my place.  It's safe there, I promise."

            That last part sounded dangerously close to a plea.  "Nabiki, I don't have a choice," he answered gently.  "I can't-"

            "You can't let anyone stop you," she finished for him coldly.  She turned away from him and crossed her arms.

"Nabiki, I-"

"I think I will go home," she said, still cold.  She turned her head slightly.  "Try not to get yourself killed."

Mousse could only watch helplessly while she walked out the door.  He felt the sudden urge to call her back and tell her he would wait, but common sense held him back.  He had to rescue Mori and Lucifer.  And it's better this way with her out of danger.  He looked to the side to see the hotel manager staring at him with stern disapproval all over her face.  He bit back the urge to sneer at her.  Instead he clenched his teeth and walked stiffly outside.

What the hell did she know?  He thought to himself.  This is my duty.  He had trouble deciding whom he was thinking about.

He found her outside, waiting for her ride home.  She turned to see him and her face tightened.  She lifted her nose slightly in a way that almost seemed snobbish and then turned back.  He walked past her into the street without even a glance.  He didn't acknowledge the limo coming around the corner, or its blaring horn when it had to screech to a halt to avoid him.  He stared straight ahead until he came to the office building directly across the hotel, a huge stretched cube made of glass, steel, and cement placed on end. 

The building was locked up for the night and empty, except for a few security guards on each floor.  One was happening to walk by doing his rounds.  He knocked on the glass to get the guard's attention.  He came immediately and unlocked the door.  Mousse walked through the open door, pulling a ten thousand yen note and pressing it into the man's hand as he passed.  The guard bowed his head and waited for Mousse to disappear in the elevator before calling the other guards on his radio.  Mr. Sun was on business now and he would greatly appreciate his privacy.

***

Nabiki looked calm on the surface, but she seethed underneath.  That stupid…boy!  How could he do that to me!?  She took a deep breath.  There was no use getting angry over something she couldn't control.  There was nothing she could have done to keep him from dealing with his 'business.'  In fact, it would be better if she simply cut her losses here and just forgot about him.  It was obvious he was going to get himself killed someday, and she didn't look good in a funeral dress.

She was distracted from her broodings at the sight of a group of security guards gathered at the door of the building across the street.  They talked for a while then left.  What's this all about?  And why did he go there instead of up?  She frowned, her curiosity piqued.  She shook her head.  Don't even think about it.

The limo that chauffeured them pulled up in front of her.  The driver quickly got out and held the door open for her.  She made to get inside, but stopped for one last look at the building.  The urge to go in after him still tickled at the back of her mind.  She let out her breath in a huff.  He's just a stupid boy that I barely even know.  Why should I worry about him?

She angrily huffed again and stepped out of the limo just as the chauffeur was closing it.  "Wait here until I get back," she said, and left running as fast as she could in her high heels before he could object.  There was still time to catch up with the idiot and make him see reason.  She ended up tearing the pegs off her high heels halfway partly in frustration at Mousse and partly at how they slowed her down.  It almost hurt ruining such a stylish and expensive pair of shoes.  She made a mental note to extort more money out of Kuno the next time she got a chance.

When she came to the entrance she wrapped one hand around the handle and gave it an experimental tug.  She was half surprised when the door opened.  The guard had apparently forgotten to lock up after themselves.  The lobby was dark and completely empty.  She shivered slightly.  The only sound was the echo of her feet as she walked across the floor.  On the wall there was mounted a stone engraving of a mountain with a sunset behind it.  Below it was the name FLCL Co. Ltd..  She wondered what it was exactly that FLCL Co. Ltd. did.

Straight ahead were three elevators, one of which was being used.  She watched as the arrow registering the floor moved along the semicircle to the right.  It didn't stop until it reached the very end.  The roof.  She moved over to the next elevator and pressed the button.  She thought she had a pretty good idea what he wanted on the roof.  Assuming his room was facing the street, he should be able to get a good view of it from the roof of this building.  She amended her opinion of him as the elevator door opened.  He wasn't stupid.  He was just stubborn and suicidal.

***

Mousse pressed himself to the side as the elevator door opened.  After a moment he came out, quickly and low to ground in almost a crouch.  A light attached to the side of the elevator shed cast an orange glare across the roof.  He came to the edge of the building and peered over the side.  The light was on in his room, a floor below him, but he couldn't make out anything beyond a blur.  He cursed to himself and pulled a pair of glasses out of his sleeve.  He wished he had taken the time to put on a pair of contacts.  There were times when he couldn't wait to get corrective surgery done on his eyes.  His sight was perhaps the closest thing he had to a liability.  He squinted as the world took on a sharper cast and swore again at what he saw.

Mori was in one of the chairs, slumped over and head hanging over his chest.  Mori would never be caught sleeping on the job.  Mousse pulled out a pair of binoculars and trained them on Mori's still form, fearing the worst.  He didn't realize he was holding his breath until he let it out in a relieved sigh.  Mori was still alive, his chest and stomach moving gently with each breath. 

Mousse didn't know what warned him.  It could have been a slight shift in the air.  It could have been a sound so soft that it only registered subconsciously.  It could even have been the proverbial sixth sense.  He didn't know what it was but all the warning bells went off his head and he was twisting to the side, a flash of black filling his vision and a searing line of pain in his side.  He hooked the arm that had stabbed at him in his own and placed his hand over the knife handle, turning it back on its owner.  The hand immediately dropped it and came up, binding the arm that held it and coming around to lock it behind Mousse's back.  By this time a revolver was already in Mousse's free hand.  He fired twice into his assailant's body and the man flew back. 

Mousse stood, wincing at the pain in his side, and turned around to get a better look at his assailant.  The man was lucky to get so close if nothing else, though it was puzzling why he didn't use a gun instead of a knife.  A young one perhaps, wanting to make a name for himself by killing his mark up close.  Too bad his career was cut so tragically short.

But to Mousse's surprise his assailant stood back less than a dozen feet away, staring at him with hard, flat eyes behind a pair of spectacles.  It took him a moment to recognize that it was the man in the photo Mori had showed him earlier.  His mouth turned up into a cold smile.  Well, well. What do we have here?  Mousse blinked and then his mouth twisted with distaste.  Even under the harsh orange glare he could see the man's torso and limbs bulged unnaturally under his black duster.  Body armor.

"Body armor is for pussies, friend," he said as casually as if he was discussing the weather.  The revolver disappeared with a flick of his wrist, to be replaced with a knife whose curved blade was a full foot in length.  He didn't want to kill the man, at least not before he was interrogated.  He already had his suspicions; it wouldn't be the first time some government or other had acted against his family and he wouldn't put it past Cologne to have hired some assassin to do her dirty work.  But it never hurt to make absolutely sure.  He pulled at the collar of his shirt.  It was suddenly very hot. 

If the man was afraid he gave no sign.    Mousse's respect for his would be killer went up a notch.  Most people tended to overreact when faced with their own demise.  Mousse blinked as sweat began to trickle into his eyes and pulled the strip of silk from his throat.  It felt as though the thin cloth was tightening, cutting off his breathing.  He drew in a deep breath and struggled to focus on the man in front of him.  He squinted as the man alternated between clarity and a dark stain against an orange light.

"Bastard," Mousse slurred as he fell back a step.  The floating sensation in his head made it hard to keep his balance.  He tightened his grip on the knife so he wouldn't drop it.  By this time he knew the heat had nothing to do with the weather.

The stranger rushed forward, bringing his foot up in a sharp kick that knocked the knife from Mousse's hand.  He spun, swinging his other foot in a wide arc at Mousse's head.  But Mousse was already in a crouch and leaped up as the leg passed overhead, catching it and lifting the stranger off his feet before slamming him to the ground.  His head hit the ground with a sharp crack.

Mousse took advantage of the stranger's disorientation by grabbing at his duster and pulling himself up until he was eye to eye with him.  He forced his forearm under the man's chin and pressed down.  The man made a choking sound as his breath was cut off.  Another knife appeared in Mousse's other hand, shorter than the previous one, with a triangle shaped blade tapering to a wicked point.  Still, the man had some fight in him.  Hands came up either side of Mousse's face, thumbs probing for his eyes and a knee came up seeking his crotch.

Mousse shook his head free of the hands, losing his glasses in the process, and at the same time moving his leg to intercept the knee.  He grit his teeth and pressed down harder, raising his knife for the killing blow through the eye.  Just as the knife was coming down, the man raised a hand to block it, getting a long gash down his palm as he attempted to wrestle it from Mousse's grasp.  The man cried out as Mousse ripped the knife away, leaving a deeper cut in the obstructing hand and prepared to stab again.  The man's other hand came up, not to block, but striking sharply with stiffened fingers at Mousse's neck.  Pain ripped through Mousse's body as the hand hit a nerve.  Spots danced in his already blurred vision.  He felt the knife drop from suddenly nerveless fingers as the man threw him off to the side.

Mousse scrambled to his feet, but only got halfway up before the man planted a running kick into his side.  He flew back into the elevator shed and fell in a heap.   He sucked in deep, gasping breaths as he forced himself up using the wall as support, blinking away the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him.  Deep in his brain, under the pain and the poison, one clear thought kept repeating itself over and over again.

You are going to die.

He laughed, but it came out more as a choking cough.  He always knew he would die in some unnatural way, maybe burning out on the Red or under the cold gaze of an Elder, but he never quite ever saw himself getting iced by some hired gun.  The very thought would have made him laugh a short while ago.  It wasn't as amusing now that it was actually happening, but it was still damn funny.

You are going to die.

            He would have laughed again if the man weren't in front of him again, pressing a knife to his throat.  So he grinned instead at his eminent doom.  However, a part of him simply would not accept it.  It screamed at him, almost drowning out the 'You are going to die.' track that replayed over and over again in his head.

            Do something!  Use a weapon, a gun, a knife, a fucking spatula, anything!

            No good.  Can't concentrate.  Why would I use a spatula?

            Then use a chi blast!  This is not the time to be picky!

            Don't like using chi.  Can't concentrate anyway.  Poison.  Never liked that band.

            "What's so funny?" the man asked softly, increasing the pressure behind the blade.  Something flickered in his eyes.  It looked like fear.

            His grin grew wider, exposing all his teeth.  "You.  Me.  Us."

            The man frowned slightly.  "You're insane."

             "It's the poison, buddy.  You remember, the poison you put in me?  It's messing with my chi."  His grin took on a more malicious look.  "If it wasn't for the poison, I'd have had you screaming for your mommy right about now."

            He never saw the man's arm move, but he felt the elbow as it smashed into the side of his face.  He almost fell but quickly righted himself when he felt the tip of the knife pressed under his chin.  He kept grinning, exposing blood-stained teeth.  "How's the hand?" he asked as though nothing had happened, eyes flicking down to his captor's wounded hand.  "Getting stiff?  I cut you pretty deep.  Better get that looked after pretty soon now if you want to keep using it."

            The knife pressed harder, enough to draw a trickle of blood.  "You are a monster," he said.

            "Shit."  He laughed as best he could with a knife to his neck.  "How does the saying go? The pot calling the kettle black?"  His bleary mind was working at a frantic pace, but he wasn't sure in what direction.  "It's obvious you know what I am, but what are you?"

            He could feel the man's grip on the knife tighten.  "I'm nothing like you."

            "Yeah, I'm not a self-righteous prick."

The man's face tightened.  "Big words for a little boy that's about to die."

            "You gonna ghost me now?"  He sneered.  "Come on then, ghost me you li-"

            The elevator door opened.  The man was distracted for a split second and Mousse saw his chance.  He didn't remember summoning the guns to his hands, he didn't think he could, but they were there and he was firing, alternating between hands and feeling vaguely like some cut-rate cowboy out of a spaghetti western.  He couldn't tell what kind of guns he was firing or where the bullets were going but that didn't keep him pulling the triggers.  At least some of the bullets must have found their mark, for the man staggered back, half in escape and half from the bullets, until he ran out of roof and disappeared over the edge.

            Mousse stumbled after the man as quickly as he could, new guns appearing in his hands to replace the spent ones.  He peered over the edge, wanting to see a black shape screaming towards the pavement but not expecting to.  Ten stories down, he caught a glimpse of black disappearing into an open window. 

            "Mousse?" came a voice from behind him.

            He whirled, guns raised, and then lowered them.  "Nabiki?" he whispered, and fell to one knee.  Sweat rolled down his face and fell to the ground.  His breath came in gasps.  Thirst clawed at the inside of his throat.  The darkness that he had managed to hold back during the fight once again began to encroach on his vision and almost swallowed him.  He fought it back and forced himself to his feet.  This small victory over unconsciousness was short-lived however, as almost immediately he felt himself begin to pitch forward.

***

            Nabiki didn't know what to expect when she stepped out of the elevator, but it was definitely not the sight of Mousse with a gun in each hand, firing away at a man until he fell off the roof.  She didn't remember speaking his name but he turned suddenly, guns raised and trained on her.  She took an involuntary step back at the sight of guns pointed in her direction, but lowered them when he saw her.  She saw his mouth moving in what she thought was her name and then he fell to one knee, head dropping to his chest.   He almost immediately came back to his feet, but began to fall forward again.  She ran without thinking and was there to catch him.  He was surprisingly light for his size.

            She tried to lay him down on the ground but he would have none of it.  He pushed her away roughly and staggered under his own weight, but somehow kept his feet.  He took a deep, shuddering breath and stood there, eyes closed.

            "You idiot!" Nabiki shouted, then took a deep breath herself.  She continued after finding much of her usual calm, though her hands trembled slightly.  She clenched them.  "You could have been killed.  Why couldn't you just listen to me?"

            She supposed a more compassionate woman would have asked if he was alright, but it was fairly obvious he didn't want her help, even now.  Looking at him now, she couldn't see what reason he could possibly find for coming up here.  He looked like he could barely stand, though the only visible wounds she could find were an ugly bruise on the side of his face and some blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.  He looked more ill than hurt, like someone with a high fever.  Sweat rolled down his pale face, except for two spots of color high on his cheeks, and he shuddered occasionally.  When he opened his eyes he looked as though he could barely focus them, but he somehow managed to see her.

            "We have to leave.  Now."

            "What are you-" she began, but it turned into a surprised gasp when he came forward and literally swept her off her feet, one arm under her legs and the other under her back.  And then he turned and was running toward the edge of the roof.  She didn't have time to struggle before they ran out of roof and were suddenly sailing through the air.  Her stomach dropped to her feet and she screamed as they cleared the street below in a second that stretched itself to forever.  Then a sudden jarring sensation and stillness.  She didn't remember squeezing her eyes shut, but she had to force them open one at a time to see that she was on a very large balcony.  She put one leg down tentatively, as though to be sure the ground was solid, and then the other.

            Nabiki turned around, prepared to give him a slap and then a piece of her mind, but thought better of it when she saw that he was barely able to keep his balance.  She only watched as he stepped unsteadily out of the crater of ruined concrete his landing had created and walked into the room.  She followed him silently inside, where a gray-haired man she recognized as the man Mousse talked to after the fight with Ranma was sitting on a chair, apparently unconscious.  A black kitten that was napping in the man's lap awoke at Mousse's entrance and ran up to him.  He picked it up and then lifted the man off the chair and threw him over his shoulder.

            He turned to her and held out the kitten in one hand.  "Can you hold him for me?"

            She took the kitten away and held it close.  She didn't want to admit it to herself, but the presence of the little bundle of fur did help calm her.  "What happened back there, Mousse?" she asked following him as he walked to the door.  She guessed this was his room.  Under ordinary circumstances she would have stopped to admire it, but the circumstances were hardly ordinary.

            "Someone's after me," he said as he poked his head out the door and checked both sides before venturing out into the hall.  He motioned for her to follow him and she did so.

            "Are you sick?" she asked as he pressed the button for the elevator.  They waited for the few tense moments it took for the elevator doors to open.

            "Poison," he answered as the elevator doors closed behind them and they were going down.  He set the man's body down with a wince.

            "Poison!" she exclaimed, alarmed.

            "Don't worry, it won't kill me," he replied calmly.  "He cut me with a poisoned knife."

            "You're cut!" she exclaimed again.  She looked him over.  "Where?"

            The elevator came to a stop before he could answer.  A gun suddenly appeared in his hand and the doors opened, revealing a cleaning maid pulling a load of sheets behind her.  She stopped short and froze when she saw the gun.  For a long moment no one moved as Mousse stared at the maid and the maid stared at the gun.  Then he lifted the old man under one arm and tossed him on the laundry.  He also took the cat from Nabiki and set it beside the unconscious man.

            "Watch over him until he wakes up," he said.  The maid only nodded mutely, not taking her eyes from the gun as the elevator doors closed and they were once again going down. 

            "Was that really necessary?" Nabiki asked after Mousse made the gun disappear.
            "Yes," he answered, leaning against the wall with a sigh and closing his eyes.

            The elevator shook slightly.  Nabiki barely noticed it, and if she had she would have dismissed it out of hand as just something old elevators do, but Mousse had a different reaction.  His eyes snapped open and he was moving, hitting the emergency stop.  The elevator jarred to a stop and Nabiki stumbled into his back.

            "What-" she began, but cut off when he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward the door.  He slammed his fist on the 'open' button.  The doors opened slowly and she saw that they were halfway past the opening onto the floor.

            "Out!" Mousse shouted, any sign that he was still weak from the poison disappearing.  The gun reappeared in his hand, which he now aimed at the ceiling.  Nabiki could now hear what sounded like movement above them.  "What are you waiting for, get out!"

            Nabiki decided now was not the best time to argue and climbed through the door, rolling the rest of the way out.  She turned back to see the door already closing on Mousse, feverish almost to the point of unconsciousness and still aiming his gun at the ceiling.  And on the roof, a black form crouched, a gun also in hand.  The man on the roof turned his head slowly to peer at what crawled out and Nabiki's breath caught as their eyes met.  Dr. Tofu, the lighthearted man who had been her family physician since as long as she could remember now stared at her with cold, dead eyes.  He was still staring at her when the doors finally closed.  The muffled roar of gunfire soon filled the air, receding as the elevator descended.

            Nabiki stood there for a moment longer in stark disbelief.  For some reason, she had never really believed what Ukyo had said about Dr. Tofu.  Now she could see why.  The thought that someone she had once known changing so radically was hard to accept, even in a place like Nerima.

            Someone I thought I knew, she corrected herself mentally, as she moved on to the next elevator and pressed the button.  The urge to drop it all and let Mousse look after himself came back, but she couldn't bring herself to leave him.  At the same time, she knew there was nothing she could do; she wasn't about to get between two deadly gunmen hellbent on killing each other.  But what could she do?  She was still debating with herself as she stepped on the elevator.