*~* Hidden Fires *~*
Chapter 4: Stigmata II / Where Only Darkness Dares to Tread
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I will be your father figure
Put your tiny hand in mine
I will be your teacher, preacher,
Anything you have in mind . . . ."
-George Michael, "Father Figure"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Murakumo casually dropped his latest 'recruit' to
the floor of the abandoned warehouse. Five slovenly
drunks off the streets, they all possessed the low
brain capacity and heightened strength that he needed.
He stood over them as they lay unconscious; reaching
into a pocket of his jacket, he withdrew five red
mitamas. His blue mitamas began glowing as he focused
his energy on the souls in his hand. Just as the light
threatened to blind him, he lashed out and fused the
mitamas into each man's throat. "Go forth," he
commanded as his newly-made slaves began to pick
themselves up off the floor. "Go out and bring to me
the other Kushinada!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Matsudaira slowly drew on the pair of rubber gloves,
snapping them into place around her wrist. Her
weariness was only evidenced by the dark circles under
her eyes; how she managed to keep up such a
professional air was a mystery even to herself. Alone
now in the morgue, however, she could relax the facade
slightly.
As she slid the corpse out of the drawer, she
mentally reviewed the case reports Sugishita had
rushed to her shortly after midnight. The Shinjuku
district of Tokyo had been plagued by over thirteen
murders within the span of a week; all the victims
were young women, and all had been savagely raped and
beaten before being killed. The semen was oddly more
consistent with plant pollen than actual human
products, which had been the first clue as to possible
Aragami involvement. The clincher, though, had come
late that evening, when five recently beheaded corpses
were found inside an abandoned warehouse. Intuition
had told her to come to the morgue and investigate
further.
The timing of the events was what had concerned
Matsudaira and Kunikida the most. The first of the
murders had occured just two days before Kusanagi was
overcome by a mysterious illness; the rate of the
murders had increased dramatically since then. With
Kusanagi barely hanging on to life, the TAC was put at
a decided disadvantage. The entire fate of humankind
depended on Momiji's safety. With her guardian out of
commission- Matsudaira sighed and pushed those
thoughts out of her head.
She slowly unzipped the body bag, still trying to
focus her mind on the task at hand. She knew what had
happened in the reports, but that didn't quite prepare
her for the actual sight. The man's throat had been
slit from ear to ear; only the spinal cord connected
the head to the body. The victim's head wobbled
sligthly, its eyes staring milkily up at the ceiling.
In the center of its forehead was a gaping wound in
the rough shape of a comma. The skull gleamed through
the wound, unnatural holes mottling the hard white
bone. Matsudaira stopped her inspection as she sighted
a ragged bit of red flesh poking up through the skull.
"That's odd," she murmured to herself, leaning in for
a closer look. "There shouldn't be any arterial
intrusions here . . . ." Pulling out a tiny scalpel,
she neatly sectioned off a bit of the flesh and
balanced it on the edge of the blade. The scientist
began to put it away in a specimen tube, ignoring her
surroundings, when something cold and horribly spongy
locked around her wrist.
The filmy, red-tinged eyes of the corpse stared
straight at her; the blue-tinged lips curled into a
hideous grin as it yanked her next to it. She could
feel the hand twisting her wrist, could see the evil
leer on the corpse's face, but could not make a sound.
Her vocal chords were paralyzed with fear; she dropped
the scalpel and specimen tube to the floor, where the
glass shattered noiselessly. ". . . fuck the Kushinada
. . . fuck you . . . ," it rasped as small tendrils of
red flesh began to regrow around the slit edges of its
throat. "Take- take you-"
And it was then, as she realized exactly what this
reaninmated Aragami was planning, that Matsudaira
finally regained her voice. She pulled away as hard as
she could and let out an ear-piercing shriek that
seemed to make the very walls of the room shake. She
screamed loud enough to awaken the dead around her.
The corpse began twisting her wrist harder, grimly
trying to crush the small bones-
The deafening report of a gunshot suddenly blasted
the room. The Aragami-infested corpse fell back to the
cart with a meaty thud; the 'life' which had
reanimated it faded from eyes. Sugishita quickly
lowered the smoking barrel of his pistol and rushed to
the woman's side, followed by several security guards.
"Are you okay? What happened? I was coming to bring
you the rest of the reports and-"
Matsudaira, still trembling, slowly lowered herself
into a chair. "Warn Kunikida," she rasped, cutting him
off. "Must warn him now- Momiji's in danger. She's in-
danger-"
And for the first time in her professional life,
Matsudaira fainted.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Takeuchi slowly eased out of the infirmary, being
careful not to make a sound. Momiji had finally fallen
asleep (or cried herself to sleep; she wasn't sure
which) on the cot beside Kusanagi's bed. She had made
a final check of the monitors before going back into
the main office for a quick nap.
The woman sighed to herself as she settled down on
the couch. Kusanagi's condition was slowly worsening
again; it didn't take a scientist to tell the signs.
She knew that Momiji would not take that news well
when she woke up. The Kushinada still firmly believed
that he would pull through the illness, but the rest
of the team did not share her optimism. Takeuchi
sighed again and closed her eyes. The office was quiet
for once; Koume and Yaegashi had been sent home, since
there was nothing for them to do. Matsudaira had left
around midnight to investigate something at the
morgue.
As for Kunikida . . . well, she, Matsudaira, and
Sugishita had finally forced him to go home as well.
He hadn't slept or rested in over three days, and the
strain was beginning to take a real toll on him. They
needed the boss in top condition to function for the
team. She smiled slightly as she began to fall asleep.
His stubborn strength and determination, just two more
aspects of the man that she loved so . . . .
Three pairs of glowing red eyes watched Takeuchi as
she fell asleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*
*~* The infiltration of the government by the
Aragami was proceeding smoothly; and as long as Orochi was
pleased, Kusanagi was spared his master's wrath. He
spent most of his time watching the Kushinada as
always, but now Orochi had entrusted him as a
messenger between itself and one of its main
infiltrators. The added duties left him little time
for anything besides a quick nap once a week, but he
didn't mind; he worked harder than ever to prove
himself worthy of his assignment.
The main contact Kusanagi met with was an Aragami
who had assumed the name of Akuyou Fushi. Whether he
was human or a clone wasn't known, but he fit in
perfectly with human norms and behaviors. Orochi had
stationed him within the Ministry of Defense as a
top-level assistant to the Director; this position
frequently brought him into contact with most
information pertaining to the activities of the TAC.
Kusanagi couldn't understand anything about the odd
sheets full of symbols that he shuttled between Akuyou
and his master, except that Orochi had deemed the
information of top priority.
The boy leapt from windowsill to windowsill of
the Diet building, taking care to stay in the shadows.
This was the one duty he actually enjoyed doing. He
had been incredibly shy during his first meeting with
Akuyou, but the older man's warm personality and
quirky sense of humor had somehow won him over. Akuyou
was everything Orochi was not; he never shouted when
he was angry, and he always treated Kusanagi as
something of an equal. And he had never hit him.
Never.
Those next few times they had met, Akuyou had
something for him in his office; more often than not,
it was some type of sweet. Once, however, after Orochi
had beaten him for forgetting to address him properly
(or as properly as the demon had wanted at the time),
the man had given him a small stuffed animal. He had
no idea what to *do* with it, but the gesture warmed
him inside nonetheless. And no matter how busy he was,
Akuyou was always willing to listen to him.
Occasionally, he would let him sit in his lap and tell
him stories of the oddities of human nature while the
boy played with the items on his desk.
Kusanagi, in his most private fantasies, often
imagined this strange man as being his real father.
Why not? He was the only person in the world who had
showed him any level of kindness. It didn't matter
that he was occasionally uncomfortable with Akuyou's
persistent patting on the back, or the way he held him
too tight on his lap; he felt relaxed and carefree in
the other's presence. Just knowing that *someone*
cared about how he felt was more than enough.
The young boy finally landed painfully on a
ledge. Orochi hadn't been too happy with the last few
reports, and had taken his frustrations out on him.
The jeans he wore rubbed agonizingly against the raw
welts on the back of his legs; and the healing scrapes
on his back still ached when he overextended himself.
He glanced around to make sure that no one was
watching, then rapped three times on Akuyou's window.
The older man ambled over to the window and
opened it, a wide smile on his face. "You've come for
another report, eh?" he asked as Kusanagi climbed
inside.
"Yeah," he said with a nod. "He said that you'd
have a- a crystal or something for him."
"Ah, the ceramic crystals. I'll get them in a
moment; it won't hurt Orochi to wait a bit, will it?"
He stepped over to his desk; picking up the cobalt
paperweight, he began idly tossing it his hands. "Why
don't you go ahead and sit down for a bit, take a
break. You can keep me company for a while."
The boy glanced down at the floor. "I can't," he
said softly.
Akuyou raised an eyebrow, a hurt expression on
his face. "I thought you'd *want* to spent some time
with your old friend, but-"
"No, it's not that!" he exclaimed, worried. "It
just hurts- when I sit down or-"
The older man motioned him closer and pulled the
boy's T-shirt up. "Orochi certainly did a number on
you, eh?" He ran a hand over the healing scrapes.
"These seem to be healing all right. Where else did
you get hit? No, let me guess," and he ran a hand
slowly down the back of one leg, making him stiffen in
pain. "Just as I thought. Why don't you shuck off your
jeans there, and I'll clean out the wounds. You don't
want them to get infected, do you?"
Kusanagi glanced at his jeans, then, with a
shrug, slid them off. Behind him, Akuyou whistled.
"You've got some nasty cuts there, Mamoru," he said,
opening the kit and pulling out an iodine bottle. "Now
hold still; this is going to sting like hell."
He stood rigidly as the older man began to slowly
wash out each cut and scrape, the hiss of breathing
through his clenched teeth being the only sign of pain
he would show. It seemed to take an eternity; he
seemed to take longer to finish the higher up the
child's legs he went. "There," and the adult's voice
was a bit husky, "that takes care of that. Feeling
better?"
"Not really-" He cringed. "I'm sorry, Akuyou, I
mean-"
The older man laughed. "No, I know how much that
stuff burns. It'll fade in a few minutes." He stared
at the boy thoughtfully for a few seconds, then put a
fatherly hand on his shoulder. "You know, Mamoru, I'm
really glad you came today. I have something I want to
show you."
"Really? What?" The child's eyes were alight with
anticipation.
He seemed to take his time in answering. "It's a
game, a *special* game for just the two of us, and no
one else." He smiled down at him, a predatory glint in
his eye. "You do want to do this with me, don't you?"
Kusanagi nodded, a little confused by his
friend's sudden mood swing. "You don't know how much
that means to me," Akuyou said, gently pushing him up
to his overstuffed chair. "Just stand there," he
warned. "Just be very still and then we'll begin."
There was the rustle of fabric behind him, then
the older man's large hands cupped the child around
the waist. He began squirming nervously. "Akuyou, I- I
don't-"
"Shhh . . . it's going to be all right," he
promised, slipping his hands down further. "Just be
still-"
It was if someone had thrust a sword into his
lower stomach. Kusanagi tried to scream, but one large
hand clamped over his mouth. "It'll be over soon," the
adult crooned, ignoring the boy's muffled cries as he
began rocking back and forth. "It'll be all right . .
. ."
Orochi finally found his young protege huddled in
the corner of the alley beside the Ministry of
Defense. *Kusanagi?* it hissed. *Where are the ceramic
crystals?*
There was no answer. The Aragami reached out with
one tentacle and slapped him; he did not even flinch.
It slithered in further until it was almost eye to eye
with the boy, surveying every detail of the corner he
sat in. Kusanagi was curled up in nothing but the
ragged remains of a T-shirt; a small puddle of blood
and fluids had collected under him. As it watched, he
whimpered slightly and tried to back up further into
the corner.
It struck him again, trying to get a response.
Slowly, he lifted his bleak, tear-streaked face up
towards his master; utter shame clouded his eyes.
Orochi stared at him long and hard, then finally
spoke. *If you are so weak that you cannot defend
yourself against a mere *human*,* and its voice
dripped with contempt, *then you have no one to blame
for your misfortune but yourself.* It then turned away
in disgust, slowly melting back into the shadows.
Kusanagi stared out at the bleak alley; as soon
as he knew Orochi had left, he wrapped his arms around
his knees and began to tremble uncontrollably. "My
fault," he whispered in a tremulous voice, a single
tear running down his cheek. "It's all my fault . . .
."
*~* *~* *~*
The tinkling of broken glass instantly jerked
Takeuchi out of her sleep. She reflexively reached out
for her pistol-
And a heavy boot stomped on her hand. "I don't think
so," a siblant voice hissed. "Not now . . . or ever."
Five shadowed men stood around her in a semicircle,
guns and knives drawn. Their faces seemed to beam out
of the darkness; in the center of each man's forehead
glowed a throbbing red mitama.
Chapter 4: Stigmata II / Where Only Darkness Dares to Tread
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I will be your father figure
Put your tiny hand in mine
I will be your teacher, preacher,
Anything you have in mind . . . ."
-George Michael, "Father Figure"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Murakumo casually dropped his latest 'recruit' to
the floor of the abandoned warehouse. Five slovenly
drunks off the streets, they all possessed the low
brain capacity and heightened strength that he needed.
He stood over them as they lay unconscious; reaching
into a pocket of his jacket, he withdrew five red
mitamas. His blue mitamas began glowing as he focused
his energy on the souls in his hand. Just as the light
threatened to blind him, he lashed out and fused the
mitamas into each man's throat. "Go forth," he
commanded as his newly-made slaves began to pick
themselves up off the floor. "Go out and bring to me
the other Kushinada!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Matsudaira slowly drew on the pair of rubber gloves,
snapping them into place around her wrist. Her
weariness was only evidenced by the dark circles under
her eyes; how she managed to keep up such a
professional air was a mystery even to herself. Alone
now in the morgue, however, she could relax the facade
slightly.
As she slid the corpse out of the drawer, she
mentally reviewed the case reports Sugishita had
rushed to her shortly after midnight. The Shinjuku
district of Tokyo had been plagued by over thirteen
murders within the span of a week; all the victims
were young women, and all had been savagely raped and
beaten before being killed. The semen was oddly more
consistent with plant pollen than actual human
products, which had been the first clue as to possible
Aragami involvement. The clincher, though, had come
late that evening, when five recently beheaded corpses
were found inside an abandoned warehouse. Intuition
had told her to come to the morgue and investigate
further.
The timing of the events was what had concerned
Matsudaira and Kunikida the most. The first of the
murders had occured just two days before Kusanagi was
overcome by a mysterious illness; the rate of the
murders had increased dramatically since then. With
Kusanagi barely hanging on to life, the TAC was put at
a decided disadvantage. The entire fate of humankind
depended on Momiji's safety. With her guardian out of
commission- Matsudaira sighed and pushed those
thoughts out of her head.
She slowly unzipped the body bag, still trying to
focus her mind on the task at hand. She knew what had
happened in the reports, but that didn't quite prepare
her for the actual sight. The man's throat had been
slit from ear to ear; only the spinal cord connected
the head to the body. The victim's head wobbled
sligthly, its eyes staring milkily up at the ceiling.
In the center of its forehead was a gaping wound in
the rough shape of a comma. The skull gleamed through
the wound, unnatural holes mottling the hard white
bone. Matsudaira stopped her inspection as she sighted
a ragged bit of red flesh poking up through the skull.
"That's odd," she murmured to herself, leaning in for
a closer look. "There shouldn't be any arterial
intrusions here . . . ." Pulling out a tiny scalpel,
she neatly sectioned off a bit of the flesh and
balanced it on the edge of the blade. The scientist
began to put it away in a specimen tube, ignoring her
surroundings, when something cold and horribly spongy
locked around her wrist.
The filmy, red-tinged eyes of the corpse stared
straight at her; the blue-tinged lips curled into a
hideous grin as it yanked her next to it. She could
feel the hand twisting her wrist, could see the evil
leer on the corpse's face, but could not make a sound.
Her vocal chords were paralyzed with fear; she dropped
the scalpel and specimen tube to the floor, where the
glass shattered noiselessly. ". . . fuck the Kushinada
. . . fuck you . . . ," it rasped as small tendrils of
red flesh began to regrow around the slit edges of its
throat. "Take- take you-"
And it was then, as she realized exactly what this
reaninmated Aragami was planning, that Matsudaira
finally regained her voice. She pulled away as hard as
she could and let out an ear-piercing shriek that
seemed to make the very walls of the room shake. She
screamed loud enough to awaken the dead around her.
The corpse began twisting her wrist harder, grimly
trying to crush the small bones-
The deafening report of a gunshot suddenly blasted
the room. The Aragami-infested corpse fell back to the
cart with a meaty thud; the 'life' which had
reanimated it faded from eyes. Sugishita quickly
lowered the smoking barrel of his pistol and rushed to
the woman's side, followed by several security guards.
"Are you okay? What happened? I was coming to bring
you the rest of the reports and-"
Matsudaira, still trembling, slowly lowered herself
into a chair. "Warn Kunikida," she rasped, cutting him
off. "Must warn him now- Momiji's in danger. She's in-
danger-"
And for the first time in her professional life,
Matsudaira fainted.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Takeuchi slowly eased out of the infirmary, being
careful not to make a sound. Momiji had finally fallen
asleep (or cried herself to sleep; she wasn't sure
which) on the cot beside Kusanagi's bed. She had made
a final check of the monitors before going back into
the main office for a quick nap.
The woman sighed to herself as she settled down on
the couch. Kusanagi's condition was slowly worsening
again; it didn't take a scientist to tell the signs.
She knew that Momiji would not take that news well
when she woke up. The Kushinada still firmly believed
that he would pull through the illness, but the rest
of the team did not share her optimism. Takeuchi
sighed again and closed her eyes. The office was quiet
for once; Koume and Yaegashi had been sent home, since
there was nothing for them to do. Matsudaira had left
around midnight to investigate something at the
morgue.
As for Kunikida . . . well, she, Matsudaira, and
Sugishita had finally forced him to go home as well.
He hadn't slept or rested in over three days, and the
strain was beginning to take a real toll on him. They
needed the boss in top condition to function for the
team. She smiled slightly as she began to fall asleep.
His stubborn strength and determination, just two more
aspects of the man that she loved so . . . .
Three pairs of glowing red eyes watched Takeuchi as
she fell asleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*
*~* The infiltration of the government by the
Aragami was proceeding smoothly; and as long as Orochi was
pleased, Kusanagi was spared his master's wrath. He
spent most of his time watching the Kushinada as
always, but now Orochi had entrusted him as a
messenger between itself and one of its main
infiltrators. The added duties left him little time
for anything besides a quick nap once a week, but he
didn't mind; he worked harder than ever to prove
himself worthy of his assignment.
The main contact Kusanagi met with was an Aragami
who had assumed the name of Akuyou Fushi. Whether he
was human or a clone wasn't known, but he fit in
perfectly with human norms and behaviors. Orochi had
stationed him within the Ministry of Defense as a
top-level assistant to the Director; this position
frequently brought him into contact with most
information pertaining to the activities of the TAC.
Kusanagi couldn't understand anything about the odd
sheets full of symbols that he shuttled between Akuyou
and his master, except that Orochi had deemed the
information of top priority.
The boy leapt from windowsill to windowsill of
the Diet building, taking care to stay in the shadows.
This was the one duty he actually enjoyed doing. He
had been incredibly shy during his first meeting with
Akuyou, but the older man's warm personality and
quirky sense of humor had somehow won him over. Akuyou
was everything Orochi was not; he never shouted when
he was angry, and he always treated Kusanagi as
something of an equal. And he had never hit him.
Never.
Those next few times they had met, Akuyou had
something for him in his office; more often than not,
it was some type of sweet. Once, however, after Orochi
had beaten him for forgetting to address him properly
(or as properly as the demon had wanted at the time),
the man had given him a small stuffed animal. He had
no idea what to *do* with it, but the gesture warmed
him inside nonetheless. And no matter how busy he was,
Akuyou was always willing to listen to him.
Occasionally, he would let him sit in his lap and tell
him stories of the oddities of human nature while the
boy played with the items on his desk.
Kusanagi, in his most private fantasies, often
imagined this strange man as being his real father.
Why not? He was the only person in the world who had
showed him any level of kindness. It didn't matter
that he was occasionally uncomfortable with Akuyou's
persistent patting on the back, or the way he held him
too tight on his lap; he felt relaxed and carefree in
the other's presence. Just knowing that *someone*
cared about how he felt was more than enough.
The young boy finally landed painfully on a
ledge. Orochi hadn't been too happy with the last few
reports, and had taken his frustrations out on him.
The jeans he wore rubbed agonizingly against the raw
welts on the back of his legs; and the healing scrapes
on his back still ached when he overextended himself.
He glanced around to make sure that no one was
watching, then rapped three times on Akuyou's window.
The older man ambled over to the window and
opened it, a wide smile on his face. "You've come for
another report, eh?" he asked as Kusanagi climbed
inside.
"Yeah," he said with a nod. "He said that you'd
have a- a crystal or something for him."
"Ah, the ceramic crystals. I'll get them in a
moment; it won't hurt Orochi to wait a bit, will it?"
He stepped over to his desk; picking up the cobalt
paperweight, he began idly tossing it his hands. "Why
don't you go ahead and sit down for a bit, take a
break. You can keep me company for a while."
The boy glanced down at the floor. "I can't," he
said softly.
Akuyou raised an eyebrow, a hurt expression on
his face. "I thought you'd *want* to spent some time
with your old friend, but-"
"No, it's not that!" he exclaimed, worried. "It
just hurts- when I sit down or-"
The older man motioned him closer and pulled the
boy's T-shirt up. "Orochi certainly did a number on
you, eh?" He ran a hand over the healing scrapes.
"These seem to be healing all right. Where else did
you get hit? No, let me guess," and he ran a hand
slowly down the back of one leg, making him stiffen in
pain. "Just as I thought. Why don't you shuck off your
jeans there, and I'll clean out the wounds. You don't
want them to get infected, do you?"
Kusanagi glanced at his jeans, then, with a
shrug, slid them off. Behind him, Akuyou whistled.
"You've got some nasty cuts there, Mamoru," he said,
opening the kit and pulling out an iodine bottle. "Now
hold still; this is going to sting like hell."
He stood rigidly as the older man began to slowly
wash out each cut and scrape, the hiss of breathing
through his clenched teeth being the only sign of pain
he would show. It seemed to take an eternity; he
seemed to take longer to finish the higher up the
child's legs he went. "There," and the adult's voice
was a bit husky, "that takes care of that. Feeling
better?"
"Not really-" He cringed. "I'm sorry, Akuyou, I
mean-"
The older man laughed. "No, I know how much that
stuff burns. It'll fade in a few minutes." He stared
at the boy thoughtfully for a few seconds, then put a
fatherly hand on his shoulder. "You know, Mamoru, I'm
really glad you came today. I have something I want to
show you."
"Really? What?" The child's eyes were alight with
anticipation.
He seemed to take his time in answering. "It's a
game, a *special* game for just the two of us, and no
one else." He smiled down at him, a predatory glint in
his eye. "You do want to do this with me, don't you?"
Kusanagi nodded, a little confused by his
friend's sudden mood swing. "You don't know how much
that means to me," Akuyou said, gently pushing him up
to his overstuffed chair. "Just stand there," he
warned. "Just be very still and then we'll begin."
There was the rustle of fabric behind him, then
the older man's large hands cupped the child around
the waist. He began squirming nervously. "Akuyou, I- I
don't-"
"Shhh . . . it's going to be all right," he
promised, slipping his hands down further. "Just be
still-"
It was if someone had thrust a sword into his
lower stomach. Kusanagi tried to scream, but one large
hand clamped over his mouth. "It'll be over soon," the
adult crooned, ignoring the boy's muffled cries as he
began rocking back and forth. "It'll be all right . .
. ."
Orochi finally found his young protege huddled in
the corner of the alley beside the Ministry of
Defense. *Kusanagi?* it hissed. *Where are the ceramic
crystals?*
There was no answer. The Aragami reached out with
one tentacle and slapped him; he did not even flinch.
It slithered in further until it was almost eye to eye
with the boy, surveying every detail of the corner he
sat in. Kusanagi was curled up in nothing but the
ragged remains of a T-shirt; a small puddle of blood
and fluids had collected under him. As it watched, he
whimpered slightly and tried to back up further into
the corner.
It struck him again, trying to get a response.
Slowly, he lifted his bleak, tear-streaked face up
towards his master; utter shame clouded his eyes.
Orochi stared at him long and hard, then finally
spoke. *If you are so weak that you cannot defend
yourself against a mere *human*,* and its voice
dripped with contempt, *then you have no one to blame
for your misfortune but yourself.* It then turned away
in disgust, slowly melting back into the shadows.
Kusanagi stared out at the bleak alley; as soon
as he knew Orochi had left, he wrapped his arms around
his knees and began to tremble uncontrollably. "My
fault," he whispered in a tremulous voice, a single
tear running down his cheek. "It's all my fault . . .
."
*~* *~* *~*
The tinkling of broken glass instantly jerked
Takeuchi out of her sleep. She reflexively reached out
for her pistol-
And a heavy boot stomped on her hand. "I don't think
so," a siblant voice hissed. "Not now . . . or ever."
Five shadowed men stood around her in a semicircle,
guns and knives drawn. Their faces seemed to beam out
of the darkness; in the center of each man's forehead
glowed a throbbing red mitama.