Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: Strike and Hiro-kun may seem OOC here, but for a good reason.

Special Note: If you're having a hard time imagining Hiro's computer system, think a toned-down version of Baofu's Lair in Persona 2! o

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: I realize that some of the things I write may upset or disturb some readers, but they are not my opinions! I'm just writing what I think the character would say. As for their actions, hey, it's a harsh world. People really do this stuff, I'm just tryin' to write a good story...

SHADES

Take 2: Backlashes

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

They walked along hurriedly, Hiro trying to keep the umbrella above both their heads. They walked close together, for warmth, but not for affection. No love had ever been lost between these two; they were just too different. Occaisonal cursing was their only communication, and that was while they were dancing. In terms of friendship though, they were as different as Heaven and Hell. Although who was Heaven and who was Hell, that could not be answered.

What am I doin', invitin' him up? Hiro thought. I must be goin' outta my mind.

He glanced over at Strike, whose face appeared to be looking straight ahead. But Strike had an advantage. You could never tell exactly what he was looking at. The wall of black plastic was a cover; his head could be turned one way, but he could be looking another.

And right then, he had been looking at Hiro out of the corner of his eye.

After what seemed like a few minutes, they reached a tall brick building with many windows. Hiro gestured to it; Strike nodded.

Walking inside, they found the elevator broken. Their legs ached as they ascended eight flights of stairs to the top floor, where Hiro lived. Down the hall, if you had been watching, you would have seen two young men trudging down, both soaked, even after Hiro's attempts to keep them dry. Strike's ponytail was gone, leaving a mass of tangled dreads hanging down his back. Hiro's usually perfect hair had lost its shape, despite all the moose, spray, and gel it was subjected to every Saturday. The curl had gone completely out of it.

Hiro opened the door to his room and switched on the light. "Close the door after you," he called to Strike, who eyed the tiny dwelling.

"Damn! Never knew your crib was dis small!" he commented, noting that the room was about as big as a large bathroom.

"Yeah, well. I just wanna be alone," Hiro replied ominously. He went over to a stack of drawers and pulled out a white tank and blue jeans. "I'm gonna change," he announced, stepping into the closet-sized bathroom.

Strike sat down on Hiro's bed, not being able to note any other place to rest. One wall was covered with posters of Hiro; a stack of drawers and boxes decorated the other. But the most amazing thing in the room was a gigantic computer system set up in the corner. The monitor was the latest version; the keyboard was brand new. On shelves above the PC, several devices lay, looking much like speakers and VCRs, along with a dismantled Playstation2. Weird-looking contraptions that seemed to be mutilated alarm clocks and souped-up CD players rounded out the sight.

Strike was gazing at it, half-interested, when Hiro emerged. He looked different; not because he had changed his clothes, but because of his hair. No one had ever seen Hiro with his hair uncombed; but when it was, it came down past his ears, not quite as long as Heat's, but close.

"Like my PC, huh?" he asked, the pride in his voice swelling. "Latest model. Ain't she beautiful?"

"Yeah," Strike replied sarcastically. "Real nice."

His eyes were still fixed on the weird gadgets when a gray kimono was thrown onto his lap. "What's dis?"

"Put it on," Hiro replied.

"You kiddin'? I ain't wearin' somethin' you wore! No telling what you coulda been doin' in it..."

"Fine then. Stay wet, but don't sit on my bed. You can just stand."

Strike sighed and went into the bathroom.

Hiro switched the computer on and began typing. He had always been good with computers; ever since he was a kid, he loved putting them together and taking them apart. With the use of high-tech electronics, he could hack into any system he wanted; the government systems of all major countries, top secret telephone wires, army missile directions, cables to the International Space Station; you name it, he's been there.

Strike emerged from the bathroom, the kimono gathered loosely around his waist. His wet clothes were rolled up in a ball and placed in one of the storage boxes, to be retrieved later. Under the kimono, Strike kept his weapons concealed from view. He wouldn't have to use them here, but he didn't want that idiot getting a hold of them.

He quietly resumed his place on the bed, watching with reluctant attention as Hiro's fingers danced over the keyboard. "So, whaddya doin'?" he asked.

"Hacking," was the short answer.

"Where to?"

"One of the ganster lines. They gotta job tomorrow at the Fourth National Bank. I've gotta access the bank's supercomputer and disable its censors."

"You do that?" Strike asked, surprised. He had an accomplice like that; a master hacker who disabled lines and was given 25 of the stolen profit. Strike had never actually seen him, but knew that he was reliable.

"Yeah, I've been doin' it for a while," Hiro answered. As he spoke, a staticky noise arose from a walkie-talkie that had been lying on the floor.

"Hiro?! You in there?! I need help! I can't find the guy I'm supposed to get. Can ya track him down for me?" It was clearly a woman's voice, deep and melodious. It was familiar...

Hiro snatched the walkie-talkie up. "I'm on it, Pinks," he replied into it. He clicked the mouse several times, causing a new screen to come up. A red target settled inside one of the rectangular boxes on the screen. "Pinky? He's on the third floor, Room...202, it says. He's alone. Got it? Right, good luck." He let the walkie-talkie drop to the floor as he calmly resumed the back job.

Strike looked on, amazed. "That was...Pinky?!" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. We work together sometimes. I track down the victim, she takes him out." Hiro smiled wickedly. "I'm worse than you think."

Strike said nothing. Never, in the time he had known Hiro, would he have guessed that the guy was capable of doing such underhanded deeds. He found himself smiling. "Nah, actually, now I'm beginnin' ta think there's more to ya than meets the eye."

He said nothing more as Hiro continued to work black magic in front of him. His eyes casually wandered to a piece of red fabric that lay on the ground. "What's dis?" he asked, picking it up.

"That? Oh, Shorty came up to visit me last night," Hiro answered coolly, his eyes glued to the screen.

"For real? Thought you was shy around women."

"We're good friends. I think she can relate to me."

How Hiro could relate to an annoying brat was something that boggled Strike's mind.

Hmm...well, what do we got here?

"Good friends, huh? The evidence suggests otherwise," Strike stated, his eyes lingering on a small red box that lay on the floor.

Hiro followed Strike's stare and turned bright red. He quickly scooped up the box and dumped it into the trash can. Strike grinned. "Ain't she a little too young for that?"

Hiro plopped back down into his computer chair. "What I do is none of your business," he replied, his voice unwelcoming and hostile.

"I'm just sayin'." Strike was clearly enjoying torturing Hiro about it. "I mean, wit all those girls back at da club, you fuck that little pigtailed slut—"

"Will you shut the hell up?!" Hiro demanded, his chair swiveling around to show the scowl on his face. "Hey, at least she's better that that cat bitch you drag around—"

"Kitty ain't like dat! Take dat back, you mother-fucking—"

"I don't need to take it back! Know why? 'Cause of all this stuff she puts on the Internet! You should see! And ya thought your little kitty was all innocent—"

"Oh yeah?! Show me!"

Hiro smiled and clicked several buttons. The bank map faded away to reveal one of the dirtiest porn sites Strike had ever seen. And on the front page, a picture of...

"Kitty?! What the hell?!"

"Told ya," Hiro said smugly. "Everybody knows about it 'cept you. Gee, I woulda thought you'd be the first one to know, considering you get her ready for it before she poses..."

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

Strike whipped out his guns and sent a spray of bullets in Hiro's direction. Hiro quickly ducked, the bullets bouncing off his bulletproof monitor and onto the floor, harmlessly.

The guns clicked. And clicked again. One more time. No ammo left. He had only loaded it for one round. Strike hurled the guns to the floor in exasperation. His piercing eyes turned back to Hiro, who was huddling on the floor next to his computer, genuinely scared for his life.

"Goddammit!" he yelled, sinking to the floor. "I don't believe any of dis is happ'nin' to me! First last night, now dis...what am I gonna do?!"

He put his face in his hands and started sobbing.

Hiro was now greatly disturbed. Should he call the cops or an insane asylum? Strike...crying?! What the fuck...

Is that really Strike at all? Maybe it's not...but it has to be! What's wrong with him? Why's he actin' like this? This isn't the Strike I know...this isn't the Strike anybody knows...

Hiro let Strike cry for a moment, waiting to see if he truly calmed down. He lay on the floor, sobbing wildly, letting out an occaisonal groan. When he was sure it was safe, Hiro crawled over to Strike and helped him sit up. "Listen, man...I'm sorry. It was all my fault," Hiro whispered. "Now don't be cryin' like that! You're a guy!"

Strike sighed. "Seems like everyone's turnin' on me now..."

Automatically, but not involuntarily, Strike placed his head on Hiro's shoulder, the top of his thick dreads right under his chin. Hiro almost drew back, but remained, finding the position comfortable.

"What's up with you, Strike?"

"Well, lemme tell ya somethin' that happened last night..."

TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Depressing, isn't it? Hiro-kun and Strike are too out of character, aren't they? Doesn't this story make you wanna take a bath? Review please! But don't tell me to change the atmosphere of the story. There is still a good reason...