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

Note: This chapter may upset people even more than before. This is a storyline my friend and I came up with. So sit back and enjoy...

Italics, in this chapter, indicates both thoughts and translations of Spanish, Italian, and Japanese. In the asylum scene it indicates Hiro placing other words before the ones that should be said. It's kinda hard to explain...

SHADES

Take 4: Hiro's Tale

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

Strike's world was a swirl of grey and blue, with misty purple rainbows streaking across the skies. They played with his emotions, sifted through his dreams...Kitty-N's kisses drifted through his head, the same time as Heat's murderous eyes. But there was one more thing...something distant...something strangely open and understanding...?

Strike slowly opened his eyes. It was daylight, he could tell. He glanced at the clock on the side of the bed. 3:15. Ha, slept late. He still remembered the events of the previous night...and what he tried to do with Heat...and...

He closed his eyes and turned over, expecting to find Hiro lying next to him. To his surprise, Hiro wasn't there. "Huh?" He asked out loud, looking at the rumpled sheets and pillows. "Hiro?"

No answer.

Where had he gone? Strike rose from the bed, the grey kimono hanging limply off his shoulder. The hell? Had he gone out? But to where? Hiro was a shut-in, a modern-day hermit. The only time he went out was Saturday night. It was Sunday morning...

Sunday afternoon. Strike shuddered. If he had been back with his family, more than 3,000 miles away in San Antonio, they'd be attending mass. It was a whole different world he had come from. And a whole different world he had created for himself.

Strike hadn't been paying attention; he almost stepped on Hiro, who was on the floor. Strike blinked. "Hey? Whaddya doin' down there?"

His eyes widened as he looked at Hiro's pale form. He was curled up in a fetal position, clutching his legs. His skin looked very white all of a sudden; all the color had gone outta him. His clothes clung to his skin; his damp hair stuck to the back of his neck. He was sweating, and breathing hoarsely.

"The hell?" Strike exclaimed, instantly concerning. He knelt down and uncurled Hiro, raising him up. "What happened to you?"

"Mmmmm," Hiro moaned, his head rolling on Strike's shoulder. "Pain...oh, God, no...Strike...grey...last night...don't...Kitty?"

Strike looked into Hiro's glazed eyes. Something was very wrong.

"Whaddya tryin' to say?" he asked, shaking him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Strike...steel...orange...alphabet...me...this is what you're supposed to do...box, bought it last week, gotta get some more..."

"Are you insane or somethin?" Strike thundered in disbelief, looking at the once haughty Playboy.

Hiro sat up suddenly. His eyes partially open, he turned to Strike with a look that chilled Strike to the bone. And very few things did that...very. None, in fact.

"Insane? That's what...they said..."

He fell back into Strike's arms, and the situation of last night was reversed. Hiro's head was tucked under Strike's head, his brown spikes quivering. Strike uncomfortably held Hiro in his arms; he had liked it when Hiro held him like that, but found that the position was indeed awkward.

Hiro opened his mouth. What tumbled out was another language.

"Spiacente, amore. Ciò accade a volte me...che dovreste ora andare. Devo prego essere solo..."

"Huh?" Strike asked, looking closely at the once "Dancing Hero". He was obviously not in tune with where he was. "Uh, Hiro...this is Japan, remember? Could youse at least speak English...or maybe Japanese?" Strike was fluent in three languages—English, Japanese, and Spanish. Spanish for home, English to get around, and Japanese to be in BAG.

But Italian? Hmmm...Spanish and Italian are related...he had once taken an Italian course in high school, before he dropped out...so...

"Tu estás embromando? Licencia tu tienes gusto de esto? Ninguna manera!"

Hiro blinked. Was he speaking Spanish? It was hard to tell. Hiro understood a bit of Spanish, actually...one of the gangsters he worked for spoke it constantly. And he had taken a Spanish course in high school...before he was sent away...

"Indennità allora. Potete rimanere. Ora indovino che desidererete conoscere che cosa sono errate con me, no? L' approvazione allora...I vi dirà esattamente che cosa è errato con me."

Okay then. Now I guess you wanna know what's wrong with me, huh? Okay then...I'll tell you exactly what's wrong with me.

Strike nodded. "Estoy escuchando." I'm listening.

Hiro sighed and leaned his head back. "La maledizione, questa è in modo da dire duro...è come questa. Da quando ero giovane, la gente lo ha chiamato instabile. Non ero mai un capretto normale. Per concludere, quando ero sedici, i miei genitori non potrebbero prenderli più. lo hanno messo via...lo hanno bloccato su...ed hanno gettato via il chiave..."

Damn, this is so hard to say...but it's like this. Ever since I was little, people've called me unstable. I was never a normal kid. Finally, when I was sixteen, my parents couldn't take it anymore. They...put me away...locked me up...and threw away the key...

"Horatio caro! Tempo per il vostro bagno!!"

Lying on a cold stone floor. A cold black floor. A floor.

The room was tall and small at the same time. The barred windows, at the very top of the room, must have been at least fifty feet up. The floor was at the bottom of hell, decorated with hard black padding. Not much to say about the place...but about the personage who inhabited it...now that was something.

Hiro slowly raised his head from where he lay, immobile on the padding. His naturally spiked brown hair reflected his dull blue eyes. He lay in a straitjacket, having put up a rough fight with the nurses that day. He wasn't so usually rebellious...usually he was just mild and calm...that is, if you gave him his medication.

"Treat...Mama...Papa...kill...you...icons...cables...disco...whispers...no, Hiro, don't...voices...normal?"

"Hiro caro?" He heard a voice outside. One of those damn nurses. He didn't want to go outside and he didn't want to take a bath. But he had to do what THEY desired. Or else...

He could hear the doorknob being turned...he could picture the door opening, the people coming in to give him a "bath", being handled roughly, tossed in and out, abused...sometimes even...what was the word...vio...vio...violate...?

But the door did not open. Whether it was a bi-product of his fucked-up mind he would never know. Instead he heard more voices, this time, speaking much differently...

"Anna! Anna! Get ready!! The ambassador from Japan is visiting us today!!"

"Are you serious? Why would he want to visit here?"

"The ambassador requested that he wanted to see how mentally disabled health care hospitals are run. They sent him to us..."

"Is the government trying to put us out of business? Send him to a dump like this?"

How true, Hiro thought, closing his eyes. Sometimes, during those momentary lapses back into sanity, he would remind himself of what kind of a place he was sent to. A dump. His parents could've at least tried to take care of him...but no...

He heard the nurses quickly shut their mouths. Footsteps came down the hall outside his room. Four pairs of feet...or were they hooves?

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Tomohura! We welcome you to the Malucci Behavioral

prison

Center! We are honored to have you visiting us!" a female voice exclaimed. He heard footsteps by the door. Pairs of four feet, he could tell...crazy yes, but still instinctive...

"Thank you, Madam," a male voice responded in broken Italian. "I am honored to be here."

"As you can see, this hospital is the best in all of Italy!! We do our best to keep the patients here become the most productive

pieces of shit

they can ever be!" the nurse went on, exaggerating.

"So I can see," the male voice responded. "I'm very interested in seeing how you treat your patients. So tell me...what is the nature of your patients' illnesses?"

Hiro was beginning to get interested...maybe...maybe...if he got this ambassador to notice him...and everyone else in this stinking place...something could be done about it? Maybe...he could be in a nice place? Treated well? No, not that, Hiro. Never ever ever. You'll never escape from this hell...

He heard a little voice say something in another language. "Chichi, kono tokoro kitanai desu..."

Daddy, this place is dirty...

It was Japanese. Hiro knew some of it; he had taken an online computer course in it. He was almost fluent—of course, everyone else thought he was foolish—"Horatio, what are you going to do, learning Japanese? And where will you ever use it? Are you planning on going to Japan?"—Ha, they didn't know. He needed the Internet to keep him alive...without it, he could wither away and die...like a broken adaptor plug...

Crazy, crazy boy...

It was a little girl's voice who had spoken. A voice of five or six; or even a little younger. A sweet voice; a pure voice; not like his voice, cold and defiled.

There was an audible hush. "Hush, darling," a woman's voice said in Japanese. It was probably her mother, the ambassador's wife. Hiro could almost imagine her; strong and beautiful, yet...not a very good mother.

He could picture embarrassment on the ambassador's face. He heard the nurse's voice: "Ah, Mr. Ambassador, would you like to take a tour of our fine

hellhole

facility?"

"Yes, of course," the ambassador replied nobly. You're glad to get outta here, aren't ya? Well, I have to stay. Just go along, with your little woman and your kid, take a tour of hell and see if you don't wanna stay.

The footsteps outside began walking past his room. The nurse and the ambassador had gone. But...

"Sakuya!! Where do you think you are, young lady? You must keep your mouth shut at all times! You're supposed to be a diplomatic young lady!"

"But Mother, it's scary here!"

He could picture a sadistic smile on Mother's face. "You're scared, huh? Well...I'll just leave you here for now. When your father and I are finished with the tour, I'll come back for you."

Picture the girl's expression. "No! Don't leave me here!"

Hear the mother's footsteps echoing down the hall.

Listen to the girl slump against the door of his room and begin to sob quietly. "Don't cry now..."

"Who's there? Who are you?"

"My name is Horatio...but everyone calls me Hiro."

"My name is Sakuya. Are you in this room?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what? Can't you come out?"

"No."

"Why?"

"..."

"How come you're in there?"

"People say...I'm nuts..."

"Are you?"

"I guess so. Or I wouldn't be in here, would I?"

"I'm five!"

"....I'm thirteen."

"That's really old."

Strange little girl, Hiro thought. If only I could get outta here...then I could do something really bad to her...like what they did to me.

"I like you, Sakuya. I wish I could see you."

"Me too. What do you look like?"

"I have brown hair and blue eyes..."

This simple interchange continued for more than half an hour. This little girl...she was so gullible...if only he could get to her...

Footsteps again. Damn noises...like the sounds a toaster makes when it's dropped into a bath tub full of water...like—

"There you are, Sakuya. Did you have fun by yourself?" Mother asked the girl.

"I wasn't by myself! I was talking to Hiro!" Sakuya answered. He could picture her pointing to the door. Let me out, little girl. You have no idea what I'd do to you.

"Oh...really. Well then, come along."

"Bye Hiro!" He choose not to answer. She was being led away by her mother down the cold steps, down the hall, out the door, probably out to a car...what were all those things anyway? I don't remember.

But you, little one, you got out. So easy. Your life, I mean. Your parents have you all set up. You're their little doll. Well how about me? What about me? What do I get? Do I get anything?

I swear...when I'm outta here, I'll get you, little Sakuya. Take away everything that was ever important. Take away your innocence.

"Horatio caro!"

Don't touch me!! Don't hurt me...please? I...I...

He passed out on the padded floor, straitjacket restricting his movements. A couple of the snakes gathered around him, snickering. "He's a big boy, isn't he?"

"Aw, feeling bad? Don't worry...we'll treat you nicely..."

"Dammit...get away from me...please! I'll do anything you want me to! Just keep away from me! Please...!"

His cries were unheard. As they always were.

He lay miserably on the floor, too beat up to cry. He closed his eyes. Maybe...if I act like I'm not like I am...damn, that made no sense...I've gotta be okay again...I've gotta get out of here...I just have to...I'm gonna go find Sakuya...and...

He laughed sadistically, his voice echoing through the halls of the asylum.

-

Hiro had broken out of Strike's embrace and now knelt in another corner of the room, coughing.

Strike was incredulous. "You've gotta be kiddin' me!" he exclaimed, too shocked to speak in Spanish. You?! Crazy?! Dat can't be true...? You're..not like dat..."

Hiro laughed bitterly. "Oh? I was. Very crazy, in fact. You wouldn't wanna know what I did to get myself kicked in there."

"But..." Strike couldn't believe it. This was so uncharacteristic of him? Playboy? Used to be...like that? And...the stuff that was done to him...it was like what he almost did to Heat...

He sat in silence for a while, letting the shock settle in. He finally ventured, "How'd you get out?"

"Weren't you listening? I acted normal. I acted like I was sane. They thought I could finally live in the outside world again. I was released...my parents weren't really happy to see me. I moved to Japan a few years later..."

"And you joined Bust-A-Groove."

Hiro smiled. "No one else would know about me, would they? That's why. Everything about me...the suit, the hair, the conceit...that's just me trying to forget about what happened..."

"So...you're still insane?'

"I guess. An insane person acting normal. It takes will power to do that...but what you saw back there...that's what my mind is like on the inside."

Strike couldn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He was still in partial shock. Finally, he managed to utter, "Did ya ever find that little girl?"

Hiro smirked. "Yeah, I found her. That obsession I had...to find her...was the reason I moved to Japan in the first place."

"What did ya do when ya found her?"

Hiro chose not to answer.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door to the apartment.

"Huh?" Strike asked, turning to the door. "Who's dat?"

"Why don't ya open it and see?" Hiro answered grimly.

At any time, Strike would have never taken orders from someone else. But today...he swiftly rose and cracked open the door. "Who's there?"

It was a girl wearing a blue leather miniskirt. She donned a tight black tank top, with matching boots that came up to her knees. Her hair was tied in a French bun, with tiny braids holding it together. On her shoulder hung a pink bag, with a mildly obvious bulge poking out of it. Her violet eyes reflected surprise.

"Uh...hey Strike..."

"Sh—Shorty?! Uh, whaddya doin' here?" She looked awfully grown up for thirteen years old. Skirt, top, hair, make-up...was this really her?

"Uh, I'm 'bout to ask ya the same question," Shorty replied, scratching her head. "Hiro and I were supposed to...well, I just felt like visiting him today."

"Uh, well he's not feelin' well right now."

"Lemme guess...ya came over to take care of him, right?" Shorty frowned angrily. She tried to see past him. "Hiro?"

"Shorty...I'm really not feeling that great...later, kay?" the slightly accented voice drifted out.

"You're not going gay on me now, are you?" Shorty demanded, folding her arms. She sighed. "Dammit. Strike, you'd better not tell anyone...or I'll have my dad call you in..." She headed down the hall, her black boots clanking against the floor.

At that moment, Hiro rose and bolted to the doorway. "Sakuya?!" he asked breathlessly. Shorty turned. "After school tomorrow, kay? I'll be better then."

Shorty smiled, confused. "Uh...ok..." She continued walking. We're the perfect couple...I know he loves me...but what is Strike doing in there? What's up with that? And why'd he call me by my real name?

"Sakuya?" Strike asked, looking after the walking girl. "Don't tell me..."

Hiro had retreated back to his corner, where he crouched, grinning evilly. "Yep. I was lucky enough to find her in BAG. A coincidence, huh? She doesn't remember me. But I remember her. She thinks I love her...I really don't, Strike...I'm just using her...but I did something bad to her, just like I promised....she's only thirteen...when I was thirteen, I was raped by all those snakes...I'm taking away her innocence..."

He was giggling madly. Strike sat in silence, eying his friend. He sighed. He crept over to Hiro and hugged him. "Damn...we both gots lotsa problems, man...me and you...?"

Hiro once again said nothing. The fact that he many suddenly go berserk scared the hell out of Strike.

"Yeah...that's true," Hiro muttered. He grinned. "So Strike...got anything else to tell me? Nothing would surprise me now."

Strike bowed his head and let his dreads fall over his eyes.

"As a matter of fact..."

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

Note: So...uh, did you like it? I really didn't know where I was going with this fic!! I didn't know what to do with the characters!! I think maybe I made their personalities too harsh. It's tough for a fic like this....hope you thought it was good.

Stay tuned for Chapter 5!! Most likely, this fic will have two more chapters!! Keep reading!!!

BTW: The Italian and Spanish translations are from Altavista. They're not very accurate I don't even remember why I wanted them in there.

XOXO

Archie