Disclaimer: Do I really have to keep on putting this up?!? *Sighs* OK…here we go again. Weiβ Kreuz is owned by its owners (duh!)…My guess it would be Koyasu Takehito and his gang, along with An Assassin and White Shaman manga author Kyoko Tsuchiya …I do not, in any circumstances, own it. This is for ENTERTAINMENT purposes only. Suing me won't do you any good. I have no money…. I'm only in college, please…on scholarship…
Warning: This chapter contains very disturbing content. Please be reminded that this is a work of fiction.
Chapter III. B: Stirrings
"No! Please! Don't hurt me!"
It was the voice of a young boy, perhaps seven or eight years old. It was a voice filled with pain, desperation and fear. There was a sudden rustle in the grassy empty lot as the young boy moved, trying to get away. The little boy could feel his heart pounding with fear.
"Little boy," a menacing voice said from the darkness. "You're not going to get away from me."
"Help!" the boy cried out with all his might when he saw a dark figure, the one he feared the most, coming closer to him. Then, he stumbled, falling helplessly to the ground.
"Ha! Ha! I got you now!" The dark figure was now looming over him, a feral smile on its lips. He slowly reached out his claw-like hands, ready to grab the boy.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a blinding light appeared. The dark figure let out a loud cry. The boy shielded his eyes, then turned to the source of the light. The little boy let out a startled gasp.
Standing a few feet away from the little boy was a beautiful angel dressed in the purest white. She had long hair, a kindly face and a pair of green eyes like his. She gently took the little boy in her strong arms, her white wings brushing against his tired body, miraculously healing all his hurts. Then they flew far, far away from the dark figure….
"Daydreaming again, little boy?" A horrible, menacing voice rasped, bringing the boy back into reality. The little boy shot the man a look of utter contempt, for which he received a resounding blow on the face. The little boy fell back, but his eyes remained on the one who hit him.
The man picked him up by the scruff of the neck and lifted the little boy a few feet off the ground. The little boy struggled, but he kept his gaze. "A fiery one, aren't you?" the man asked, the wicked smile the little boy so disliked appearing on the man's cruel face again. "Should have disposed of you long ago, if you weren't the favorite plaything of our boss."
The little boy spat on him, eyes blazing.
Letting out a loud roar of anger, the man swung back his fist, ready to knock the little boy unconscious. The boy merely glared at him, unafraid. The man would have succeeded in his intent if it hadn't been for the hand that grabbed the man's fist. "What the hell–"
"That child is an asset, Morgan," a quiet voice said from behind the man. A handsome blonde man stepped out of the shadows. "You will not do anything to hurt him."
Morgan lowered the still-glowering child. "He's trouble, Louis. You tolerate him too much." Morgan gave the child a dark look, then stalked away.
The little boy watched Morgan walk away for a moment, then turned to the blonde who was now kneeling in front of him. Young as he may be, the little boy was no innocent. He knew that beneath the man's quiet voice lay something twisted and monstrous.
The blonde man smiled at the boy, the man's fingers toying with his brown hair. "Hmm…Morgan says I tolerate you too much." His fingers slid to the little boy's shoulder. The boy felt a sudden feeling of revulsion and dread at the touch. The little boy knew what was coming, and he knew he was powerless to stop him. The little boy then felt a sudden blow to the stomach, making the little boy double over. Eyes glazed with tears of pain and fear, he heard the blonde man murmur, "You are mine, little boy. Mine." Then the boy was suck into a world of darkness.
*******
The mission was simple enough. They would enter the sex club stealthily, find the bastards running it, kill them then get the hell out of the place before trouble arrives. However, since the victims–the kids, specifically the little boys, couldn't be just left alone so some help would be needed to deal with the kids' welfare. It came to the Weiβ members as a complete surprise when Patricia announced that, after their mission, Interpol would arrive and take care of that part in the mission.
"How did you arrange that?" Youji had demanded after she casually announced that piece of information.
Patricia gave him a steady look. "The European branch of Kritiker has often conducted similar deals with the legal agents of law-enforcement. The European intelligence and law-enforcement community is one the best in the world. There's hardly anything they don't know or can't do. Kritiker sort of co-exists with them, making deals that would benefit both Kritiker and the community. This is one of those deals. Interpol gets to arrest major sex offenders while Kritiker gets to kill the man it wants to eliminate."
"Sugoi," Omi had murmured to an equally astonished Ken.
Back at the present time, Ken sneaked a glance at his teammates. Youji was busy testing his piano wire for strength. Omi was rather nervously preparing his poisoned darts. Aya was sitting in one corner of the van, gazing at his sword.
"Keep your eyes on the road, Ken," Youji reminded him, glancing up from his work. Ken looked embarrassed for a moment, then turned his attention back to the road. He heard Youji scold Omi, "Omittchi, your darts are fine. Stop messing with them unless you want to accidentally poison yourself." Ken hid a grin when Omi protested, resulting in another argument between the youngest member and the oldest member of Weiβ.
"Will you two knock it off?" Aya demanded. Youji and Omi glared at each other, but stopped arguing. Both knew better than to argue with Aya, especially if he was in a dark mood.
Aya was indeed in a dark mood. He didn't like this mission, but that tomboy suckered him into it–or so that's what he tells himself. It went against his grain, working with a Takatori. Well…Omi was a technically aTakatori, but that's a different matter for Aya.
Omi looked at Aya, a frown on his young face. Aya had his poker face on while Patricia briefed them about the mission. Aya answered calmly when Patricia asked him questions, but Omi noticed his answers came from between clenched teeth. Omi had a strong feeling Aya and Patricia would clash wills very often, and that would prove to be a very uncomfortable future.
Omi's thought drifted back to the briefing yesterday afternoon. Patricia had arrived wearing a blue turtleneck and a long, flowery skirt. She still had her pigtails but the cap was gone. After a few customary greetings, business began. Omi was a bit awed on how well-researched and detailed the mission was. Patricia seemed to know everything, from what time was the changing of the guards to the exact location of the target. Patricia continuously wore a serious expression during the briefing. She answered questions and gave instructions in a low, husky voice.
Omi felt a surge of excitement and anticipation. He hadn't worked with a woman before–none of them did, with the exception of Youji. Manx sometimes helped but never this directly. Omi wondered how Patricia would look and act like in a mission.
"We're here, fellow kittens!" Ken announced cheerfully as he slowed the van into a quiet halt. He parked the van in a dark and empty alley. Weiβ Kreuz members stepped out of the vehicle, all their senses alert. Aya glanced around, unconsciously looking for Patricia.
"I wonder where she is?" Ken murmured, also looking around.
"You're late," an amused voice from the darkness said. The group whirled to the direction where the voice came from.
Patricia was sitting on an old wooden box. She was busy sipping something–coffee, Ken surmised. On her hand was a tiny cell phone. Beside her was a long staff made out of a material Ken couldn't identify from where he was. Her hair tied back into a low chignon, Patricia looked very serious. However, as she observed them, a wry smile touched her lips. "Nice clothes," she remarked, looking at them from head to toe.
"You're not bad-looking yourself," Youji retorted, eyeing her admiringly. Himalayan was wearing all-black clothes–a black blouse overlaid by a leather jacket and leather slit skirt that reached up to her knees. She wore a pair of almost knee-high leather boots. To complete her ensemble, she wore a pair of black leather gloves.
"Thanks." Setting down the papercup on the ground, Patricia stood up and walked towards them. She turned to Omi. "Have you 'fiddled' with their communication system?" she asked, pertaining to their target.
Omi nodded. "It was very difficult to break into, but I managed to hack into their systems. When I press the magic button, all of their communication and security systems will not work."
"Great," she said, a small, satisfied smile appearing on her lips. She glanced at the rest of the Weiβ members. "We'll wait for the blackout to happen. We have to work fast, since our friends from the Interpol would come here in about an hour or earlier." She glanced at her watch, then faced at Omi. "We'll go into our positions first then when I give you the signal, you do your thing." She tugged her earlobe, on which she wore a gold earring. "Cool transceiver. It makes my ear itch like crazy, though."
"How come?" Ken asked, curious.
A comical smile lit her face. "I'm a little allergic to gold." She turned to Aya, who frowned at her. "So, shall we begin the mission?" she asked him, her gold-green eyes penetrating, as if she was gazing into his very soul.
Mentally kicking himself, Aya curtly nodded at her, signaling the start of the mission.
*******
The club was noisy today, much noisier than usual. Perhaps it was because there were so many customers today, drinking, dancing and chatting. All of them seemed to be very eager. Maybe it was because the customers knew that a new shipment of goods had just arrived, fresh and ready to be served to those who are willing to pay. They were probably more expensive than the usual ones, but these men were not quite troubled by that little problem.
The club, named as The Happy Hours, was situated near the end of the red- light district of the town. It had all the amenities needed by the customers–an area for dancing, for drinking, for eating and much more. It catered to the customers needs very well, making it a popular spot for those who frequent the area. But it was more well- known for its specialty: little boys.
The owner was a Frenchman by the name of Louis Delacroix. He was a devilishly handsome man with long blonde hair and ice blue eyes. He was also devilishly cunning. He managed to evade the law numerous times, going from one place to another to sell his goods. He had powerful connections, making it easy for him to slip away.
Right now, Louis was on the balcony of the seventh floor of the building, idly swirling the wine on his goblet. A small smile of satisfaction curled his lips. Business was good these past nights. And business would get better now that he had brought in some fresh new stock.
It was so easy to find them, so easy to lure them into his waiting trap. A little coaxing, a mouthful of promises of a new life and a thick bundle of money were usually enough to catch them, to control them. They were so innocent.
But that was what drew in his customers. The innocence of his goods. A deep laugh emerged from his throat. He remembered just how much pleasure he took as he gazed into the innocent eyes of his little playmate, watching that innocence shatter as he corrupted them with each touch, nip and thrust. It felt so good to hear their cries and whimpers of pain. They were like aphrodisiacs to him, heightening his desire.
Louis gulped down the last of his wine and went back to the room, setting down the goblet on a nearby table. He picked up a crystal decanter and walked to the edge of his bed.
On his bed was a boy of seven or eight. The boy may once have had a name, but it was forgotten through time. The boy had been four when Louis acquired him, and shortly became Louis's favorite. Louis couldn't quite put a finger on why he preferred this boy to the rest of the lot. Perhaps it was because of the way the boy resisted him with all his young might, his green eyes flashing with defiance. Whatever it was, Louis was undoubtedly attracted to the little boy.
The boy was now stripped naked, spread-eagled across Louis's bed. The little pale body was red with welts from Louis's whip. His mouth was slightly gagged; his hands and feet tied to the posts. Tear-tracks ran from his eyes, mute evidence of the pain he suffered. Louis grinned malevolently at the little boy as he slowly poured the wine from the decanter on the boy's body. The boy jerked, a muffled cry escaping from his mouth as the wine burned into his welts. Louis felt his need rising as he watched the little boy writhe under his torment.
Then the lights went down.
"What the HELL!" Louis half-shouted, frustration and irritation evident in his voice. A blackout, of all the time in the world! And on one of the club's best nights! Forgetting the boy, Louis groped his way through the darkness of the room, trying to find his way to the phone. When he finally found it, he picked it up, and dialed by memory the telephone number of the maintenance room. When he put the phone near his ear, it was then that he noticed that the phone did not seem to have a dial tone.
He stared at the phone in silent askance. The blackout had also affected the phone lines? Mon Dieu, what can possibly go wrong next? Irritated, he tightened the belt of his silk robe and decided to go down to the maintenance room himself. It was a disgraceful thing for an owner to do, but it had to be done if he wanted to get results.
Then, as suddenly as the lights gone out, the lights went back on, but far dimmer than moments before the blackout. Louis let out an exasperated sigh. Mechanics! They are so incompetent! He whirled around, stomping towards the phone when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
A tall redhead in a purplish-black trench coat stood menacingly a few feet away from Louis. The unexpected guest's face was emotionless. His violet eyes were fixed on Louis, like a ferocious animal locking on its prey. Louis felt his blood run cold when he saw the young man was holding a katana.
"And pray tell, who might you be?" Louis inquired smoothly, hiding his nervousness.
The cerise-haired man did not answer. Instead, he calmly unsheathed his sword and moved swiftly towards the now-alarmed Louis.
Louis evaded the still-unknown man's attack with notable skill. Louis immediately dashed towards a nearby table and grabbed the long, spiked whip he had used earlier on the boy. His confidence returning, he faced the young man. He smiled at the redhead maliciously. "So you want to play," Louis almost purred. Without warning, he cracked his whip, hurling its sharp, spiked edge towards the redhead.
K'so! Aya swore to himself as he dodged the attack. The whip smashed into a table filled with expensive vases, sending bits of wood and porcelain flying through the air. He hated fighting with whips. They were just too difficult to fight with. Aya gripped his katana tightly, eyes trained on the man.
Louis cracked his whip once more. Aya evaded it, then moved in. Aya's katana found its mark, Louis's arm.
Louis screamed as excruciating pain followed the wounding of his right hand. Blood spurted from the wound, spilling on the plush carpeted floor. Now it would nearly be impossible for him to wield the whip.
Louis glanced up. The redhead was advancing towards him, cold violet eyes narrowed. "What do you want?" Louis demanded, voice hoarse with fear. Louis glanced at the door. Surely, someone must have heard–no, it was impossible. Louis had soundproofed the room so that he would not be disturbed by the noises coming from downstairs and vice-versa. He had thought it was a clever idea back then, but now, at this moment, he didn't think it was clever anymore. Louis could scream as loud as he can, but no one would hear him. "Do you want money?" Louis rasped to his soon-to-be murderer. "I have much. I will–"
"I don't think he would be interested in your money, Delacroix," a familiar voice suddenly said harshly. Louis shook his head, trying to clear his blurred vision. He saw a figure step out from behind the titian-haired young man. His eyes widened in recognition.
"You!" Louis shouted when he saw who the figure was. It was a young woman. "I should have known!" Rage welled up from inside him, making Louis go beyond rationality. With an animal-like cry, Louis launched the whip towards the girl, forgetting his own wound. The whip wrapped around the staff the girl was holding.
With a flicker of annoyance crossing her face, the young woman quickly jerked her staff towards her, sending Louis stumbling. Louis then felt something sharp bury itself into his abdomen, making him double over with pain. Eyes glazed, he stared at the girl. Her gold-green eyes took on an amber hue in its coldness. He instinctively flinched from that gaze. Then there was a soft whistling in the air. Louis looked up to see a flash of light.
It would be the last thing he would ever see.
*******
The head and the body dropped with a soft thud, with the head rolling a few feet away from Louis's headless body. The plush carpeted floor was quickly soaked with Louis's blood.
Patricia loomed over the body, observing it with clinical detachment. Then she glanced at Aya, whose face was as impassive as ever. She then touched her earring. "Siberian, this is Himalayan," she said to Ken, who, along with Youji, was somewhere in the lower floors of the building, taking care of some of the guards. "Mission is completed."
"Got that. Balinese and I are through as well," Ken replied. "Bombay tells me we have to move fast. Cavalry's coming," Youji suddenly informed them, breaking into the conversation.
"Roger on that one." Patricia turned to Aya, who was busy wiping off the blood on his katana. Patricia then heard a soft groan. She turned to its source. She gave a sharp hiss of breath when she saw the spread-eagled boy on Louis's bed.
"Bastard," she whispered softly to herself as she bent over to pull out a small sharp knife hidden in her boot. She stared at the boy for a moment. He was quite a beautiful young boy, about seven to eight years old with brown hair and deep green eyes. The boy was staring at her as she began to cut the ropes that so cruelly bound the boy to the bed.
The boy sat up on the bed with a bit of help from her. She sat beside him. He winced. Patricia turned to a disapproving Aya. "Find something to cover him," she told the redhead. Aya stared at her for a moment, then went in search for a coat.
"You…angels?" the boy asked Patricia in a heavily accented voice. "You come to…save us?" The boy saw Louis's headless body and his severed head. "You kill him," he noted with satisfaction. He glanced back at the young woman? Was she the angel he had been dreaming about, the one that would save them from Louis? Her eyes were green, and she had long black hair. Was she the one?
"He's not going to hurt you anymore," Patricia told him grimly. The boy gave her a gaze that she found…intriguing. "And no, we're not exactly angels."
She smiled at the boy, whispering words to further assure the little boy of his deliverance from the bastard Louis. Aya listened to her for a moment, then wordlessly handed her a small coat. The boy turned to Aya and managed to give him a weak smile. "Thank you," the little boy whispered in a hoarse voice. "My–my…friends, th– they–"
Patricia gently shushed the boy as she helped him put on the coat. The boy was trembling with pain, anger relief and other assorted emotions. "You and your friends will be all right." She paused, pushing away a lock of hair from the boy's forehead. "We have to go," she said, standing up. She had to hush the little boy once again when he panicked at her words. "Don't worry. No one will hurt you anymore. Listen to me." She tilted the boy's chin to face her. "Some people will come here. They won't hurt you. They will be the ones who will care for you."
"They not hurt us?" the boy asked in a tremulous voice.
"No. And if they do, they will answer to me." Patricia then faced Aya and nodded. "We better leave." Much to Aya's surprise and annoyance, Patricia placed a soft kiss on the boy's hair. "Be well, little one," she murmured.
The light suddenly went off again, then came back on after a few seconds.
The boy blinked. The two were gone.
*******
"Great work, fellow kittens!" Ken said to Aya and Patricia when they arrived at the rendezvous point which was located a few blocks away from the club. From there, they heard the sudden wail of sirens. "You're late, though."
"That was a close one," Youji remarked. "What took you so long?"
"A boy was in Delacroix's room," Patricia replied, looking straight at Youji. "He needed help." She did not bother to elaborate.
"Oh."
Eyes narrowed, Aya turned to Patricia. "The boy might compromise us."
"I doubt that, Abyssinian. He won't say a word about us. And Interpol would not be stupid enough as to anger the human-rights people by forcing a sexually-abused minor into confessing," she said in clipped tones.
There was a moment of silence. She then glanced at her watch. She whipped out her cell phone and started dialing. "Hello? Yeah, it's me. I need to talk to Marianas." The men watched with consternation as Patricia seemed to be listening for a moment. "Danke," she suddenly whispered. The Weiβ members gave her an odd look. Patricia simply smiled at them, her dimples showing for the first time. Then she frowned. "It's uh, me. Yeah, we got the bugger. Interpol's already in the scene." She covered the phone's mouthpiece. "It's the head of the Euro branch. I need to tell him that the mission was a success," she explained to the baffled young men in a slightly apologetic voice.
"Ah," Omi muttered, understanding at last.
Patricia resumed her conversation with the head of the European branch. "How's it going there?" She paused for a moment, listening for a moment. Then they saw her eyes widen briefly. Then it narrowed. She muttered something–a curse word, Ken surmised, judging from the grim look on her face.
Ken marveled at that ability–the ability to shift moods rapidly. Patricia wasn't alone on that. Both Birman and Manx were capable of lightning-fast mood changes–from being cheerful to being dead serious in a blink of an eye. What is it, some kind of standard operating procedure for women agents? Ken mused. Or is just a girl thing?
"I see," Ken heard Patricia say. "Do you want me there? I can still catch the last flight t–" Her brows knitted together. "No? Orders from upstairs, I presume?" She gave a sigh. "OK. I understand. I'll call you later. Yeah, thanks. Be well," she said. She stared at the cell phone for a few moments then whirled around to face Weiβ. "Sorry for the delay. Let's get out of here before some smart guy sees us and figures out who and what we are." She walked briskly towards the van. She arched an eyebrow at them when only Aya moved. "Well?" she prompted.
Ken, Youji and Omi stared at each other. It was clear that Patricia wasn't going to give any details about what that conversation was all about.
She sat on the front seat of the van, eyes looking straight ahead. Ken glanced at her briefly, wondering once again what was that phone call all about. It had to be serious. "Hidaka-san, eyes on the road, onegai," she abruptly said, looking at him. Ken flushed and returned his attention to the road.
They drove silently. Youji noticed Patricia had her eyes closed. Was she sleeping? he wondered. "Uhm, Himalayan?" he asked tentatively.
"Yeah, Balinese?" she replied in a neutral voice. He eyes remained shut as she spoke.
"Why did you, uh join Kritiker?"
"What about you? What made you join Kritiker?" she shot back in a quiet voice, startling Youji with its directness. She then opened her eyes and looked at him.
Youji stared at her, unable to answer.
She smiled a wistful smile at him. "You can't tell me, can you? Well, let's say the same goes for me." She then turned to Ken. "Stop the van," she ordered abruptly.
Ken gave her a puzzled look. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
Ken stopped the van. She nimbly stepped out of the van, carrying her staff with her. "I'll go home from here. I'd rather not ride with you." She gave Aya a charming smile, not to charm him, Omi suspected, but more to irritate him. "Not that I have any objections on riding with four handsome young men. But I suspect there's going to be a lot of awkward questions and unfortunately, I am not in the mood to answer them." She then turned to Omi, gazing at him with unusual intensity. Omi's eyes widened. "We'll talk soon, Mamoru. Be well." She waved at a stunned Omi then disappeared into the darkness.
She knows, Omi thought. Patricia knows I am the youngest son of Reiji Takatori. But how? For how long? Omi was about to jump out of the van and follow her when Youji grabbed his wrists. Incredulous, Omi gave Youji a hard glare.
"Omittchi, calm down. I don't think she'll appreciate you following her. She said you'd talk soon. Wait, OK?" Youji told the youngest member of Weiβ. Omi weighed Youji's words for a moment, then he nodded.
Aya scowled at the two. He turned to Ken. "Get moving," he growled. Ken nodded and restarted the engine. It was going to be a long drive home.
*******
It had been almost a week since the mission on Louis Delacroix. His death had been on the front page of newspapers for the week, filling in the people of the grisly details of his death. There had been subsequent investigations on who killed Delacroix but as usual, the investigators found themselves at a dead end.
No new missions were given to Weiβ after the mission on Delacroix. For the rest of the week, they did not see Patricia, causing Omi some degree of confusion and worrying.
It was another beautiful morning when the Weiβ members opened their flower shop on wheels, as Ken put it once. The sky was cloudless and the weather was finally warming. And as usual, a horde of girls was around their van, some of them buying flowers but most of them were just there, staring and squealing at the sight of the boys.
"Are you going to buy or not?" Aya demanded irritably to a bunch of squealing girls. They girls just squealed harder.
"Now, Ayan, that's not a nice way to treat young ladies. They're potential customers, you know," Youji pointed out as he handed a mixed bouquet of flowers to a pretty young woman. Youji whispered something to her, which made the girl laugh. When she handed her payment, Aya noticed a strip of paper among the bills. Aya just shook his head in exasperation. He didn't need to be psychic to figure out what was on that paper.
"Can I have a dozen white roses?" a disturbingly familiar voice asked. Aya's head snapped up. He then found himself staring at a pair of gold-green eyes.
"Well?" Patricia Deschanel prompted, looking expectantly at Aya. Aya narrowed his eyes, discreetly studying her. She was wearing a cream-colored, flower-printed dress that fell just above her knees paired with a knitted white cardigan. She wore her hair down, her hair falling into soft curls down to her waist. Right now, she looked completely beautiful, Aya had to admit. And completely innocent looking.
Aya grunted as a reply, turning to Omi, whose face suddenly brightened up. Patricia gave Omi a small smile.
Out of nowhere, Youji appeared with a flourish, handing Patricia a red rose. Patricia thanked him, then she turned to Aya. "Can I have a dozen white roses?"
As usual, Aya gave her a death glare, which she ignored. Aya had a feeling she was deliberately trying to irritate him–and she was succeeding. He took out a dozen white roses, carefully wrapped it and then wordlessly handed it to her. When Patricia was about to pay, Aya said curtly, "It's for free."
Everyone gave them an odd look. Patricia appeared puzzled for a moment and then she gave Aya a knowing smile. "How gallant of you, Fujimiya-san," she murmured dryly, as she took the blooms. Aya merely gave her a cool look, not wanting to be goaded into a word fight with her.
"Your favorite flowers?" Ken inquired as he handed an adoring but annoying girl her change.
"Iie. It's for something else." She sniffed the flowers. "They smell nice, don't they, Manx?" she asked, whirling around to face the surprised red- headed woman.
*******
"What's up, Manx?" Youji asked, plopping himself on the couch. "You didn't have to come here, you know. All you have to do is call me if you want a date with me."
"In your dreams, Youji," Manx retorted sweetly. Behind her, Patricia laughed.
"You didn't have to do that," Youji muttered in an injured tone, shooting Patricia an accusing look. Patricia merely laughed harder.
"Let's get to business, shall we?" Manx said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice, sitting on a nearby wooden chair.
They were back in the apartment now, ready to hear what Manx had to say. It was quite difficult for the Weiβ members to close down the flower shop because many of the girls complained on how early their closing was. The group had to fight its way towards their van and it took several minutes to disperse the crowd.
"This must be very important," Ken grunted, seating himself beside Youji. Omi sat on an armchair. Curiously, Aya and Patricia remained standing.
"It is." Manx turned to a suddenly quiet Patricia. "You've heard?"
Patricia nodded. "Just this morning."
"Heard what?" Ken demanded.
"The head of the European branch is dead," Manx informed them.
"Nani?" Omi's eyes widened. "Since when?"
"A few hours ago," Patricia supplied in a calm voice. Everyone's head turned to look at her. "Have they picked a new head yet?" she asked Manx.
"Yes. K2 got the job. He's the former second-in-command along with you, right?"
Patricia nodded. "Good. K2's much better on leadership skills than me. Any orders?"
"You are to stay in Japan for an indefinite period of time."
A wry smile twisted Patricia's lips. "Big surprise. What am I to do here?"
"You are to become the newest member of Weiβ Kreuz."
~To Be Continued~
Yay! I finally finished it! This is going to be a long fic so please, bear with me. I'll try to make it worth your time. By the way, thanks to whoever owns the website Aya no Weiβ for its translations of Weiβ Manga. It helped me with a lot of lines. Danke! (which is German for thank you…I think).