Disclaimer: A crazy concept is a man running up and down the streets of Slartbartifast (a small, fictional suburb of Timmons, Ontario) wearing nothing but trouser socks and two sombreros made of cheese upon his head yelling "I'm a hamster, I'm a hamster!". An even crazier concept is that I own the characters used in this fanfic, which rightfully belong to Takahashi Rumiko and Viz. Just so's ya know.



Author's Notes: I'm SO sorry that the chapters have been so short! I'll try to make 'em longer. . . *sniff* Anyhoo, I realize it's also really confusing right now, but I promise I'll make it less foggy as it progresses. ^^;; Of course:



"..." indicates speech

'...' indicates thought

*=*=* indicates next scene in story

//~*~// indicates a dream sequence



Rating: Oh come ON. You ALREADY know what it is! ^_^



Hence, thou hast eyes laid upon the fourth episode of. . .



Pandora





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The sun painted its rays on the boy who knelt in the grassy field, a passing zephyr blowing through and sending ripples throughout the nature surrounding him. The woman was nowhere in sight and her only remainder was the scrap of green bandana she had discarded. His strong hands parted the grass and found the piece of cloth; the two shades of green a surprising contrast, making it easy to spot. Kuno picked it up and allowed his fingers to gently run over it, as if in hopes it would uncover the great mystery that had begun building itself around the teenaged kendoist. Kuno let his head hang in utter confusion; nothing was making sense anymore. What did the girl mean when she said that they were more alike than what he though? She was a skilled fighter, as was he, but beyond that, his mind drew a blank.

'There are the dreams, though. She knows about your dreams' a nagging voice at the back of Kuno's mind said, tugging at his memories, trying to make connections that didn't seem to exist. Kuno grasped the green bandana close to his chest, his mind trying to soak in all the information that had been thrown and, in most cases, beat senselessly into him from the mysterious woman Noryoku.

Tatewaki was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't feel the presence or hear the person approaching him. A hand was placed on Tatewaki's shoulder, giving cause for Kuno to jump almost out of his skin; basic instinct telling him to get himself into a defensive position. Rolling on the soft green grass and ignoring his bruised ribs for the moment, Kuno grabbed his bokken and hunkered into a defensive crouch all in one, smooth motion. The boy's imploring and blazing grey eyes met with a pair of soft, concerned-looking blue ones. A once-over of the woman in front of him proved to Tatewaki who was standing in the clearing with him.

"Kodachi?" he asked, his defense wavering and his grip on his bokken loosening almost completely. The black haired girl clutched a shawl tightly to her chest; Kuno hadn't realized until just recently how exactly chilly the air was becoming. Running a hand through his mahogany hair, the kendoist stood warily on shaky legs, the pain in his ribs screaming. Instead of bringing attention to his wounds, Tatewaki chose to ignore them for fear of another trip to the hospital and the fat nurse with the roaming eyes.

"Brother, what happened here?" Kodachi inquired, genuine concern showing in her melodic voice. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Kuno quickly reverted to his old self.

"'Twas nothing, dear sister," Tatewaki replied quietly, quickly pocketing the green bandana inside his robes, which were being tossed about by the wind. Kodachi narrowed her eyes.

"I come home to find that you have not returned from school, so I decide to seek you out. I find you knelt in the middle of a field marred by the remnants of a battle," Kodachi said, exasperated at the fact her brother wouldn't tell her what was going on with him, "and you truly think me so base that I would believe it was nothing?"

"I did not call you base, sister, but this is none of your concern," Tatewaki muttered, his tone low, deadly and biting. Kodachi's fist, which was now balled by her side, was positively shaking.

"Fine! Next time you are wounded, see if I come to find you out of loving concern!" the ebony haired gymnast replied, turning abruptly on her heel and heading back towards her mansion, stomping through the hole in the wall Kuno had created with his body earlier. A pang of regret shot through Kuno; or it could've been another wave of pain sent from his aching ribs, Tatewaki couldn't rightly tell at the moment, however he did feel guilty about causing Kodachi's anger.

'She came to find me out of loving concern? I suppose it could be possible; maybe that little black pig Akane Tendo carries around will soon sprout wings and fly into the horizon', Kuno sneered mentally. Sarcastic as he may have been in his mind, the teen boy couldn't help but think that perhaps Kodachi's words were true.

Confused about the whole situation of the day, Tatewaki stepped lightly around the wreckage of the wall and the uplifted turf of the meadow, clutching his ribs and biting back his yelps of pain as he made his way to the Kuno Mansion.



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Blood flowed down the glinting katana freely, dripping onto the woman's black leather clad hands, and soon down to the floor, splattering at her feet. The red liquid dribbled down and off her black leather boots, the woman hardly caring. A body that had once belonged to a half-recognizable young man was tossed aside into a grisly heap of other young trainees who had tried to go up against her in combat - each of them meeting their respective ends at the tip of her trusty blade. She withdrew a small towel from her pocket and wiped her katana clean, giving it a bit of spit shine to make it glow in its silvery aura once more. Sheathing her weapon, the girl untied her long and glorious mane of orange hair, allowing it to fall lightly down past her waist. She pocketed her white piece of cloth that held her hair, and it disappeared into her tight, black leather skirt which clung to her shapely legs. Her top consisted of thin, leather shoulder straps encompassing the tops of her arms, and a very low cut leather top revealing an ample amount of cleavage, which stopped just below her breasts, exposing her well-buffed abdomen. She tossed her orange hair back playfully and opened her piercing turquoise eyes to observe the wonderful carnage that surrounded her. Puckering her ruby red lips in concentration, she wondered who was going to clean up the mess she left behind.

"Miss Meijin?" a male voice timidly asked of the leather-clad woman, who whirled around to face a young man with black hair and a simple, trainee outfit. The boy, who couldn't have been more than twenty years old, nearly gagged at the sight of the mutilated corpses in front of him. Staggering slightly, the young man tried his best not to lose face in front of the woman before him. A punishment worse than death could befall him if he did.

Naomi Meijin stared hard at the youth before her. He was obviously wet behind the ears and extremely nervous in her presence; that was a good thing. Fear instilled discipline, and discipline instilled loyalty. Loyalty would last until death; a very useful trait. The trainee shrunk back in spite of himself, his head dipping down slightly so as not to make eye contact. His hands tightly gripped his pant legs, fiddling with the material to distract himself from the situation at hand. Naomi could see that the boy's hands were trembling.

Her blood red lips curved upwards into a tight, lopsided smile.

"Yes?" Naomi asked of the trainee, her voice as smooth and velvety as chocolate, yet cold as ice at the same time. She observed an involuntary shudder run through the young boy as she spoke; he seemed to be deathly afraid of her. This thought pleased her greatly.

The young man's mouth seemed to work, though mechanically, however no sound came from his lips. Taking a precautionary step back in case his mistress's temper flared up without warning, like it tended to do, he searched his mind for the willpower to begin talking once more. He took a deep breath, and began speaking to his boss again in a quivering voice.

"M-Miss Me-i-i-jin, m-ma'am, our. . . our sources have l-l-located the position of A-Alpha P. . . Pand-d-dora, ma'am," the boy managed to say. For fear of vomiting on the spot, he kept his mouth shut after the initial and most important news was delivered to his employer, judge, jury and executioner, if need be. Naomi's azure eyes flashed for a moment, but gave no other sign of emotion to the youth. She turned around slowly, her hands clasped behind her back, as if in thought. The massive amount of black leather she was wearing emitted shifting and crinkling sounds as she moved slowly away from the trainee, her eyes focused ahead on the bloody heap of young bodies.

"Miss M-M-Mei -"

"Go," Naomi told the boy with a wave of her hand, keeping her back to him, "and find someone to clean up this mess." Her clipped British accent shone through. The boy, though not seen by Naomi, did a quick bow, uttered a "thank you ma'am", and ran out of the room as politely and as fast as his legs could carry him. Once Naomi could no longer sense the clumsy stripling in her room, she slowly moved to a desk near the front of the room. The carpet was a deep crimson, the desk a maroon-tinted mahogany, with a red lamp, assorted papers and a vermillion coloured laptop computer adorning the piece of furniture. She pulled up a chair to her desk, the scent of blood and decay starting to seep in from the very back of the board. Attached to the rear of her office was a small but adequate dojo, separated by a traditional Japanese sliding paper door. Naomi hadn't bothered to close the door this time, although the nauseating smell of blood began wafting out of the dojo and into the carpets. It didn't matter to Miss Meijin though; she had left the door open on purpose. The dead bodies were displayed for anyone daring to enter her office; whether the macabre sight of the disemboweled youths would serve as a threat, a warning, or a trophy depended on the person entering the doorway to Naomi's personal sanctum. Blood was still seeping from the expired trainees, staining the smooth wooden floor with a sickly red colour.

The orange haired beauty could care less about her carpet or the dojo's floor at the moment. If the young boy was correct (and he had better be, or he would be joining the other young men in the bloody mess of the dojo as well), Alpha Pandora had finally been tracked. After all those years of waiting, the seeds Naomi and her ancestors had planted long ago would hopefully bear ripe fruit; the leather clad woman could only hope at the moment, although she had some of her best agents at hand should anything not go according to her plan.

Naomi leaned back in the chair, hefting her large, clunky boots onto the desk and tipping her head back, allowing her fingers and long orange hair to drape over the carpet. Above Naomi were various types of weaponry suspended from the ceilings, each representing an important part of the history of her career and those before her. Her turquoise eyes glistened in excitement; if everything indeed was going to plan, she would be a very rich woman and finally be able to fulfill the legacy that her mother had left her with, the legacy of Project Pandora.

The woman smiled dangerously. Quickly sitting upright in her chair and opening her red lap top computer, Naomi logged into her account, accessing her folder for the most recent messages and advancements in the project. Sure enough, a newly sent and unopened document sat in the computer's data banks, waiting to be scanned and processed. Naomi clicked on the file, and began to read. Ever so slightly, her mouth twisted upwards until, by the time she was finished with the document, Naomi had a full-fledged wicked grin on her face. Saving the file and hitting the 'print' button on her laptop, Naomi cleared some of the clutter off her desk and pressed the round button on the intercom, a shrill beeping sound permeating the area for a few seconds.

"Miss Pascale? Would you please send in Miss Bara?" Naomi asked politely, her curt and professional tone carrying through the intercom. A few seconds later, the door adjacent to her desk opened with an almost inaudible click, and a very statuesque woman entered. She had short black hair cut severely at her shoulders, and piercing blood-red eyes. Her skin was extremely pale; almost white, contrasting completely with the black outfit she adorned. It was like a mini dress of sorts, with a haltered top exposing a fair amount of cleavage, a thick red sash encircling her waist with a katana hanging off her left hip, and two broad pieces of black cloth covering her most private areas, her well-toned thighs visible. Padding quietly on the carpet, the effect of not wearing shoes was amazing. She simply wore black ankle bands and wrist bands; the sound from her feet were almost nonexistent, which was one of the many goals of ninja such as she. The woman's deep red lips didn't move; her face betraying no emotion whatsoever to Naomi.

"Kurai Bara. Punctual, as usual," Naomi said in a very businesslike tone. Of course, since they were about to discuss business of the utmost importance, her tone was very appropriate. The ninja woman didn't reply, only stared stonily at Naomi. The British woman wasn't at all fazed by her behaviour; Kurai was typically a quiet, moody, and extremely psychotic girl, and by now Naomi was used to her subordinate's quirks. Silence filled the room as the computer printer churned out the last sheet of paper from the file Naomi had previously read. The leather dressed woman briskly walked over to the printer and snatched up the papers, quickly and efficiently filing them into an inconspicuous looking manilla envelope. She handed it to Kurai, who took it and opened the jacket containing the necessary information, scanning the words printed on the sheets.

"It is your next assignment, Miss Bara. So far our progress on Project Pandora has been at a snails pace, wouldn't you agree?" Naomi asked nonchalantly, crossing from her place in front of Kurai to her desk, taking a seat in her comfortable chair. Kurai never took her gaze off the sheets she had been handed, but replied anyway.

"There has not been as much fresh blood as I would have liked," Kurai said quietly, her voice barely audible but distinct and eerily empty. Naomi sighed audibly.

"Yes, I understand your feelings on that matter. Lately I have found myself killing those annoying new trainees that we seem to be recruiting daily," Naomi explained, gesturing with her gloved hand to the carnage behind her. The orange haired woman didn't know exactly why she did that; Kurai's senses were extremely keen, and could have probably smelled the blood's distinct odor through the wooden sienna door Kurai had entered through. Kurai nodded.

"They are unsatisfactory and. . . inadequate," Kurai stated, looking Naomi directly in the eye with her last statement. Smirking, Naomi tossed her flame coloured hair over her shoulder and hoisted her feet onto the desk. The black haired ninja returned her attention to the mission she held in her hands. After a few minutes, Kurai seemed to be finished the debriefing of what needed to be done.

"It seems to -"

"Simple?" Naomi finished for Kurai, closing her eyes, "that's what I thought as well. Be careful though; he is, after all, Alpha Pandora. He is bound to have tricks up his sleeve." Kurai assented her superior's remark begrudgingly with scarcely a nod of her head. Naomi Meijin, as quickly as she had sat down, swung her legs down from her desk and stood up, striding across the room to the door.

"I trust you'll have this under your capable control, Miss Bara," Naomi stated without looking at the deadly ninja, blowing past her and to the mahogany exit from her office.

"Yes ma'am," Kurai agreed, an icy undertone tagging along with her statement. Naomi sighed silently and began to leave her office, opening the door with a slight creaking sound and stepping outside the prefecture of her study. She paused for a moment in the doorway, sensing a sort of small distress from Kurai. Naomi gave a small laugh.

"Of course, how could I forget. Help yourself," Naomi whispered, closing the door behind her and leaving Kurai alone in her office. A sly and barely visible grin made itself apparent on her ghostly white face as she walked past her employer's desk and, bowing at the doorframe, into the dojo, where the slowly decaying bodies were still strewn unceremoniously about, blood stains marking places of death and destruction all along the dojo floor and walls. Kurai spotted the freshest looking kill of the batch, and knelt by his side. His head was completely severed from his body, his face completely submerged in a small pool of his own life force. Kurai's ashen fingers let themselves run through the young boy's curly blonde locks, wiping them from his eyes, which had been profusely bleeding. She cupped his head in her small hands and lifted it up so both faces were staring eye to what had once been an eye. Carefully, as if ceremoniously, she lolled it in her hands, allowing her fingers to discover every crevice and cut on the young boy's head. Finally, after turning the head upside down, she was staring at the man's amputated neck. The blood, gore, and disgusting flesh was painfully visible; however it all heightened Kurai's experience. She lifted it to her already cherry red lips.

Her sense of taste was also exceedingly acute.





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Well, that was disturbing. O_o Um, well, reviews appreciated! ^_^ The next chapter, something really exciting happens, I promise! ^^;; Once again, R/R!