"...Muraki?" It was more of a question than a statement. He looked -even ufelt/u like Muraki...but it wasn't him...

...was it?

'Muraki' laughed. He was DEFINATELY not Muraki. This laugh was more evil by about a hundred times. And without those weird wheezy noises between the 'mwahaha's. Though those were funny. Whups, I'm digressing.

"Oh, no, Tsuzuki-san. There was never a Muraki." The man stepped forward into the light and I saw that both of his eyes were intact, both silver orbs fastened onto my face. "Muraki was never alive."

It's about now when I became skeptical. "He sure felt alive." Good going Tsuzuki. Let whoever this guy is know that you're bitter. Second time in one or two days -I don't know how long I was sleeping- you're being an idiot.

"Of course he did. Because his outer layer was made to feel like skin. Didn't you ever wonder why his skin was always so cold? Why he was always so impeccable? Why his tears never looked...natural?"

Now that I recall...the only time I've ever seen Muraki cry -the first time we met, in the church in Nagasaki- it DIDN'T look natural. The tear just slipped out from the right side of his eye to slip down his face.

I stay silent, and 'Muraki' laughs again. "Well, not to leave you with your little delusion...I might as well introduce myself." He bows, somehow stepping closer into the middle of the room. "Sekihei Hiryuu."

Just the name makes me want to run screaming from the room. Anyone who's last name means "deep-rooted evil" is not going to be high on my list to make friends with.

Again, I don't say anything, making Hiryuu laugh again. I wince, knowing that it this is NOT going to be good. I'm bed-ridden and he's probably fully powerful.

"Don't you wonder what was Muraki?" He steps forward again, and the look on his face makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. I blink.

"Don't you?"

"What the hell was he?" I say, just to shut him up.

He tilts his head and grins manically. "A robot. He was a robot. That's why his left eye wasn't normal like his right. It distingushed him from the rest of the world." He steps closer. "And whenever he started behaving passionately with either you or the green-eyed little one...I teleported. Switched myself with him."

Dear god, I'm trapped in the room with a maniac. Help? Please?

Let's hope THAT little message gets sent to Hisoka or Tatsumi or somebody who could help. I can hardly move, much less protect myself.

"You never actually ulooked/u at him once he started with his 'passion', didn't you? Never noticed that his left eye turned intact?"

"But his skin was always cold. And apparantely so was yours." My voice is quiet. And I mentally add that I hope to god I never felt his skin again.

"Correct, Tsuzuki-san."

The door /finally/ slams open, and a frazzled Hisoka and an angry -but of course, that's not being shown, what with his calm front and why am I making him seem like a storm?- Tatsumi rushes in.

Hisoka stops, eyes wide. "Muraki...?"

He feels exactly like I do, except maybe stronger. I mean, this idiot did kill him.

"Wrong, little one." Hiryuu smiles maniacally, and teleports someplace...not here. Maybe because Tatsumi's here and Tatsumi can kick much ass. Thank god.

"Are you okay, Tsuzuki-san?" "I'm fine, Tatsumi-san. Sank'yuu. ....Hisoka, you okay?" I look concernedly at the shell-shocked younger Shinigami.

"I...didn't feel anything from him..."