Author:
Mirrordance
E-mail:
mirror_dance@hotmail.com
Title: Dead Waters
Type: series
Spoilers: basically
references to stuff all throughout the series.
Warnings: angst,
language and violence
Teaser: Ken befriends
a hesitant Farfello in strange circumstances,
Ran gets hasseled by an investigative
reporter looking into
vigilante groups, and
Schwarz want to collaborate with Weiss against
a common enemy...
Keywords: Weiss,
Schwarz, Action
"And one of the elders of the city said, Speak to us of Good and Evil.
And he answered:
Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?
Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters..."
--an excerpt from "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran
"Dead Waters"
Part 2
Each one of them had his own assignment.
Omi Tsukiyono, being a whiz at computers, was assigned to break into the computer files of nearby hospitals, as well as police stations, in case any reports have been recorded electronically on Ken Hidaka. Yoji Kudo arranged to have a meeting with the Kritiker contact Manx, in case they knew more than the authorities (which was almost always the case). Ran Fujimiya, in the likelihood that files were not input on computers, set off to inquire in hospitals and police stations for their missing friend.
It wasn't what Ran would have wanted to do. A member of White Cross missing, and they depend on legitimate contacts... it was almost unheard of. But something about this made him feel that it had nothing directly to do with their clandestine existence. That was probably why it gave him much fear; this, a personal issue, was where he had lost all control.
Ran was on the front desk of his nth police station, inquiring persistently about his missing friend, when he felt keen eyes watching him. He spared its owner a glance, and found her to be a striking woman of auburn hair, sculpted features and midnight blue eyes. He could easily tell she was a foreigner. Not the most beautiful one he had set his eyes on, certainly, but she had a way about her that seemed to fit her perfectly. She wasn't very tall, though Ran thought that the judgment was unfair, being that his standards were high at a height of a little over six feet. She was wearing a business suit with casual ease, and was carrying a large ladies' bag as well as a pen and a pad. She scribbled hastily as she watched the proceedings, making Ran more than a little bit ill-at-ease.
With the report finally over, Ran stared at the woman, who seemed oblivious to his ire; she had already turned on the cop at the desk.
"Hi, I'm Dane MacAllister from WASF News," she told the man. Fast tongue, Ran noticed. Typical of a reporter. There was a strong accent there, but it added to her suspicious charm somehow, and didn't make her hard to understand either.
Losing interest, Ran turned his back on the two. But her hand reached out and grasped his arm without even looking his way, keeping him firmly in place. Ran was, of course, more than annoyed. But to hit a woman was not an option for him, much less in the middle of a police station.
"There have been a lot of missing persons reported lately," she told the cop, "more than the usual rate. But no bodies are ever found, and a lot of cases remain open. What do you think is going on?"
The cop was more than flustered by the brash young woman. His English wasn't very good either, and for a few moments Ran watched the two people struggle with trying to understand each other.
"He's saying he's not the man to talk to," Ran cut in impatiently, shaking off the woman's grasp, "nor is he allowed to speak of the matter to reporters"
The woman just grabbed his arm again, and Ran was too high-prided to try to run away.
"Then point me in the direction of someone I could speak to about the matter!" she exclaimed.
The cop replied something that was far from polite, and sounded more than a little rude. Ran decided to edit the translation.
"He says you're the reporter, you find out."
Dane narrowed her eyes at the fidgeting cop in irritation and thought.
"You know, its people like you who mess up the industry," she said, pivoting on her heel. "Let's go."
It took Ran a long moment of disbelief before he realized he was the one she was speaking to.
Once outside, he pulled away from her determined grasp, and proceeded to stalk towards his parked car without a goodbye he adamantly felt she did not deserve. He couldn't remember being this much irritated in his life. But maybe he thought too soon. His annoyance immediately increased when she followed him.
"Ran Fujimiya, right?" she asked, keeping pace, "I heard from your complaint. How do you feel about the seeming indifference of the authorities during this crisis?"
"Go. Away."
He hopped on his car and drove off.
Arriving home didn't make his day any better.
Ken was still absent, and Manx had a spanking new mission for the three of Weib remaining. But therein lies the interesting point: the target was the elusive suspect for the capture of missing people. He was known only as the Shadow. A frustrated genius testing on unwilling subjects, and an adept at martail arts. Of all the bodies found, he places a subtle but constant trademark, as if it were a compulsion he could not resist doing each time: three pairs of twin puncture marks forming an equilateral triangle along each of the victims' necks.
Ran prayed he wouldn't find Ken here.
"We get this done tonight," he said to Manx, as Yoji and Omi hastily agreed.
To say it was a sinister-looking place would be unfair.
Despite the menacing minds that owned it, there was a deceiving opulence about the headquarters that spoke of class, as well as distinction. The room the eight people were presently in, was decorated by baroque articles, most of which were genuine antiques. There was a round table at the center, surrounded by eight faces.
Like in any group, there was no formally assigned leader, but someone tended to organize and dominate the proceedings. In this case, his name was Mitzka, and he had a strange accent that made one wonder at his roots, if indeed a foreigner he was. He seemed theatrical enough to make one up.
He was big and burly and had a keen mind to go with the artificially enhanced muscle. It was his definite strong point, seemingly inhuman strength. But that meant nothing at the moment.
"How are our plans progressing?" he asked.
A small, inconspicuous young woman named Carlotta was the one to answer timidly. This one had the power to read and control minds.
"The most accessible mind of Schwarz was Farfello's" she said, "I implanted the orders there. Just as the most vulnerable at the time was Weib's Siberian. I'm sure that after one of them is hurt, Weib would be provoked to kill Schwarz. Farfello should have been done with Siberian by now"
"Should have?" Mitzka asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.
"Both are at present, missing," said Carlotta, "and I can scarcely scan all the minds in this city to look for theirs, could I? It's preposterous. It was hard enough at the start, even when I knew where they were. Besides, they probably killed each other by now"
Mitzka accepted this with a nod. The plan was to have Schwarz and Weib Kreuz kill each other off, anyway, to get both teams out of their way.
He turned to Ramon, the shape-shifter.
"Are you ready to initiate the face-off?"
The innocent-looking face of Ramon gave Mitzka a crazy smile, as his features seemingly melted into that of Ken Hidaka's.
"I've been waiting for this"
But the real Ken Hidaka was elsewhere, of course.
Green eyes opened slowly, and he found himself in a dimly-lit room, where shafts of sunlight bled from the cracks of boarded windows. He was still lightheaded, as was his last memory before losing consciousness. His body was also aching dully, which he attributed to the fact that he was lying over bunched but still ineffectively thin matresses on the hard floor, like the one which had been draped over him.
He chuckled a little, not knowing why exactly he found his disorientation unbelievably funny. What a weird hallucination that was, seeing his great enemy's face hovering over his own, saving his life.
His life...His life...
He sat up with a start, thinking maybe the unthinkable happened after all. He was supposed to be dead. Not just dead, even liquid from the fall he tried to take.
He turned his head sharply to the side, to find those eerie golden eyes staring at him. Farfello looked troubled, determined, and more than a little insane, sitting on the floor and watching him.
Ken pulled his hands up to his view, looking for bonds but instead found bandages on his wrists. They were clumsy, and a little soiled but enough to staunch the flow of blood.
He looked up accusingly at Farfello, his lips forming the only coherent thought that came to mind.
"Why?"
Farfello, throughout the restless night, had wondered about the same thing.
He came to the conclusion just this morning, and was so anxious for the answer that he almost lost his patience and shook the soccer player awake. But he bided his time. And now he hesitated.
"Why?" Siberian asked again, those green eyes blaming.
It was ironic, Farfello had to admit. Siberian probably thought he was just plain sadistic. When Weib want to live, he wants to kill them. When they want to die, he wants to save them.
"I wanted to know," replied Farfello, "what made the self-righteous White Hunter think that he had the right to take his own life"
It was a simple, if brutal truth.
The existence of a member of Schwarz was questionable, at best. Total world domination was starting to sound ridiculous, as he dwelled on it. But White Cross' intent was clear. Farfello thought that their motivations were pure. And killing, it was a life left to the night, and in the day, its members relished in the security they provided. Manning that eternally sunny shop filled with excited, laughing voices. Playing in bright fields surrounded by happy children.
It wasn't anything Farfello thought he could stand. All that goddamn joy. And it didn't look like anything that would accept him, being who he was, how he thought, how he looked.
Farfello couldn't understand what Siberian was taking for granted.
Ken was, of course, reasonably stunned.
"It's none of your business," he finally decided to say, and Farfello nodded, as if he expected the reply.
The Irishman got to his feet, and wordlessly and a little sheepishly offered a tray of food. Hardboiled eggs and crackers, as well as a glass of tapwater. Ken was familiar with the diet, being an assassin. If you lose blood, it was the right thing to eat. And Weib lost a lot of blood.
He looked questioningly at the Irishman, who looked at him blankly.
"Don't tell me" he said, "you're worried about poison. You tried to fucking kill yourself twice last night and you're concerned about poison?"
Ken stared, wondering if it was a joke, then decided it was too human an undertaking for a member of Schwartz. But it was funny, nontheless. So he laughed.
And ate.
Not that there was anything left to lose anyway.
The night, like the morning, gave no foreboding of the events to come.
Mission accomplished.
Yoji sighed as he drove down the familiar streets towards home. Ran let him have the wheel this time around, for the red-head wasn't feeling in top form. He sat in the back, recovering from a blow to the head as he rubbed at the triangular mark on his neck. He looked wistful over how close he had come to dying this time around.
Omi was beside him, a bit banged up but nothing serious either. The Shadow was a handful, even for the three of them. But he was dead now, and his victims would either be reunited with their families by tonight, or given a proper burial.
The group was more than grateful not to have found Ken among them, but as the night wore on Omi wondered what he preferred; to never know what had happened to their friend, or to find him dead.
He needn't have worried anymore.
As they neared the back entrance, they heard frantic banging against the back door. In the darkness, there was a dark figure there, leaning heavily against the door he was knocking at.
Yoji warily shifted the car so the light would shine on whoever was there.
It took them a long moment to realize the bloodied man was Ken, who had turned to face them.
"Sorry..." he said in a hoarse voice, "I...forgot...my...keys..."
He collapsed on the street, as Yoji, Omi and Ran hurriedly disboarded the car.
Falling to his knees beside his comrade, Yoji checked for vitals and was relieved that battered as he was, the injuries were not critical.
"Ken, what happened?" Omi asked.
"Call Manx," Ran said as he removed his coat, handing it to Yoji to wrap around Ken, "tell her we have an agent down--"
"No," Ken argued breathlessly struggling to push himself up to his elbows, "they're...gonna take me away...Jus' wanna be home now...Jus' wanna be home..."
"All right, shh" Yoji said soothingly, pushing him down gently, "just relax, okay? You're safe now. No one is going to take you away from here"
"Who did this?" Omi asked.
Ken closed his eyes in exhaustion as he answered.
"Schwarz. It was Schwarz."
