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 3

      "I'm not your prisoner, am I?" asked Ken, tilting his head at Farfello in thought.  He already knew the answer, of course.  The two have been in the enclosed space for hours now, during which Ken found himself feeling safe enough to take a few more naps, a few more meals.  All the while Farfello hung back in his place, always looking as if he never moved at all and had all the time in the world...and was waiting for an answer.

      "You're free to leave at any time," said the Irishman, shifting his weight a little, "but you aren't going to yet, are you?"

      But he knew the answer to that too.

      Ken chuckled.  "I'm wondering if I'll ever regret not leaving while I had the chance, but you're right.  I'm not going yet.  Wouldn't want to come home to my friends yet, faced with all their questions"

      Farfello suddenly wondered about what explanations to give his own group, then decided they wouldn't ask.  He didn't know which one of them was better off.

      "Is this your house?" asked Ken, looking around a bit.  "Is that how you found me?"
      "I don't live here," came the reply, "I was following you because I was sent to kill you"
      Ken's eyes widened in surprise.  "Well.  Isn't this something? We've managed to get out of each other's way for almost two years, after all.  Would you mind if I ask who wants me dead?"
      "Yes"

      "I knew that"
      Silence.  It was surprisingly comfortable.

      "So should I leave now," asked Ken, "before you change your mind?"
      "If you want to"

      "Why won't you leave instead?" asked Ken, smirking a bit.

      "You might try again" Farfello replied curtly.

      "Why care?"

      "Why kill yourself?"

      Why, why, why.  They were driving each other crazy asking questions niether would want to answer.  But the answers were there, clogging the room.

      Farfello stayed because he wanted to feel.  Ken stayed because he wanted to be numb.  It was a mystery who would be getting what he wanted, if anyone was to at all.

      Omi watched with a frown as Ken slept, deep in an exhausted slumber.  Yoji and Ran were just outside the bedroom, speaking in frustrated-sounding hushed tones.  Omi considered going out there to join in the discussion, but knew it was bound to be fruitless; would only yield more questions than answers.  No solutions would be forthcoming until Manx arrived.

      Omi surveyed the damage with a critical eye.  All in all, Ken looked much worse than he was in danger.  In a lot of pain, surely, but nothing fatal, and that was a relief.  The fear that ran through his veins at the sight of his battered friend was haunting and fresh in his memory. 

      The real question was, of course, why Schwarz decided to do this now.

      The two groups have not had any contact in years, as if each were pretending the other no longer existed.  Omi surely liked to think so, but apparently he was wrong.  The war between them hadn't ended in a doomed grave under the sea after all.

      Curt clicks of stilettos alerted him to Manx's arrival; it seemed as if she never needed keys to go anywhere.  She stood by the door with a thoughtful frown that could very well have belonged to Omi himself.

      Omi rose to stand with them.  The meeting was going to take place just outside Ken's bedroom door, for no one wanted to leave him behind and everyone had to hear what Manx had to say.

      "Are you sure he is in no need of a medic?" asked Manx.

      "He's a little banged up, is all," said Yoji, "and more than a little on shaky ground.  I don't think he would want to be seeing any strangers right now.  Maybe in a few days"

      Manx let out a shrill breath.  "Damn.  He says its Schwarz? We don't need this now"

      "We don't need it ever," Yoji said wryly.

      "Why would they do this?" muttered Omi, "after so long too"

      "And why suddenly let him go?" murmured Manx.

      "Maybe he wasn't released," said Ran, "he may have escaped, though until he regains consciousness we wouldn't know.  All he said was it was Schwarz"

      "You're right," agreed Manx, "we have our agents on the look-out for information.  But this is going to be a mess.  I was going to give you an assignment, but we may have to postpone, in light of this new crisis.  If Schwarz is still on the streets, we may have to reroute a few of our plans"

      "What other assignment?" Ran asked.

      Manx hesitated.  But only for a moment.  "Schwarz turned coat on SS, but the group is resurrected.  Some new prophet with new prophecies saying their ancestors could still rise again.  This crackpot is so charismatic its got the entire organization pulsating again.  But they're more cautious, this time.  They've got a new batch of helmsmen with a new set of powers.  This is linked with the Shadow, by the way, who was the brains behind the genetic alterations.  We're talking of a group just like Schwarz, but bigger and badder and more determined, after their failure"

      "Maybe they got Schwarz working for them again," said Omi.

      Manx shrugged.  "It is a possibility.  But groups like that have very strong principles about vengeance and loyalty.  Their 'justice' is swift"
      "Maybe Schwarz makes up for the betrayal by working for them again," considers Omi.

      "Maybe anything" Manx said with a sigh.

      Suddenly, Ran drew his katana and fell to a cautious stance at the sound of inhumanly subtle footsteps. 

      He, Manx, Yoji and Omi were still considering their next step as they stood by Ken's bedroom door when seemingly out of nowhere, like an inescapable nightmare, appeared Noe Nagi, Schuldich and Brad Crawford.

      Yoji hissed a curse and looked at Ken, asleep and blissfully unaware.

      "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" he asked.

      "Saving your goddamn ass, if that's what you're wondering—" snapped Schuldich, only to be silenced by Crawford's hand squeezing against his shoulder.

      "Like you saved Ken, right?" snapped Omi.

      "I'd save the hostilities for later," said Crawford calmly, "you know very little of what's going on.  Too little to be so arrogant.

      "The man lying on that bed is not who you think he is," he said, stepping toward Ken only to be blocked by the lethally armed Ran.

      It defied God, defied reason, defied pretty much anything anyone could think of that had anything to do with ethics or morality or human capability.

      And yet, it happened.

      Across time and across space and through mental barriers, Carlotta stretched her mind's arms and searched.

      "Where are you hiding…" her voice echoed.

      There you are.

      She found what she was looking for, and embraced it.

      "Farfello.

      "Farfello.

      "Have you killed Siberian yet?"

      Golden eyes snapped open and met nothing but the darkened room.

      "Have you killed Siberian yet?" she asked.

      "No," he replied.

      "Then do it"

      He flinched, looked around for where the voice was coming from.  A part of his mind, the sane and very quietly-voiced one, said that there was just one other person in the room, and this voice didn't belong to him…

      "Kill Siberian NOW" the voice insisted.

      "No!" he said, rising to his feet.

      "Kill him!"

      He placed his hands over his ears, found it profoundly useless.

      "Who the hell is this?"
      "That doesn't matter…" the voice turned gentle again, but somehow, Farfello felt her restrained irritation.

      "Like hell—"
      "Kill him now" the voice snapped, apparently having lost patience.

      "Shut the fuck up!"

      KillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNow—

      "Stop…" Farfello begged.

      "It will stop," she said, "only when he is dead"

      KillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNow…

      Farfello shot to his feet and ran away.

      Ken raised his head up at the noise.

      "What's going on?" he asked sleepily.

      The apartment was empty, and very, very quiet.

      Like a sick dream, the night was suddenly peppered by insistent rainfall.  Through it, Farfello ran like a deranged man, the voice in his head always just a step behind him.  It was ridiculous.  He was running away from the goddamn unsuspecting target.

      Who, in turn, was trying to catch up with him.

      KillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNowKillHimNow…

      "Wait!" Ken was yelling, voice almost drowned by the sound of the rain.

      Farfello could barely hear anything but Carlotta in his head.

      She considered herself an artist.

      Playing god was a hobby.  Carlotta 'created' worlds that minds could get lost in, for as long as she wanted them there.

      She made her order echo insistently in Farfello's mind.  Then decided it would be infinitely more interesting and effective if there were pictures and goads to go with it.

      She showed him flashes of the pain that he has lived through.  Then flashes of a sun-drenched field, and laughing children and giggling girls and other things that he could never have.  The enemy that hindered the singular dream he could attain: the world and its material possessions, if not its love and its acceptance.  The innocent-looking flower shop which seemed to be the center of it all.       

      Kill.  Him.  Now.

      And he finally yielded.