++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Screaming to an emptiness
Of how we once defined ourselves
With our hands over our eyes
Claiming all of creation.
"Can someone see our self destruction?
Are we reminding ourselves
That our existence is
So delicate
That without this light we are no more..."
--VNV Nation, "Carbon"
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It was perhaps three-thirty in the morning, but it felt much later.
The Criminal Investigation Division of the Central Paris GPF had been on the site for what seemed like hours. Dozens of bleary-eyed men and women in the standard navy drab cloaks of the Global Police Force scoured the remote street, taking bits and pieces of nearly everything that could be considered evidence, speaking to the shocked patrons and employees at the small tavern a mere block away. None of them had seen anything untoward.
There were only three viable eyewitnesses: One was a bartender who had seen the victim leaving with an attractive dark-haired woman in red who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, surely no older. Other than that, he'd said, there hadn't been anything particularly unusual. That sort of thing happened all the time, people coming and going - usually the various women with their clients of the moment.
Ky Kiske didn't find that surprising in the least. The Crusades had brought local law enforcement grinding to a standstill as most effort was put towards a more widescale, immediate threat. In its absence, petty crime had become rampant - prostitution being one of them. And since many of the Knights had taken advantage of that service throughout the years (Ky had of course highly disapproved, but he couldn't be everyone's morality)... well. He'd done his best to try and shut the established houses down since joining the force, but since this tavern wasn't per se a so-called "house of ill repute", there wasn't much he could do to them, other than have himself a nice long conversation with the proprietor about condoning illegal activity.
He was currently interviewing one of the other two eyewitnesses, this one the trembling and shocked young prostitute who'd stumbled across the corpse. Her client, a man in his late thirties, had been the one to call the police. The former Seikishidan commander literally had to force himself to stare at her face - looking anywhere below her neck (albeit out of some sort of morbid fascination) was causing a bright crimson blush to creep up his fair cheeks. He knew it wasn't visible in the darkness - tonight was a new moon, so the only lights they had were their own - but still, it was the principle of the matter. Even if he was almost twenty-five years old, it wasn't as if he should use his age to justify tolerating this sort of behavior. Besides, he wasn't used to women who showed so much strategically placed flesh...
"I don't know," she wailed when he gently asked her if she'd seen anyone at all in the area when she had found the body. Her face was caked in makeup, and Kiske suspected she was much younger than she'd taken pains to appear. "I just thought maybe someone had knocked over a dustbin... but when we got closer there was a funny smell like metal, and the man with me had a lighter in his pocket and flicked it on to see what it was, and there was that guy just laying there and his chest had been ripped open and... and things were coming out... I don't know... maybe his guts or something... oh God, I feel sick, I think I'm gonna throw up..."
She did look the tiniest bit pale, so Ky quickly motioned one of his men over and asked the man to escort their witness back to the inn. As soon as she was gone, he lifted his own flashlight and headed back to the meticulously taped-off scene - mercifully the body had been covered pending the arrival of the city coroner. He had to say that he honestly couldn't blame the girl for feeling the way she did. The murder had been a gruesome one, and the third in the last week. All of them had followed the same pattern so far: a dark-haired woman walking out with a man perhaps five to ten years older. The victims had all been disemboweled, all discovered with their facial expressions frozen in glazed shock.
The French policeman sighed, glancing away from the gory tableau and swiping his forearm across his brow. The mist that crept about them in thin tendrils had become oppressive as well as chilly, and strands of tawny hair had pasted themselves to his face.
Holy Mother of God, I hope we don't have a serial killer on our hands...
Ky was afraid, however, that a serial killer was exactly what they were dealing with. Especially when considering that so far, all the victims had been of a certain type... and even more strangely, all of them had been bounty hunters - all looking for the Gear with the handsome price on its head. He had little doubt that this man would fit the pattern as well.
"Captain?" A discreet tap on his shoulder startled Kiske out of his exhausted ruminations, to offer a momentarily blank stare to the young woman who'd spoken. She gestured to the fatigued-looking man at her side, barely taller than she. "This is Dr. Louis Charpentier from the coroner's office."
"Bonsoir," came the abrupt reply as the little man thrust a hand forward. "I came as soon as I could."
"Thank you. I'm sorry to wake you at such a terrible hour..."
"It's part of the job," Charpentier said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's the same as the last two, right?"
"Yes. Disembowelment, white male, somewhere between 25 and 35 years old."
The coroner nodded. "I'll let you know if anything comes up from the identification." He couldn't perform an autopsy without approval from any living kin that the victim might have had.
Ky nodded, then rubbed his eyes tiredly as he started for the hovercraft - though not without a motion to the female officer who was his second-in-command with a few last-moment instructions. "Felice, if you would be so kind, please handle the forensics team. I have to go make a few phone calls..."
"Of course, Captain." She didn't ask what, not that she needed to. Ky was simply following GPF protocol: filling out his report and phoning it in to the chief. The report would not only go on the next day's business of importance, but probably out to the various hunter circuits as well.
As much as he hated to admit it, Ky Kiske had a feeling the police might need the hunters' aid before it was all said and done...
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--THE DEVIL'S LIVING PLACE: UNDISCLOSED--
You really shouldn't be here. Humans are probably the last thing he wants to see right now.
That, however, was of little concern to the young Asian man who now paused on the edge of the clearing, trying to be as silent as possible and adjusting his glasses as he gazed upon the figure kneeling at the small trickle that passed for a stream. The delicate-looking man whom he was watching was clad in black leather - an odd combination of a body wrap and a halter that left his lower back and midsection exposed, though half of it was shielded by a thick lustrous mane of silken obsidian hair that probably hadn't seen a brush in quite a while.
Guess he decided to stay here even after she left. I wonder why...
Before Anji could do anything else, however, the figure stiffened, back going ramrod straight as the chin slowly lifted and the knees tensed, shifting and supporting the extra weight placed upon them. Swiftly and silently the young man raised from his half-squatting kneel to a standing position, the action drawing him to his full height with an eerily liquid grace that was far from human.
Apparently Anji Mito's presence hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Don't move." The voice was a smooth silken tenor-baritone, a rasped whisper of sound so soft it could almost be gentle if not for the implicit threat written beneath its currents.
Then again, this particular individual didn't need to be loud or strident, as his mere presence spoke for him.
Mito felt a slight chill at the brusque command; it bespoke an obvious warning to any random intruders - especially when contemplating the tension in his pallid face... He knew from doing research of his own that the former Holy Knight was harmless. But encountering him was a different matter entirely. "Er..." Anji coughed. He was very cautious to keep his hands well in view of the immortal's peripheral vision. Testament was unlikely to attack him without provocation, but all the same it was best not to irritate him as he was a trifle unpredictable.
This was perhaps the third time the wandering activist had spoken to the Gear Lord on less than hostile terms. And although he seemed to tolerate the young Japanese politician well enough... it was a little difficult to know just what exactly was running through his mind at any point. Testament was possessed of an extremely complex personality, Anji knew - he could easily infuse his manner with a cold and venomous arrogance capable of stinging even the most overinflated ego, yet few men could be as humbly self-effacing as he was when it came to matters of personal accomplishment. "I'm sorry to bother you, but..."
"Ah... the indefatigable Anji Mito. Come to pester me about the creator of the Gears once more, or so I assume?" The Gear merely paused before twisting himself halfway to face the interloper. Tired feline eyes flickered with claret-colored recognition as his gaze fell upon Anji's face, then a faint, wry smile. Jaded and cynical by habit, the wielder of Searing Fang wasn't without a certain dry, urbane sense of humor. Macabre as it could sometimes be. "You do realize, I hope, that making the same inquiry of me thrice in the space of a month isn't likely to garner you a different answer."
"It was worth another try." The wanderer smiled a bit in return, dropping his hands. "Should I wipe my feet before I come in, or are you washing your welcome mat in that stream?"
To Anji's surprise the tongue-in-cheek response earned a rare though honest chuckle - an equivalent to rip-roaring laughter, for him. "I daresay I wasn't expecting company of the amiable sort today. Come closer if you like, I don't bite."
"How's business been around here?" Anji took a seat on a small boulder that sat comfortably near the burnt remains of a small campfire. He had to admit a certain amount of gratefulness for the Gear's unusually friendly demeanor. Maybe he was lonely or something. "Looks a little slow of late."
"Oh, humans still come on occasion. Searching for Dizzy, of course, hoping for quick and easy wealth. Mind you, most of them seem to have a rather... detrimental change in fortune when they choose to pursue the issue."
"Isn't that a shame?" Anji said with vast insincerity, and this earned a chuckle of agreement. "I thought Dizzy didn't approve of you killing people."
"Sometimes it's unavoidable. You humans can be persistent to the point of abject stupidity."
The Japanese man grinned wryly, not missing the pointed remark. "My most sincere apologies."
Testament dismissed the flippantly offered concession with a nonchalant shrug. "Was there something else you desired, or did you simply wish to enjoy my scintillating company?"
"Not much apart from the obvious. I hear there's a bit of a stir in Paris right now, though."
"Oh?" The Gear didn't sound that surprised.
"Someone's been taking up your occupation. Two Gear hunters've turned up dead in the last week, or so I hear through the grapevine."
Another shrug, this one slightly effeminate. "That's two less parasites for me to concern myself with, quite frankly, and the culprit is performing a deed I consider favorable to my own agenda." The brandywine eyes were stern and direct as they focused on Anji's face. "I see no reason to involve myself. I should think you would have realized that by now."
"You knew, didn't you?"
"My dear fellow," Testament said with deliberate aplomb, "you humans have this atrocious habit of forgetting that I have my own ways of keeping abreast of... current events, shall we say? Yes. I knew. The man handling the situation is the boy who harbors such an enormous affinity for our dearly beloved Sol Badguy - Ky Kiske."
Anji whistled. "I do believe I sense sarcasm."
"Perceptive, aren't you? And am I incorrect?"
"No, you're right. He's the one on the case."
"Those who would murder without remorse or care for the error of their ways, regardless of how much the victims might deserve it, are little more than rabid creatures. I can see that as truth despite my own opinion on the matter." A sage nod followed the quiet murmur of approval, though as Testament turned away slightly he didn't quite conceal the grim flicker of concern that escaped his usual shuttered mask of indifference - Anji noted it almost immediately. The Gear's apparent heartlessness was only superficial; though he normally seemed to be against punishment as a rule, he also seemed to make exceptions in certain cases. Which indicated that the business in Paris was more of a concern to the Gear than he was willing to disclose. He still wouldn't involve himself, but neither would he make any effort to aid the criminal. "May Kiske be successful in the hunt."
"He might not be, but it looks like I am."
The rumbling bass of an all-too-familiar voice caused both human and Gear to turn in surprise. Sure enough it was the one, the only badass bounty hunter Sol Badguy. The man was lounging against a sycamore tree at the edge of the grove's clearing (not far from where Anji had been), taking a healthy drag off a cigarette - or unhealthy, depending on your philosophy towards smoking - and grinning with an almost savage cheer at the two men. "Guess the info I got in Madrid on you was right after all, Mito."
Testament scowled, mentally berating himself for allowing Sol to slip past his guard. "What do you want?"
"How rude." Sol shrugged. "What's wrong? I interrupt a tea party or did Mito ask you to dance? You might want to change skirts if you do - that one looks like it's seen better decades."
"Get the hell out of here."
The only reaction to his hostility was a mocking laugh. "Or what? You'll hit me with your matching purse?"
A low threatening snarl, much like that of a panther's, rumbled in Testament's throat. Anji could hear it from where he stood. The Japanese man watched those slim delicate hands clenching into fists so tight that a thin trickle of blood pattered between two of the Gear's knuckles. He wasn't as solid or as strong as Sol, but Anji suspected that if push came to shove he was probably close to being the bounty hunter's match in a fight. "I believe I told you to get out. I won't ask again."
"Gentlemen, please!" Anji Mito held up his hands, trying desperately to play diplomat before both men decided to do some creative reconstructing of the grove. "Can't we handle this later? There are too many breakable things about for the two of you to pick a fight. Trees, rocks, the continent of Europe... that kind of thing."
"I came for you, Mito." Sol crossed his arms and stared at him. "One of the higher-ups in the World Court wants you bad enough to sell their own grandmother. There was a 150,000 world-dollar tune on your happy ass, and I'm taking you with me to Geneva to collect my fees."
"Aaa..." Anji sweatdropped nervously as the American advanced on him, then glanced helplessly at the enraged Testament. Shit! That must be Lord Smythe-Wilson's doing...
"He's still pissed at you over what happened to his oldest kid. Not that I give a damn, but you know... business is business." Baiken wasn't going to be happy with him once this got back to her, but she could damn well find another kid to amuse herself with in the meantime. "From there you get to stand trial for aggravated assault."
All that money on my head, just for an assault charge? Anji scratched his head and said the first thing that came to mind in his defense. Unfortunately it made him sound as though he were about six years old. "Hey, he started it."
"He's rich, boy, and rich assholes have a way of beating a dead horse. But that ain't my problem. Now hand over your fans and let's get going. I wanna get to St. Germain sometime this fuckin' century."
"Oh, I think not." Testament narrowed his claret eyes, a slight flicker of gold entering the carmine orbs which now glowed with an unholy light. His right hand unclenched itself, and the grooves his nails had dug into his palms were plainly visible as he made a gesture towards the air. That space seemed to shimmer like a confined heat wave, and there was a low metallic hum before the iridescence solidified itself into a scythe with a blood-red blade. Searing Fang, one of the eight in the OUTRAGE set. "Not unless you wish to lose a limb or two in the process, Sol."
Anji inwardly sighed with relief, although he suspected that the Gear wasn't so much jumping to his defense as he was trying to find any reason possible to provoke Sol. Somehow the bounty hunter always seemed to bring out the former Holy Knight's worst faults: stubbornness, overweening pride, and so on. Sol, however, hardly looked intimidated.
"Watch me tremble in mortal fear, asshole."
"This weapon is quite capable of harming you as much as myself, prototype," Testament spat, his hand closing about the scythe's polearm, "and you know it."
"Yeah? Well you know, I hate to laugh and run. But as much as I'd love to waste my valuable time playing with you, I've got better things to do." Sol snagged one of Anji's wrists and yanked him forward before the Japanese man was able to protest, slapping a pair of reinforced steel cuffs about them and taking the twin harisen from his sleeves at the same time. Yeah, he was fast, all right, but being alert was part of the package. "Now let's get going."
Fortune must have been strong with Anji Mito. Testament stepped forward in preparation to block Sol's way when a very loud ringing cut through the relative silence of the grove... a portable telephone, one of the few holdovers from the old days due to its sheer convenience, and obviously belonging to the bounty hunter. It was Sol's turn to scowl.
"The hell? I thought I told him not to call me when I left Madrid..." He pulled the cell from his jeans pocket and flipped the receiver open. "This is Badguy. What's up?"
"Hey, Sol." The voice on the other end was tinny and barely audible - of course, they were out in the middle of goddamned nowhere... "I know you asked me not to call since you were trying to work, but something's come up. You heard about the murders in Paris?"
He thought a moment. He'd seemed to hear something about that around the circle - though he hadn't taken much notice; the only important point of the matter was that it seemed to keep Kiske off his ass. Too bad it took giving the boy a nice nasty murder to leave him the hell alone. "Yeah, through the grapevine."
"The Chief of Police's issued a bounty on the culprit's head, to the tune of three hundred grand. Thought you might be interested."
"Any reason it's so large? That's a pretty good chunk of spare change."
"Uh, that's why I called. You might wanna go to Paris and take a look at the file the city coroner's office pieced together. There's something weird about the case, they said, but they didn't say what."
Crap. Looked like Geneva'd have to wait. "Yeah, okay, I'll be in Paris as soon as I can. Thanks, Sam." With a heavy, irritated sigh Sol closed the receiver and shoved the phone back in his pocket - this time he put it on silent, though.
"What was that about?" Anji frowned, and even Testament raised an ebon brow in silent query.
"You got lucky, Mito. There's some big whoop-de-doo in Paris over a serial killer, and the crazy fuck's worth twice what you are."
"Ah! Well then, you're forgiven for this inconvenience." The politician lifted his shackled wrists with a winsome smile. "Now if you'll just unfasten these bracelets and give me back my weapons, I'll just be on my way..."
Sol emitted a raucous laugh and grabbed Anji's sleeve, tugging him forward. "You ain't gettin' out of this that easy. I think I'd rather be four hundred and fifty grand richer, as opposed to three hundred. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I take you to Geneva."
"Mou..." Oh, well. It was worth a try...
"Let's get going, then. It's three hours' walk to St. Germain - we'll have to get transport to Paris from there."
The other Gear frowned faintly, tilting his head as if listening to something no one else could hear, then slowly nodded. He opened his hand, and the scythe seemed to fold in on itself as it vanished from sight. "I'll come along."
"Why?"
Justice's former right hand sighed irritably. "Because I feel like it, that's why. Would you like me to give you a dissertation, or would you mind leaving well enough alone?"
"You aren't going like that, are you? They'll call the alarm as soon as you hit town."
"I have ways of hiding myself from human notice."
Sol uttered a noncommittal grunt. He didn't relish traveling with the self-righteous bastard, but as long as he kept his mouth shut and minded his own business, the bounty hunter didn't particularly care what his reasons were for tagging along. If Testament wanted to go to Paris just to tap dance and jerk off at the same time, whatever. "Just don't get in my way, understand? You do and I'll hang your skinny ass out to dry."
"Sol," Testament said icily, "I don't think you can even begin to realize just how indifferent I am to your threats."
"And I could give a shit either way."
"Fine."
"Fine.
Anji Mito released a sigh of his own. If Sol and Testament chose to spend the entire trip arguing like a couple of children, this was going to be a very long trip indeed...
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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Honestly, I didn't mean for this chapter to be in only two parts! o_o; I decided at the last minute to go ahead and tie Sol in - now you see why he didn't want Baiken to know why he was asking around. Rahaha. >_>; Anyway, since it was starting to get long, I figured I'd cut this chapter short and set up the next one a little better. My apologies! *bows profusely*
