The Hunting – Chapter 2: Assassin Blood

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, I don't own Schwarz, I don't own Japan, I don't own the weather, I don't own the buildings, I don't own the people, or their scarves and jackets and mittens, I don't own the Koneko, I don't own Omi's shoes, or the tracers, or his socks, or his computer... I own nothing, except for the ummmm idea? I think... I might not even own that either. 0.o

Brad was in the office still, not working. He thought for a second that he was going crazy, shaking, and hearing voices. But then he knew what was happening to him, what will happen to him, and what would happen to him if he stayed. He checked his watch, and it was already dark out by now. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He grabbed his jacket, and walked out. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked to the Koneko. The snow was too much for driving. He hated that about the winter weather.

He was impatient. It had been two weeks since Schuldich reported on his kills. Weiss had done near to nothing in response. They must have been too wary of the mass killing in one night. Schuldich should have been born with at least one shred of common sense when it came to taking lives. People get suspicious of such a massive death toll in one night, in barely a few hours. It wasn't five in one night, no, it was almost hundreds. And Schuldich hadn't had the sense enough to pace the killing.

Crawford blamed himself, for the assassin's misjudgment. Who else could he blame but the boy's parents? No, he was the telepath's boss, to put it bluntly, and he should have given orders to report immediately. He should have done what he always had done. But maybe he would have if he weren't in this shape... Crawford shrugged some snow off his jacket and decided that all was already said and done and nothing could be done about it. It wasn't like it was the end of the wor—. Crawford grinned.

The plans hadn't completely gone down the toilet quite yet. He was just going to let Schuldich go ahead and think that he wanted Abyssinian's drugs. That would at least keep him occupied for some time until he got what he wanted. I mean, who's going to miss an assassin anyway? If he just worked fast enough...

He waited until darkness tainted the windows to make his move. It was a perfectly stealthy entrance, and most of them were asleep. Crawford walked in as if he owned the place. He knew where everything was going to be. It was laid out for him in a small clay model in his brain.

The faint glow of a computer screen flooded the main room of the downstairs, and the clack clack of the keyboard told him that the young one was working. He stood behind the boy and waited until his reflection showed in the screen or a flash his glasses made, forced the boy to turn and gasp. It didn't matter which.

Omi turned and gasp when he saw the looming shape behind him in the screen of his computer, a flash of light, light from the glasses. But that's as far as he got. He'd let in a breath of air, preparing to yell for help. Crawford grabbed the young assassin's face, closing the mouth, wrenching him out of his seat. The muffled struggles remained unheard, and Omi was gone long before morning arrived in the winter wonderland.

Ken's screams filled the building as morning tumbled into the windows and he other assassins tumbled out of their beds.

"What's wrong, Ken?" Yoji asked, hurrying into the room, only half dressed. Alarm painted his face and saturated his eyes, along with the sleepiness from the nights before. It's always a long night.

A sniffle emerged from somewhere on the couch, and Yoji had to look around before he realized it was from Ken's mouth. "I can't beat this new soccer game," he conceded, and then three his controller to the floor. Then, with a choked sound of despair, he buried his head in the pillows and attempted to bring forth his own tears.

"Oi." The voice imposed the two heads to look up. Ran stood in the doorway. "Omi's missing." The words hung in the air and no one seemed to have believed they heard it right.

"What?" Yoji asked and inclined his ear to Ran a little more.

"Omi's not here."

Ken's eyes shook. "I don't..."

"W... How do you... know he's not just out, or something, Ran?" Yoji asked, his head down, and his yes focused on a piece of lint floating through their room, through space. "He could just be out with friends, or something."

"He wouldn't abandon his work station." Aya's argument was ended. "He wouldn't do that with all the recent deaths." A silence fell over the room, as he held something up from behind his back. "And I found these." It was a pair of Omi's shoes, with the socks stuffed inside them. "He couldn't've left without them. It's too cold outside right now. It was even colder last night. If he did, of course, leave of his own free will, he would have gotten frostbitten feet, and would probably be dying."

"You're... saying that he was kidnapped," Yoji sat down.

"I don't want to be, if it helps any."

Ken stood up and declared, "We should save him! He could be in trouble!"

Ran shook his head. "Every bone in my body wants to bet that Schwarz did this. We can't... go up against them without help. We don't know where they are. I'm sure they want something from us—."

"How are you so sure?" Ken demanded.

"One of them was here... Schuldich... a while ago... He wanted to know what it was that Crawford wanted from me... He assumed it was..." He looked up and met the others' eyes. "He assumed it was my... medication."

"Medication?" Puzzlement settled over the both of them, and Yoji was the one who voiced it. "Are you sick?"

Ran didn't answer him. "Anyway, reach into your right pockets, both of you." They did and were surprised at the little bits of metal and circuitry they found. "Omi and I decided to do this after Aya-chan had been kidnapped," he explained. "That's why I insist on doing the laundry. There's one in all of your clothes. Why you were too stupid to realize they were there, I'll never know, but there they are."

"So..." Hope filled Yoji's eyes. "We can still find him!"

Ran shook his head and picked something out of Omi's shoe. It was the tracer. The silence that followed was a deafening roar so that none of them heard the screaming and crying of the girls in the shop, feeling forlorn and upset over their favorite boys missing in action.

"What are you going to do with me?" Omi asked impassively, tied up and lying sideways on the floor of a basement. He didn't feel weak, but he didn't feel strong. There was nothing he could do. He was at the whims of a ruthless killer. He had to bite his lip. He was a killer, himself, and he knew it, and couldn't deny it.

"Isn't it funny how that's almost always the first question a prisoner asks?" Crawford commented. "I only need you to stay quiet and alive, and I need you to not let your mind known to Schuldich."

"How... Why... How do I do that?" He bit his lip again. How could he even think of going along with his captor? He would've kicked himself, if his feet weren't tied as well. He would've kicked himself if he wasn't hogtied too.

"Oh, mental shields are simple enough. First, try not to think. Try to imagine a brick wall, only it's not there, you see. You can't think at all, Bombay, because your life depends on it, right now."

"Schuldich will kill me if he finds me...?"

"No, I will."

And that was that. The words were final. As Crawford's footsteps left the room and faded away in the hall, Omi turned his brain off, and even refused to sleep. Staring at the darkness was the only thing that would keep him safe. For now, at the least...

Omi wasn't sure what time it was when someone stepped in and told him it was okay to think again, for some time, until he was told to stop again. He closed his eyes and let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. It was Crawford, and for some reason, he felt relieved. "When am I free to leave?" he asked, and his voice croaked. He realized he was thirsty and hungry.

"You are not," Crawford replied and shoved a bowl of food in his face and a saucer of water. "I'll come back for you when you're done. I have somewhere to take you so that you may think." He paused and said something under his breath. "I don't like this..." was what Omi figured he'd said.

Omi stared at the food and drink before him. "I... can't." He coughed and then indicated at his bondages that being hogtied generally incapacitated him of consuming foods and liquids.

"Oh," Crawford said absently, and then left.

Omi figured that the man didn't know what he meant. He sighed and scooted as best he could over to the plate and bowls. He stared at it for some time, anticipating poison of some sort. "He needs me," he assured himself, but he truthfully didn't know. His stomach lurched with the absence of food. He craned his neck and stretched out his tongue, taking some of the food in. He smacked his lips. Porridge, with brown sugar. Not bad. It had been a while since he had porridge. He lapped it up slowly, leaving more than half when he moved to the water. He lapped up even less of that as well, when he decided his tongue was too tired to do any more.

He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

When he awoke, he was untied, and a new set of food lay beside him. He sat up, but then lied back down at the protest of his muscles. Every part of him was sore. He was even more hungry than before. And he gagged, his stomach craving food. He turned his head this way and that and saw a new bowl and saucer waiting for him. Or maybe it was the light...

He ate greedily and drank as well. He sighed again, and lied down. He now could notice how the ground he was on was different than the other, when he was tied, and that there was a very small window on the left wall, where it met the ceiling, it was barely big enough for a cat to crawl through. He realized it was nighttime, and was still being held hostage.

To Be Continued...