"Thank you," their client weeps. "Oh, thank you..."
At the leader's nod the girl slumped in his arms, and Ban carried her out to the car, laid her on the backseat. He didn't look back once. Look back and everything was over. They were outmatched; break that contract and he would only be handing himself over again. This way there's hope.
"I didn't think--you did it. Thank you."
Shouldn't hope be a little, light thing? It feels like a mountain's weight, crushing him. He drove without seeing the road. The client met him outside the Honky Tonk, and her face went slack when he opened the car door and she saw her sister. Disbelief, but then the relief, the joy was real. Calling her sister's name as she draws her out, and the girl comes willingly, but blindly, a stiff, unyielding mannequin when her sister embraces her. But the client still thanks him.
It's all he can do to accept her money. Left hand, because his right is curled into a fist so tight the nails break the skin. "You didn't think any of us would be coming back."
And now she's crying openly, mascara running in murky streaks down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. They had my sister..."
Ginji would be forgiving. Ban can't be. "You set us up, you bitch."
If she had warned them they might have had a chance. "He said he'd kill her. He said it had to be you. I didn't--I knew it wasn't right, but--I had no choice--he said he'd kill her!" She sobs. It would be easier if they were crocodile tears, but they're all real. And she doesn't get it anyway, thinks she made a bargain with a human menace, hostage situation out of any cliche cop drama. She doesn't appreciate how this really is. "I'm so sorry about your friend..."
"Go," he says. "Take her and get out of here." Rude to a client. Bad for business. But better than slamming his fist into her grieving, grateful face. He throws the money down after her.
She won't pick it up. Looks at him, but doesn't say anything, just shakes her head wordlessly, and then she's lead her sister to her car and they've driven away.
He needs to have better self-control, but Ginji has been in the demon's grasp for over an hour, and Ban doesn't have a plan yet. Can't even think of one. It happened too fast, if he had been quicker to respond, quicker to understand...he knew something was wrong. If he told his partner, warned him...
"Ban-san?" Natsumi emerges from the Honky Tonk. She kneels to gather the bills scattered on the sidewalk, shuffles them into rough order and extends the money toward him. He takes it. No choice; he might need it later. But right now information is more important.
"Ban-san?" Natsumi's eyes are innocent, not Ginji's determined light, but honest naivety. She hasn't even witnessed much manmade evil, not firsthand, and while loss and grief are familiar things, her faith in the innate goodness of the world is smooth and unscarred and precious. "What happened to Ginji-san?"
Through the window he can see Paul watching. He's probably picked up most of what he needs to know from overhearing Ban's conflict with the client. Everything else...is too much to explain. They've all seen plenty of amazing things in this world. But this is outside that sphere.
"It's okay," he tells Natsumi. "I'm getting him back."
New mission now. The client: Midou Ban--and he does not accept failure. One hundred percent success rate, Ginji. Don't you fucking dare screw that up.
Shido technically knows how to use a telephone, but he rarely bothers. Kazuki doesn't blink when he emerges from the grocery store and a sparrow hops onto his shoulder, cheeky and unafraid, closes its bill over a few strands of his long hair and tugs. "All right," he says, "you can tell Shido-san I'm coming," and the little bird takes to the air in a whir of rapid wingbeats.
Shido meets him at the gates of Madoka's estate. There's a wild hawk hunched on his shoulder, but the Beastmaster's frown is fiercer. "Something's wrong," he says, not bothering with a greeting.
"Is it Madoka-san?"
"No." Shido shakes his head. "And I don't want to worry her. Not until we know what's going on."
"What is going on, Shido-san?"
"Something's happened to Ginji."
"Ginji-san--"
"They can't tell me what." Shido's wave encompasses all his friends, the crows gathered atop the estate walls, the squirrels listening in the nearby trees. "But the birds are insisting that the Thunder Emperor is..." He trails off.
"In trouble?"
"This isn't normal, Kazuki." The Beastmaster's eyes are dark. "I haven't asked anyone to keep watch over Ginji in a long time. Occasionally someone will let me know what they're up to, if it's good gossip, because he's part of my flock. But this time--they aren't telling me what. I don't think they know. But they're sure something's wrong. Same as they'd feel a storm coming--but this is different. Like there isn't a storm, where there should be one. It's upsetting them."
"Have you tried contacting Ginji-san?"
"I've tried, but the birds don't know where he is. The rats and mice haven't found him either."
"What about Midou-kun?"
"I called their phone. He didn't answer."
He is worried, to not even growl his usual irritation at the mention of Ginji's partner. Kazuki can feel his tension, wound so taut his frame is all but singing, and that concern resonates against Kazuki's own instincts. The hawk on Shido's shoulder shifts uncomfortably, opens its wings and closes them again.
Just yesterday Kazuki spoke with Ginji, a few minutes about their current job, and he sounded anxious but not afraid. But a lot can happen in twenty-four hours. "We can try the Honky Tonk," he suggests. "If they're not there, Paul might know where they are. They've been on a job for the past couple days, looking for someone. Maybe a problem came up with that."
He was thinking they could simply call, but Shido nods decisively, says, "Let's go, then." The hawk takes wing, spiraling up to herald their departure, its beak opening in a shrill scream.
Kazuki watches it soar, wondering if Madoka heard that cry from inside the house, or if Shido leaves her another signal. He knows that there is some farewell, even if not obvious to anyone but they two.
His bells ring softly as he follows Shido, the strings within vibrating in concert with his jangled nerves, no defined fears, only the certainty that something is wrong.
Ginji isn't used to fear. He isn't often afraid, not since he was a little boy, awoken to a nightmare with no memory of the life he might have dreamed before. Fear is dangerous in Mugenjou, is a weakness, and within the Infinite Castle you must be strong, or else die.
But Ban's scream was agonized, and Ban's eyes were empty as a corpse's for that instant, and the terror tightened his chest, stopped his breath. He's seen Ban hurt, it's dangerous, what they do, but Ban is stronger than anyone he knows, and he can always be trusted to survive.
Except this monster is stronger, and Ginji didn't have a choice. He doesn't regret it, won't, even though under Ban's utter calm he can see rage, his glare as clear as spoken words--you moron, you stupid idiot, how could you--
How could you, Ban-chan? Tell him to go. He does what Ban tells him to, usually, because Ban is smarter, because he trusts Ban, because this is how they work, and they're the invincible GetBackers. But Ban was wrong. Ginji doesn't know how to fight something like this. And Ban does. Sometimes there's lots of choices. But sometimes there's only one.
This is a monster, and maybe he should be afraid, but when Ban straightens up there's life in his eyes again, that anger all his own will. He takes the girl, she'll be safe, she'll be with her sister again, and Ginji smiles a little, knowing how their client will feel. Wishing he could see her smile for himself.
Ban says nothing, not to the demon, not to Ginji, and he doesn't look back. But every step he takes away sounds of a promise, each footfall a vow that he will return, as soon as he knows how they can defeat this monster.
The leader is soothing his followers, a chant in an unknown tongue, rising and falling with hypnotic regularity. He doesn't try to restrain his captive, barely seems to recall he's there. For now Ginji just stands before him, seeming to watch, while inwardly he reaches with an almost nonexistent current into the surrounding building. He can trace the wiring with that invisible hand, network strung through the walls like veins. There's plenty of power here to draw on.
He waits long enough for Ban to have driven away with the girl, and then he moves to attack. He's braced for a defense, but the leader doesn't move. Just looks at him with an ironic smirk as Ginji lashes out with that power.
--it hurts it burns he can't breathe it stings it aches he can't breathe it hurts it hurts--
He's on his knees, panting, desperately pulling air into his lungs, his limbs weak and tingling. In all the time he can remember, he's never been harmed by so much as a static shock. What others feel as pain, he knows only as a touch as gentle as a feather, as invigorating as a cold shower. Objectively he knows it hurts normal people. But he's never completely understood how it could.
The leader is standing over him, human lips smiling, but only the monster in his eyes. "Yes," he says. "You'll be strong enough."
He crouches, the red robes rustling. Takes Ginji's chin in his hand and forces his head up. "It's too late. You were mine from the moment you agreed. Nothing you try against this shell will do any good."
His nails are sharp enough that Ginji can feel them pricking his cheeks. The leader releases him and stands again, puts his hand to his own arm, pushing up the crimson sleeve, and with those nails draws a long scratch down the pale flesh.
There's a brief trail of blood, but it's gone almost as soon as the cut is made, and when he lifts his hand his arm is unmarked but for a slight crimson spotting, wiped away with one pass of his sleeve. But Ginji winces as his own arm smarts. Looks down, and sees a scratch just as long writ on his own skin, white edged in red. But this one doesn't fade.
"You see?" the monster asks. "Your strength that I need is mine now. Get up."
He cups his hand over the scratch. By tomorrow morning there won't be a trace of it, but it stings now.
"Get up," the leader repeats, and kicks him in the ribs, hard enough to bruise. There's no anger in his tone, not even impatience. That blow was motivation, nothing more. And because he can.
Ginji gathers his feet under him, stands. If this were a man he could understand him, could guess what he wanted. There's so many different sorts, so many different reasons why people seek to hurt, to kill, to destroy. Fear and pain, grief and anger, even lust and pleasure. There are ways to answer all of them. But this monster isn't human.
He looks instead at the people, the cult members, standing still and silent in their even rows. Their eyes are open, but if they see him there's no sign. Their blank faces are worse than the most hopeless visages he saw in Mugenjou's pits.
"Why do you follow him?" he asks them. His voice sounds thready in his ears, weak. "Why do you stay here?"
"They love me," the leader says. "I've promised them what they want."
"What can you give them?"
The leader smiles. "Oblivion." He raises his arms. "They came to me, too lonely to want to speak, too ashamed to be able to cry, too afraid to seek death. They came at first because this creature whose shell I took said they would find happiness here. A place they could live without effort, without caring, if they would only give him their love, give their love only to him. So I found him, feeding on their pathetic spirits, that he craved just for the taste, but a true meal for me. And I can offer them more, in my taking. Life without spirit, the simplest of all."
"No..."
There's a boy in the first row, he can't be older than Himiko, and the delicate symmetry of his features is like Makubex. His face is impassive but when Ginji moves, his dark eyes track the motion, and Ginji lifts his head, meets that empty stare. "Is this really what you want?" he asks the boy. "What about the people outside of here who are missing you? Even if it's easier in here--what about everyone who has it harder, because you're not there?"
"He can't hear you," the monster says. "They only hear my voice now."
Ginji takes a step toward the boy, is a little surprised that he isn't stopped. "Whatever happened to you--wasn't it better that it hurt, than feeling nothing at all? You can't be happy if you don't feel anything--don't you miss it? Don't you miss laughing with your friends? Don't you miss really loving someone, being loved?"
Now he's close enough that he can see the tears in the dark eyes, can watch one well free and trace a liquid path down his still cheek. Easy to extend his hand, brush it away, and still the monster does nothing.
At his touch the boy trembles, and then, like crystal shattering under a sustained note, his silence bursts into ragged sobs. Ginji gathers him into his arms, rubs his shuddering back.
The monster tsks, a teacher's patient scolding, reaches out and clasps the boy's shoulder. The boy freezes, pulls back, stiffening like hardening plaster into a breathing statue once more. Ginji shakes him, feels no response. Whirls on the monster. "You--"
"He's new," the monster says. "I don't want to waste what's left of him." He shrugs, negligently. "Though I suppose it'll make little difference, after tonight."
"Tonight--"
"They're unnecessary. I have you now. Your strength." His hand reaches, cool fingers to Ginji's cheek. He tries to flinch away, and can't, bound in that same force which holds the rest of them. "With you I'll attain my desire. Tonight I take the last from them. Tonight they'll all be sacrificed, and you'll be all that's left, all I need..."
to be continued...