oOTainted and Purified
Chapter 1
Half Past Six
(Post-series) The courtship between human and witch buds at Half Past Six.
Disclaimer: I don't own Witch Hunter Robin.
The explosions from the Factory were seen from quite a distance. Those who were walking their dogs, playing in a sandbox, or merely enjoying the view of the evening sky were quite surprised to see the billowing funnels of smoke, gently nudged to the east so that more could replace them. The building unknown by most living in the district was now a blazing inferno, a beacon for sightseers in the sky. Planes filled with curious passengers as well as Nature's winged creatures kept an eye out for this spectacle. Though because of caution, both kept their distance, yet the bright orange flames through thick, grey smoke were imprinted in their minds.
From the horizon, members of SOLOMON looked on. Caught in between emotions, Juliano stared at the collapse of Factory, the place SOLOMON had been looking into the past year. The mystery of orbo lay behind walls that were deteriorating quicker than one could say, "OMGWTFBBQ!!!one!!eleven!"
It was also the place where most, if not all, the STN-J members currently were. That included his granddaughter. The child he could not bear to kill upon seeing the innocent face, gurgling as though the approaching man had come to attend to her physiological needs, rather than undo them. It was not until recently that the need to kill her had risen again. Just like the first time that need had appeared. Yet, all had been well for 15 years without the baby's death. But now, the true nature of the child had come to manifest itself in her near-anorexic body. The phenomenal raw power that coursed through her veins, added with the ability to pass down witch genes directly. The risks that came with that were too dangerous. To confirm their safety, SOLOMON had decided the child's removal was a must. He had approved that decision; the unfinished death of his genetically engineered granddaughter, Robin Sena.
Through SOLOMON's heavy influence on government affairs, they were admitted immediately into the site. Firemen had spent majority of the night extinguishing the root of the smoke. They rotated hourly with partners who weren't as fatigued.
One of them commented offhandedly, "Hope there weren't too many people in there. If the smoke and flames haven't got them, the concrete would've."
Juliano looked on, face not moving a muscle. It wasn't that he had no emotions; but that he was keeping them on such a tight rein that he couldn't be bothered to twitch a muscle to show his feelings.
Shouldn't he be happy? Now that his mission of erasing Robin's existence was over, his position in SOLOMON was even more definite. A potential monster had been killed. All he was doing was keeping people safe from an uncontrollable witch. Yet, he couldn't stop that irritating guilt feasting on his guts. Juliano continued his brisk walk to the edge of the rubble, where the usually fashionable agent, Doujima Yurika, leaned on a fragment of cement for support. Instead of reporting immediately of the happenings, she was staring earnestly at the calming building. It was as though she was waiting for something miraculous to happen any second.
"Doujima."
The non-nonsense voice of her superior snapped her out of the trance. At first she wondered who the person was.
Grizzly white hair to the nape of his neck, unkempt sideburns, a vicar's suit... There were many upper class Hunters with similar descriptions from what she heard. However... there was only one who was notorious for the hair style reminiscent of those who woke up and simply started work; Father Juliano Colegui. An involuntary gasp left her, leaving her with precious little oxygen she had just recovered.
"You..." The awe of being near the infamous Hunter in the shadows, who still held strong influence over SOLOMON's council, was breath-taking.
Unable to keep his usual calm and collected air, he demanded sharply, "Details?"
Doujima gulped. It wasn't easy explaining what she, Amon, Robin, and the others had been doing. In fact, it wasn't easy explaining anything to this particular man at all. And hiding behind her usual mask of indifference would not be the best idea.
"I... We... The Factory..." Doujima fumbled with some kind of report. Unfortunately, exhaustion and the sheer intimidation of the senior glowering at her kept her from making plausible sentences.
Having a possible source of information dangling in front of him, yet unable to communicate effectively... Juliano was not the happiest of Hunters at the moment. He was tempted between interrogating the awestruck mole of SOLOMON and searching for more survivors who could tell him what had happened in the last moments of Factory's reign over STN-J regions.
Giving Doujima's quivering knuckles and soundlessly moving mouth one last time, he moved on to the broken chunks of concrete covering freshly buried secrets. Though he looked like an old man, and was one, it did not mean he was a fragile body to be carted around in an ego-bruising wheelchair. He removed his fair share of concrete before he saw the familiar shade of human flesh. The pink, though stained by dust and crushed mortar flashed against the unchanging tone of dark grey. He barked an order to several people around him.
The main slab was lifted off the person with a grunt. A wry smile was on the face as he lifted it to view his rescuers. "Took you guys long enough."
Juliano's eyebrows scrunched together when he heard the man's expression of gratitude. He had half a mind to order his men to throw the rock back on top of the man, but he had information he wanted.
When the man was lifted out of his cocoon of mortar, Juliano took in the man's appearance. And wrinkled his nose in disgust. A once-white fur coat that reached the man's calf was now a shade of grimy brown mixed with streaks of grey. The odd hairstyle was slightly similar to his, but seemed to be held back at the front, no doubt by the modern solution 'gel'. The smirk on his face seemed to be ever present. It was an irritating expression, and Juliano found himself wondering what kind of company Robin kept in his absence. Robin. In his disgust for the man who looked like a pimp, he had forgotten to continue searching. Information could wait later now. If that non-Catholic-abiding man could survive, so could Robin.
A cry several metres away announced that discovery of another person. But it wasn't Robin. Instead, it was the other craft user of STN-J, Karasuma Miho, if the files were correct. She had a concussion as well as a heavily fractured wrist.
Next were the younger recruits of STN-J, the hacker Michael Lee and rookie Sakaki Haruto. Michael Lee had three of his left ribs broken and his left ankle fractured. Sakaki Haruto had fewer injuries, perhaps payment for the many he had suffered in recent incidents. A long gash on his right arm cut diagonally, and he had pulled his right hamstring.
Juliano bit back a frustrated growl at the order his men were finding the STN-J members. Why couldn't it have Robin first, then Zaizen, Amon, and the rest?
The mind loyal to SOLOMON's interests rose in disapproval. The task was to confirm the status of Factory. It was unsaid, but in the event that he should meet Robin alive, Juliano knew he was to finish the incomplete task of many Hunters from SOLOMON headquarters. However, he could not repress the instinctual protective feelings he had for his granddaughter. One side wanted her to be dead, and safe from Juliano's forced actions, and the other wanted her to be alright, and perhaps even fleeing SOLOMON's grasp. He almost lost control and sighed. At the last possible second, he cut off the exhale and coughed instead. His hand automatically went to cover his mouth, in case microorganisms from his cough traveled to his fellow colleagues, though subordinate colleagues. As his left arm returned to its favoured place; his side, Juliano noticed the glint on his wrist. The rising sun was reflecting off something... his watch. Allowing curiosity to take over, he glanced at the plain yet expensive watch. It was a simple design; a leather band that encircled his wrist, a silver clasp that already connected the two ends of the band, and a well-polished circular dial with old-fashioned hands. What interested Juliano were not the materials used in the watch's creation, but the information it gave at a single glimpse. It was half past six.
A hoarse call to his left broke his train of thoughts. With a whirl of his cloak, he left his former station and traveled to the source of surprise.
Chances of finding Robin or Amon here were high, especially since this was the place the rest of their troupe were discovered.
He peered down the cascade of concrete slabs to the small hole dug out by Cain, the finder. Poking out of opening was a gloved hand. A white-gloved hand.