A/N: I'm not even sure what to say here in fear of giving too much away, only that I can't wait to write the next chapter. I got myself rather excited as well. XD Anyway, we're getting quite near the meat of the story as some of the truth is revealed in this chapter. I have to say that some of the reviewers had struck quite near in guessing the truth about the story...they weren't quite accurate, thank goodness, but they were very near. ^^ Anyway, here's the fifth chapter, after a gruelling semester of school! Enjoy!
Chapter Five:
Excitate
Lights...so many bright lights...where am I?
Who am I?
She struggled, reaching for that thought that was fast eluding her, grasping with her outstretched arms for the memory that might slip away from her any second...
I am Mireille Bouquet. I was born in Corsica.
That was not all she was; there was more. Her identity was so near, yet so far. She swam in the dizzying whiteness of the blinding glare, forcing herself to recall for remembrance's own sake.
I am an assistant to a bookstore-keeper...
NO!!!
The protest was so vehement that Mireille started from her own internal thought, almost losing the elusive ghost of her memory from her palms. Then she felt herself close everything in her being, shutting every sense from the external, abandoning reason, letting herself wallow in the brightness. Then she opened her mind.
Do I believe that the weak is food for the strong?
I was born to kill, born with the razor instincts of an animal, born with the law of the jungle in my heart; that the slaying of other lives feeds mine. The blood of others becomes my wine. The flesh of others becomes my meat. The battlefield is my bed and the gun is my pillow. I was born to be this way, for my humanity to be numbed and worthless, only to be left with the cold, calculating brain of the highest species and the strength and speed of the strongest.
Because I was born to be Noir.
The line of thought came to a slow halt. Then another came, with assertion, like a ray of sunshine bursting out of a thunder cloud.
But I became different from my predecessors. They took sides.
I did not. I kill both weak and strong, without discrimination.
For I know that justice is not meant to be taken into any human's hands, not even into the black hands of Noir. Amid the darkness, I try to find light. Amid my bloody nature, I try to find humanity.
But I have not found it yet, nor am I sure that I will ever find it.
But this I know. I am an assassin, a mercenary, a gun for hire, one who stains her hands with blood not for justice nor revenge, but for money. I cater to the highest bidder of my skills.
Does that me any better or any worse that my predecessors? Does that make me any nearer or even farther in finding the light?
I don't know.
But that is the only life I have ever known.
Mireille woke up.
She was strapped onto the reclined chair by thick leather belts, looking up at the bright, fluorescent lights of the white-washed room, dressed in the white laboratory gown she remembered wearing before being plugged into the DreamHub. Akira Kinomoto's face hovered above hers, concerned.
"Where am I?" she asked groggily in English, feeling bile rising from her stomach and to her throat, yet recognizing the young Gatekeeper.
"Who are you?" Akira replied tonelessly, despite the relief that immediately passed over his face.
Mireille felt confused, a million question suddenly launching from her brain. It seemed like her limbo between the two worlds was beginning again, given rise by those two questions that she had asked to herself what seemed to have been moments ago.
"Mireille Bouquet," she heard herself say in a faint voice. But she had no time to think of anything else because the nausea overwhelmed her and she suddenly jerked around, retching onto the floor and onto the wires that snaked over it. The computers were not humming and she had no nodes or visors attached on her.
Akira took a moist towel and patiently wiped her mouth with it, yet asking persistently, "But who are you?"
"Didn't you just hear me?" Mireille squirmed from the belts that restrained her. "Get me out of here."
"Tell me, who are you?"
"Sang du Christ, I'm supposed to be a hitwoman, if that makes you happy!" the young woman exploded involuntarily from exasperation. "Why is everyone asking me that?!"
Akira's face suddenly cleared and a heartfelt grin spread from ear to ear. He quickly bent over her chair to unclasp the belts that held her, murmuring to himself, "Arigato gozaimasu, Kami-sama, arigato."
Mireille sat up as soon as she was free, feeling a little lost. Then the memories of what had happened during the fouled up mission came rushing into her head, filling her with panic at the remembrance of--
"Kirika!" she suddenly cried aloud, jumping up, but Akira restrained her, pushing her back to the seat.
"She's fine," he said reassuringly, gesturing at the chair beside hers.
Mireille instantly turned over to look, and the sight made her feel dizzy with pleasant surprise and relieved shock. There was no sign of violence on Kirika, not a bruise nor a drop of blood. She was asleep on the chair, strapped, dressed in the same gown with a calm expression on her face. Mireille could even hear her breathing.
The Corsican frowned despite the good news, the confusion starting again. There was something wrong here, something that was refusing to connect in her head. Something wasn't making sense.
On impulse, she checked her abdomen. There was no pain nor any sign of a bloody gash from the tip of a sword. Her arm was clean and smooth and her leg was in perfect condition. She was fine, and ironically, the thought suddenly made her feel afraid.
"There is no way that you could have healed us that quickly," she said coldly, turning back to Akira.
The young man hesitated and fidgeted with his glasses before saying, "No, there isn't."
"Some way or another, I'm not in the same 'world' that I was in the last time I was conscious," continued Mireille, "was I?"
Akira flushed, cracking his knuckles. "No."
"As I remember, Kirika and I were both severely wounded in the Real World, but there's not even a scratch on me, so we're obviously not in there. Second, I remember we were not to be pulled out back into Dreamscape until the mission was over, but this room we're in is suspiciously similar as the one in Dreamscape where we were first plugged in. So let's just stop all this-" and Mireille stopped herself just in time before she could swear, " - and tell me, just what is going on?"
Before Akira could answer, a sudden sound caught Mireille's attention and she whirled around to look at Kirika. Her eyes were open, empty and glassy, and she was staring up at the lights, unmoving and without expression, apparently not noticing Mireille.
"Kirika!" Mireille called, althought she was not sure why she did so.
Kirika turned her head to the sound of her voice, her eyebrows raised. Seeing Mireille, her forehead wrinkled curiously and she opened her mouth, saying in Japanese, "Anata wa dare?"
Mireille blinked. She must have heard wrong. Kirika had once taught her a few words and phrases of Japanese and this was one of them, straight from the book. She had just asked Mireille who she was.
"Kirika, this is not time to play around," Mireille replied in English, her voice a little unsteady from the little fear that had suddenly clutched her heart.
"Gomen nasai, wakarimasen deshita," Kirika immediately answered, apologetically.
Mireille heard Akira mutter a "Shimatta," before beginning to translate, "She said-"
"I know what she said," Mireille cut off bitingly. Kirika said that she did not understand...
Without warning, Mireille wrenched Kinomoto by the collar and flung him onto the wall with extraordinary strength. Like a rag doll flung away by a giant, Kinomoto's body flew and hit the wall with a hard, resounding crash and he crumpled to the floor without a sound, save his surprised groans.
Mireille was immediately an inch from him, her face aflame with wrathful passion and her eyes bloodshot. Her hands were trembling as she grabbed his lapels and pushed him against the wall with her curled fists. She was panting irregularly, with the killer bloodlust in her eyes. Akira Kinomoto closed his own, knowing that even if she did not have her gun with her, she would be able to tear him apart with her bare hands as the adrenaline rushed across her body. But he did not resist.
"What have you done to her?" Her voice was raspy and guttural, near the verge of insanity as she pushed him even further against the wall, almost choking him. "I'll rip your lungs out, you piece of turd! What have you done to her?!"
Kinomoto made an effort to answer, but Mireille's hold was closing on him and blocking his windpipe, so crushing was her hold. His mind swam, desperately seeking for anything to say that might bring Mireille back to her senses. But he did not have to.
"Yamette!"
Stop. To Akira, it was the sweetest word in the entire Japanese language as Kirika screamed it, and the effect was like magic. Mireille froze, her eyes widening and her hold loosening from her visible surprise as she recognized Kirika's voice and she swung around, forgetting Akira as he immediately slid away from her grasp, taking huge gulps of air.
"Kirika!" Mireille was by the girl's side, holding her by her shoulders in wretched desperation as she brokenly tried to speak Japanese. "Kirika, atashi ga. Mireille! Wasureru ka?" Kirika, it's me. Mireille! Have you forgotten?
But the child wriggled from her clasp and shrank back from the frightening foreigner with the shock of yellow hair and flashing blue eyes, this crazy gai-jin whose strength was like an ox and whose face like an angry demon.
"Kirika..." Mireille stepped forward, her heart beating in her ears, barely containing her emotions as the realization dawned on her.
"Iye!" cried Kirika, immediately taking a step back, quailing. "Anata wo shiranai!"
I don't know you.
Mireille tried to stop shaking but she could not. This was not Kirika. This quivering girl who came back with her was not the one she had gone away with. The Corsican felt lightheaded, as if she was going to faint, and she helplessly sat down on Kirika's reclining chair, the girl herself a few feet away from her. She had never felt so alone in her life. What was going on?
Akira Kinomoto was cautious as he neared Mireille, taking the gap between the two. "Mireille Bouquet," he said.
Mireille slowly looked at him, exhausted, the bloodlust lost and only a light of remorse left in her bright eyes.
"I will explain," said Kinomoto gently in English, "but it will be very difficult for you to understand, and more importantly, difficult for you to believe in because I know that by this time you would have lost all trust in us."
"Schwarz," murmurred Mireille, and it was dripping with venom.
Kinomoto looked grave. "Yes, Wilhelm Schwarz." He turned around to look at Kirika and the girl stared back at him, not daring to near the blonde. He returned to Mireille. "Where shall I start?"
Mireile was now more composed and had gathered most of her scattered wits, although her palms were still beading with sweat. "Start at the beginning," she spoke, almost commandingly.
Akira nodded raked his black hair before acquiescing, "Then we must begin with the Soldats."
"Les Soldats!" Mireille's voice escalated and she rose from her chair in wary alarm, making Kirika jump as she looked around wildly. Where was her gun?
"What about the Soldats?!" she exclaimed urgingly.
"Schwarz is one of them," replied Akira, then he paused, trying to command himself before he added, "and so am I."
"What?!" Mireille was on full alert, part of the bloodlust back as she spaced out her legs, expecting a battle.
"This place we are in is in actuality the Japanese headquarters of the Soldat organization. Miss Bouquet, everything that Schwarz told you about the Dreamscape, the Great Game, the Real-World, you being your counterparts' avatars in a dream world, has been nothing but parts of a great and elaborate lie." The words streamed out of the flustered Akira's mouth as if he wanted to expel them as fast as he could. "There is no such thing as a Game or Dreamscape. There is no other world. This world we are now is the only one. All you have gone through has been a scheme of the Soldats to acquire the Noir. Both you and Ms. Yuumura have been duped."
"Wait, what...what scheme...you, you're a Soldat, why are you telling us...but we got injured, and..." Mireille dazedly steadied herself on the arm of the chair as she rambled almost incoherently, trying frantically to make sense of what Akira had just said. "What do you mean...why is Kirika...?"
Kirika looked at her at the mention of her name and Mireille silently met her gaze. The child shuddered and looked away.
Before Mireille could even feel the pang of hurt on her chest, they suddenly heard the loud and heavy footfalls of numerous steel-soled boots banging outside the door, heading for them.
"The Soldats." Akira shoved his glasses up his nose, a sudden, authoritative look on his face. "We have to get you out of here." He was about to grab Mireille's arm but she swiftly sidestepped him.
"I thought you're one of them," she said cagily, taking her position between him and Kirika.
"I am, but I'm from a different faction of the Soldats." The man's brow grew creased as they began hearing the Soldat men trying to bring down the steel door, locked by Akira. The bolts began to shiver.
"Different faction? What different faction?"
"I am an implant, a spy sent by Rene Graipaul to pull both of you out of Schwarz's plot; that's why I disconnected you and am telling you all this," said Akira hurriedly as he swept to the other side of the room, taking out a small screwdriver from his pocket and unscrewing the bolts of a medium-sized air vent near the floor. "This is really no place to talk; we have to get out of here."
"Rene Graipaul..." repeated Mireille, seemingly oblivious at the apparent danger they were in as she remembered the fiftyish Soldat who had let them through his men such a long time ago. "You mean there are two opposite factions in the Soldats?"
"There are a lot of factions in the organization," replied Akira almost testily, growing increasingly worried as he unscrewed the last bolt of the air vent and the banging on the door became louder and more aggressive, "but Graipaul and Schwarz's factions are the most heated." He took out the vent and gestured at them. "I will tell you everything later, but first, we need to escape. Those are Schwarz's men; they must have found that I had you disconnected."
"And you expect us to just take your hand and swallow everything you said." Mireille's jaw was set. "How stupid do you think we are to fall into the same thing twice?"
Akira paused and no one spoke. The men outside had loaded their firearms and had begun shooting at the door. The bullets made impressions on the steel door and one of the bolts fell off. The door creaked dangerously.
Then the Japanese slowly pulled out two black things from his pocket; they were their guns, the Walther and the Beretta. He handed the guns to the girls, one on each hand, the butts facing them, and him holding the barrels aimed lethally at his chest.
"Take them," he said. His eyes were pleading. "Do what you must to me. But while I'm still alive, I can do nothing else unless you trust me."
Mireille hesitated. The gunshots became more and more alarming, and the door began to shudder from the force. Then coldly, "I will trust you, but only for Kirika's sake." Not waiting for an answer, she turned to the girl and stretched out her hand, saying as kindly as possible, "Ikemasho, Kirika."
Pale and wavering, Kirika mutedly evaded her reach, not looking at her.
"Yuumura-san," called Akira from the other side of the room, guns still in his hands, "ikemasho."
The frightened girl took one look at Mireille then at the direction of the rapid gunfire being thrown at the door and she quickly made her way towards the air vent, climbing in and moving swiftly away.
Mireille tried not to feel the hurt that was overwhelming her as she took the two guns from Akira, still heavy with unused bullets, and climbed into the vent after her.
The air duct was not large but it was roomy enough for them to make a quick escape before the Soldats smashed the door down. With Akira's directions, the duct would lead them to a main opening where all the air vent duct-holes in the whole facility ended, an opening where the elevator used to carry passengers from the facility to the surface made its passages up and down. Being underground, they would have to hop on the roof of the moving elevator as it goes up, and at the right moment, they should jump and tumble into the cybercafe's open-end air vent duct-hole just before the elevator stops in front of the cybercafe's door, which was the highest floor of the underground facility. If they were a second too late, they would miss the cybercafe's duct-hole and be tragically crushed head-first against the dead-end of the elevator passageway with the full force of the elevator behind them.
"How much farther?" asked Mireille as she moved on her hands and knees on the light metal duct, turning back to look at Kinomoto. They had been crawling in the air duct for minutes already. Kirika was in front of her, silent.
But the Japanese Soldat was not listening to her. In fact, he had stopped moving and had suddenly turned quite still, his eyes darting left and right.
"Kinomoto?"
He put a finger to his lips. "They're not coming after us," he said, sounding aghast.
Mireille made an impatient sound in her throat. "Shouldn't we be thankful for that?"
"They haven't made any alerts in the public address system regarding our escape and no one's thundering behind us in this same air duct." Kinomoto sounded almost close to panicking. "I'm sure they would have seen the unscrewed air vent back in the laboratory when they burst open the door, and I was willing to take that risk of having them chasing after us because I know you two could easily take on any thugs behind us in this cramped space...but why haven't they notified each other? Why haven't they sent anyone to catch us?"
"Maybe the Soldats were more moronic than we thought," Mireille said with annoyance as she was still drastically disoriented by the sudden twist of events. "We gave them too much credit. Now let's get moving. The quicker I get the answers, the better."
"Unless..." said Kinomoto, looking aghast, thinking out loud, "they know that we're going to take the surface elevator passage, since all air ducts lead to that." He blinked and narrowed his already small eyes. "You'd better get your guns out; they'll be ambushing us somewhere along the way."
An abrupt, horrid thought entered Mireille's brain. This strange Kirika who had cowered in front of her in fear would not be able to hold a gun properly, much less fire it without getting themselves killed in the process. This girl did not possess the abilities of Noir; this girl, by some wicked twist of fate, was now an ordinary teenager who did not lead a life by depending on her riflemanship...
Something flashed in Mireille's head, one of even greater importance to her. Wasn't this what Kirika wanted all along? To exactly be an ordinary, teenage girl who had never killed anyone, never fired a gun? Wasn't it?
"Kinomoto, tell Kirika to get behind us," she said tonelessly. "We will have to do the firing ourselves."
A minute later, they had changed positions, with Mireille leading, Kinomoto next, and Kirika last. Kirika had not said a word during the entire journey and had kept her large, expressive eyes downward.
"Chances are that they'll be posting gunmen on all the open-ends of the air ducts," Kinomoto was saying musingly as they neared their air duct's own end. He was now carrying his own Walther PPK in his palm and Mireille had both her and Kirika's guns in her hands. "We'll have to take them while we get on the elevator and try to shoot ourselves into the cybercafe's air duct. This will not be easy."
"Don't you have reinforcements with you or something?" queried Mireille, trying to visualize what sort of actions they would take when they reached the inner mechanisms of the surface elevator.
Kinomoto shook his head. "Mr. Graipaul knows that Schwarz has a nose for spies; one spy in his facility would already be a very big risk. It is in fact miraculous that I have not been found out until now." He looked up from behind Mireille and his expression changed. "Stop."
Mireille halted, raising her gun, her eyes questioning. They were facing a left-turn in the duct.
"This is it," said Kinomoto, raising his own gun and cocking it, his eyes level. "The last turn before the open-end of the duct."
"Keep Kirika behind us; don't let her take the left turn until we're finished." Mireille stretched her gun arm. "Let's do this then."
Mireille smoothly slid into the turn, gun aimed in front, and she was not disappointed. She was greeted by a panorama that seemed to come straight out of a video game. Her feet were steadied at the edge of their duct, of which a wrong slip would have them freefalling down a gaping chasm that plunged twenty stories down. She could not see the bottom without toppling over. Facing her, fifty feet away from her on the other side of the chasm, were centered on them six rows and six columns of open-ends of the air ducts, each duct having two gunmen dressed in black standing at the edge, rifles trained at their one solitary spot, like an entire chessboard of a firing squad. The other ducts that were the ends of the tens of rows and columns more that would not be of good location to target them were left empty.
Mireille felt a tick somewhere above her left eye as she watched the twenty-four, unmoving gunmen, disciplined and precise. Then she looked down gingerly for the elevator.
She blanched. The elevator was three stories behind them, but something about the length of time it was taking to move was very wrong...
Kinomoto too was looking down, horror-struck at the unexpected predicament. "The elevator is not moving," he said dumbly. "They cut off the power....we're boxed in."
Mireille brain registered the implications of this tactic as her heart sank.
"We're trapped."
excitate, end