Long time, no update, I know. Sooooorry. Characters and thematic elements belong to someone other than me.

Spike sighed, leaning against the wall outside of Shin's apartment. He'd already smoked half a cigarette waiting for him to open the door. When it finally opened, it wasn't Shin, but Corso. He was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only trousers. There was a scar from a long-ago bullet dangerously close to his heart.

"Hey," said Corso. "He's in the shower." He stepped back to let Spike in. "I made some rice if you want." He padded over to the kitchen area.

"Yeah," said Spike. "I'm always hungry." He sat down on the long sectional couch that made a right angle at an odd anlge in the room. The kitchen was partially blocked by an enormous fish tank filled with alien aquatic life from Titan. Corso's figure beyond it was distorted through the water. "They haven't found you an apartment yet?" he asked casually. He could see Corso's figure shift. He didn't answer, working over the rice cooker longer than was necessary, and returned with two heaping bowls of rice.

Spike accepted and started to shovel the rice into his mouth. He stopped when Shin entered the room, clothed only in a towel, hair untoweled and still dripping. "Hey Cor-" he started, and saw Spike. Spike rose his hand in greeting. It wasn't like Shin to walk around a shared apartment in a towel. The guy was practically a Puritan when it came to exposing himself, and he never made eye contact in a locker room situation. "Oh," said Shin. "Hold on." He left the room, identical red splotches appearing on either cheek.

"What's up?" said Spike to Corso. Corso shrugged and stared into his rice bowl, hair the exact same shade as Julia's veiling the uppermost part of his face. Spike remembered his comment from the other night, and Julia's slight response. "Seems like there's something going on," Spike muttered, mostly to himself.

Shin returned, fully clothed. "What brings you here?"

Spike turned to Shin seriously. "A one-on-one game of catch up," he replied.

"Right." Spike scooped up a last bit of rice with his chopsticks. "You ready?"

"Always," Spike replied.

"Excuse me, Corso," Shin said. "I'll be back."

"So tell me, Spike..." said Shin as they were shuffling down the corridor. "Considering what I know, there's probably quite a bit I don't know."

"Yeah," said Spike, wishing he could tell Shin how much. "You know pretty much all of it. Julia killed Vicious's father, and Vicious has started a syndicate war."

They waited for an elevator. "Then what don't I know?"

"It's just... I'm getting a bit worried about Vicious."

"Spike, I've always been a bit worried about Vicious."

Vicious stood at attention by Mao in front of the elders. He wondered why Spike hadn't been invited. He hazarded a look at Mao, and could help feeling superior, and aggravated at being relegated to a position below him. The elders spoke.

"Sometimes," one began, "the distance one has from one's object results in a fracturing of one's identity and perspective."

"However," another continued, "sometimes one moves away from an object to gain a better view by placing a lens in between that clarifies one's vision."

"Such is the case today," the first resumed. "No longer will the elders be directly involved with the affairs of the Red Dragons. Due to certain complications-" a glance at Vicious "we have decided to find a lens with which to prevent the consequences of actions informed by distorted vision."

"The Van," said a third, "are the results of generations of selective breeding. They are prescient. No other syndicate is aware of them. The Komodo syndicate is responsible for them. The only reason we are aware of them is because of the documents Julia had provided us with."

The corners of Vicious's lips quirked at that. Despite the problems between them he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. The Van were unveiled. They looked like gargoyles, stout with age, eyes bulging with lifetimes that remembered nothing of youth.

"Do not be fooled by their looks," the first Elder said. "They are adolescents. A side effect of their breeding. From now on, we will be informed by them, and we will inform only the leader of the Red Dragon syndicate."

"Mao Yenrai," said the second.

Vicious shifted. His plans were more complicated now.

"That's crazy," said Shin. He cracked his stick into the cue ball and pocketed doubles. "How could he think you were aiming at him?"

"That's..." Spike shook his head, watching Shin line up another shot. "There are certain things that have been going on for the past six months that I really can't put into words. You'd have to be there. It's Julia. She's the thing propping him up now. Without her..."

"He'll become his father." Shin pocketed another ball. He was three shots away from kicking Spike's ass.

"Yeah," said Spike sadly. "But she doesn't need him. Loves him, doesn't need him. So I think he was becoming-- well, there were some trust issues. I don't know. I don't want to get into it. I'm just worried about him."

"Well, I'll be sure to keep an eye on him."

"The reason for this conversation is so that you know why to be easier on him," said Spike.

"Please explain," Shin said cooly, and took another shot. The ball vibrated between the banks and rested a centimeter away from the pocket.

"Your job description has shifted."

"My job description is to take orders from my superior and get paid for it."

"Yeah, well. Mao isn't your superior."

Shin stood. "How in the world is what Vicious wants so different from what Mao wants?"

"Vicious wants to drive the whole thing into the ground. All the syndicates."

"What?"

"And so does Julia," said Spike. "And so do I. Please, I need your help."

Corso roused from his nap at the sound on his door. Couldn't be Shin. Wouldn't knock. He answered the door. The girl from the other night was standing there. He noted the color of her hair and her eyes, but didn't compare the shade to his own. Instead, he compared it to his mother. She looked so much like her.

"I'm sorry, I forget your name," he said. She smiled without teeth.

"Julia," she said.

"Huh," he said. It seemed like the geometry of the room was converging in his head. He needed to sit. "Something," he said, "about that."

"Are you all right?" she asked. His mother. She looked just like her. His knees buckled.

"Allistaire," she was saying, and he knew she wasn't meaning to be saying that. Allistaire, that was his childhood friend, who looked just like him and had a sister who knew his mother-- no, his sister was his mother, and then they came for them and there was a room and there was someone at the desk telling him all this and more in between the passes of a golden ball on a string. What was it they had said? That he should kill her. Of course, he only had to kill her and then he could go back and be Allistaire again, and Julia would be there.

"Allistaire!" she yelled. His hands were around her throat and she wasn't crying any more. So soft, that throat. Soft as any woman's throat. And then there was blackness.

Julia staggered to her feet and looked down at the crumpled form of her brother. She should have known they would have programmed some sort of failsafe in him. Particularly if they were sending him to her. But, perhaps without the guidance of the Komodo syndicate they had forgotten all about them.

She should take care of him, in case he woke up still trying to kill her.