Author's Notes: Will now come at the end of every chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not.

Because the devil rides a camel

Friendly Offers, Unfriendly Threats

The carpet was, Williams decided, exactly the color that vomit would be after an all-night drinking binge and a large spaghetti dinner. He had been staring at it for almost three hours now while he waited for Valhendt to arrive. Three long, mind-numbing hours spent reading the same sports magazines and listening to the secretary answer the phone. With every passing moment he felt more and more uneasy about the whole affair, until he thought he was going to lose his mind.

"I'm sure he'll be in soon." The secretary said for the fifth time, smiling reassuringly at him. "He had an early appointment with some associates that probably ran late."

Williams nodded and murmured something sympathetic before turning his eyes back to the carpet and its sickening swirl of colors and designs. He had read the same issues of Horse and Hound and Sports Illustrated about three times now. It was just like Valhend to leave something so boring in the waiting room of his office.

Thinking about it now, Williams was beginning to believe that last night had been a mistake on his part. He'd thought that finding a precog for the German's little school would be enough to pay off his debts with the other man. Unfortunately he hadn't remembered just how nasty Valhendt could be.

He'd gone in with confidence, because everyone knew that genuine seers were almost impossible to come by. Jesselyn Moraven and Bradley Crawford were two out of four of their kind so far to be discovered by the group known as Rosenkreuz. For whatever reason it was one of the most rare forms of psychic ability, as well as the most difficult to control. With a gift like that, Williams had thought, his debts would be paid off in no time. He could forget about five years ago, about Beijing, and all of those people…

He shivered and picked up the magazine once again, flipping idly through the pages in an attempt to take his mind off of his fears. It would not do to go into a meeting with Valhendt feeling as nervous as he was right now. The man could practically smell fear and he used it as a weapon when making deals.

And the last thing Williams needed was another debt piled onto the ones he already had just because he wasn't paying attention.

Finally the door to the waiting room opened and the businessman appeared, as finely dressed as ever and smiling coolly as he caught sight of his guest.

"Ah, Williams. You'll have to forgive me, I was in a meeting."

Standing up the smaller man offered an uneasy nod, watching with wide eyes as Valhendt briefly conversed with his secretary.

"Now," The German said when he was finished. "Why don't you put down that riveting volume of Horse and Hound and step into my office? If I remember correctly, we have business to do."

Williams followed Valhendt into his office, trying to disguise his unease as he took a seat gingerly across from the other man. He watched as his companion fussed with the blinds and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher placed on his desk and found himself trying desperately to calm his pounding heart. When Valhendt finally sat in his chair, hands folded in front of him, all of his attention focused on his visitor, the young man thought he might just have a heart attack then and there.

"You might be interested to know that I made a decision about your precog."

"Oh?" Williams winced a little as his voice squeaked. Valhendt raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yes. I spoke to Jesselyn Moraven last night after the match. She believes that your foundling may be somewhat useful if I take the time to train him now. We may find a place for him among the lesser ranks, possibly as a teacher or as an oracle in one of the sects. I appreciate your bringing him to my attention."

Williams coughed a little, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

"If I help you recruit him, would it absolve me of my debt to you?"

"That won't be necessary." Valhendt said in a friendly tone. "I already have someone on it." He smiled. "Besides, I would not throw away a favor so lightly."

Feeling like a hunted animal Williams gave a weak nod and slowly moved to stand up.

"Oh, not quite yet my friend. I actually have a little something that you might do for me."

"What is it?" Williams demanded, suspicious.

"Nothing really." Valhendt smiled charmingly. "You remember that Irish boy you told me about a few years ago? The one who lost his mind and murdered his family?"

"Yes." Williams said reluctantly.

Valhendt leaned forward, a gleam in his dark eyes.

"Would you, by any chance, know where I might find him?"

Williams swallowed, sinking back into the chair. He cleared his throat, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ears.

"I might." He admitted.

Valhendt's smile was wide and dark and delighted, and it was frightening enough that it almost made Williams piss himself.

"That's perfect." The German said softly. "Absolutely perfect."

Williams felt a shiver go down his spine at the words, and he wondered, not for the first time, what in the world he had been thinking when he got himself into this mess.

"Mr. Valhendt?"

The German looked up from the files he'd compiled about Bradley Crawford to see his secretary standing in the doorway to his office.

"Yes Florence?"

"There's a young lady here to see you sir. A Miss…" She frowned, glancing at her clipboard. "Hito."

"Ah, thank you. Please show her in."

Yumemiru Hito had been Rosenkreuz's first official student. He'd found her in a fishing village in Japan when she was eight years old and been struck by the strength of her gift. She could alter people's minds, the way that they thought, the things that they thought about, their preferences, their personalities. There was no name for it; the members of the board simply called it Manipulation and he thought that it was a suitable enough title for what she did. Her parents hadn't protested when he took her away and, though he'd given them his number, they hadn't bothered to contact him in eleven years.

"Good morning." She appeared in the doorway with a sweet smile, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders as she stepped inside.

"Good morning to you as well Yume." Valhendt stood up to embrace her, patting her shoulder in a fatherly manner before waving for her to sit down. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you. You wanted to see me?"

"You recently filed for an extended leave from the organization. I was willing to grant it until I noticed that you did not specify a reason. You know that you have to include the reason for your absence before I can grant it."

The young woman offered a bland look, the flash of irritation in her eyes the only sign of emotion.

"I thought that since I've done more than my share of work for the organization over the years you wouldn't mind giving me a little time to myself."

Valhendt looked slightly amused at this, tilting his chin into his hand.

"That is what personal days are for my dear. Now why don't you stop trying to tiptoe around this and tell me why you want to go?"

"I've been working for the New York office for two years now, ever since I graduated from the school in Germany. Before I left the academy I told you that I wanted to continue my education." With this she drew an envelope out of her pocket and nudged it across the table toward him. "A month ago I was accepted to one of the top universities in Japan. My term begins at the start of the next school year."

Valhendt glanced at the envelope, reading the name printed on it.

"Rosenkreuz has a secondary school." He pointed out in a low voice.

"A prison." Yumemiru retorted. "Bars on the windows, guards at the doors, a school full of unstable gifted students who show their anger by making beakers explode and summoning thunder storms. You spend more time trying not to upset people and competing with your abilities than you spend actually learning. I've been there, I've seen it. No thank you."

"True, very true. But then, very few Rosenkreuz students have the desire to learn that you do." Valhendt leaned back in his chair, gazing at her with a calculating look on his face. After a few moments he smiled. "I'll grant your leave." He said.

"You will?" Yumemiru looked surprised, her dark eyes wide. A second later they narrowed in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

"Just a little favor really, nothing of overwhelming import."

"What is it?" She demanded.

Valhendt passed Bradley Crawford's file across the table to her, leaning so that he was resting his chin in his hand.

"He was brought to my attention by an acquaintance of mine only recently. I've reviewed his file extensively and consulted the board on the matter." He passed a small case to her as well and when she opened it she found identification, credit cards, account numbers…everything it would take to go undercover. "I want you to recruit him for the school."

"You're kidding."

"No, I am quite serious."

"What happened to the recruitment agency? I thought they handled this kind of thing?"

"This is a special case. Consider it the price of your freedom. Recruit him for me and I'll pay for you to go to the college in Japan."

She was silent for a long time, staring at him as his offer rebounded wildly through her head. One mission, undercover, a month, two at the most before she convinced the target to join the organization. When she was done she could say goodbye for the next few years, forget about the school where she'd spent nine years of her life learning how to be a weapon. She could live in a dorm with other students, go out for pizza, join a study group…

"All right." She said finally. "When do I leave?"

Los Angeles, Brad Crawford thought to himself, was a place he would rather not visit gain any time soon. He was a small-town boy, more the type to dine at a place like Mary Jo's than to enjoy five star cuisine at an expensive restaurant. Unfortunately L.A. was a flashy place, full of extravagant people and the kind of forwardness that made him uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that everyone was completely anonymous and, having grown up in a place where neighbors always knew each other, he found it somewhat unnerving.

Still, it wasn't a bad place to win a match. The publicity was always a good thing too, and Walter said that if he kept winning and he captured a title he would be able to take a vacation soon.

The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled him away from his thoughts. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the number, and made a face. Walter. His agent was great when it came to arranging matches and getting him into magazines but that didn't mean he enjoyed talking to him.

"Brad here."

"Where are you?" Walter demanded. "You're supposed to be at the office on 51st for your interview!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The Z-Mag! Did you forget again? I told you four times yesterday that you had an interview at two o'clock…"

"Oh." He glanced at his watch. "I guess my watch stopped, it still reads ten o'clock. Uh, where did you say it was again?"

"51st! Get your ass over here now or we're going to lose the magazine. I don't know why I even bother…" Walter's voice trailed off as he hung up the phone and Brad Crawford was left standing on the sidewalk, making a face.

"I hate it when he does that." He murmured, putting his phone away. He glanced up at the street name. 53rd. The magazine office wasn't that far away, close enough for him to walk. With a sigh he set off down the street, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way along.

He really wasn't looking forward to this.

"So Mr. Crawford,"

"Please don't call me that."

"Of course Mr. Crawford. Anyway, what would you say is the most important preparation that you undergo for a match?"

Brad wanted to roll his eyes, to scream, to do something to make the reporter sitting across from him realize she was being an idiot. Who cared what he did before a match? Or what he ate for breakfast every morning? Or how many hours he slept? Or (and where had they gotten this question?) what kind of underwear he wore?

"I believe that I've already said that I don't really do anything special. Mostly just relax for a while, do a few exercises to get my blood going, read a book…" He shrugged. "Sometimes I eat a snack or take a nap."

"Fabulous, just fabulous." She began to scribble madly and he had the unnerving feeling that she was not writing down anything that he had said. After a moment she looked back up at him, expectant. "And what would you say is your favorite brand of tennis shoe?"

What? What kind of a question is that?

"Ahhh…." He glanced at Walter. Hadn't they made a deal to endorse some company…

Walter was mouthing something that was either 'Ike' or 'Nike'. As he'd never heard of a company called Ike he assumed that the latter was correct.

"Nike." He said finally, and was rewarded with a thumbs-up from Walter. Great, at least he'd gotten that one right. Not too long ago she'd asked him about soup brands and he'd said Ample's instead of Campbell's. That hadn't gone over well.

"Now," the journalist was saying. "I want you to tell me more about your childhood. Did your father own a Chevy or a Honda?"

Crawford put his chin in his hand and wondered how much longer this was going to continue. He glanced at the clock. He'd already been here for an hour. Maybe if he was lucky…No, better not to hope. He should just start writing his suicide note now. If he kept it short he could be dead before she started asking him about his love life.

Yumemiru watched the door to the building, idly flipping the pages of a book that she was not really reading. Her target was inside, had been for well over an hour now, without any signs that he would be coming out. With a grumble of annoyance she pulled out her pocket mirror, carefully examining her face in it. After a moment she put it away, satisfied that her appearance was, in all respects, perfect. Valhendt had told her to use whatever skills necessary in order to ensure the success of her mission.

There was only one skill that she possessed that was sure to recruit Bradley Crawford. It had a great deal to do with looks, and very little to do with anything else.

"Can I help you Miss?"

She looked up to see a waiter standing over her. She'd been sitting in the restaurant for over an hour and all she'd ordered so far was a cup of tea and a sandwich.

"Iie." She smiled sweetly. "Arigato."

"Oh. Sorry." He frowned, confused. "I thought you spoke English. Ah…have a nice day." He walked away, obviously still trying to figure out what he'd managed to miss. He was so sure that she'd ordered her tea and sandwich in English, but now…surely he'd been mistaken. She had probably just pointed it out to him. Probably.

Yume rolled her eyes, watching the waiter walk away. Poor guy. All it had taken was a subtle tug on his memory and he couldn't even remember how she'd ordered her food.

She turned her gaze back toward the building just in time to see Brad Crawford walking out. He looked flustered and annoyed and he was shoving his hands into his pockets with a sullen glare up at the windows.

Perfect, he's alone.

She hurriedly paid for her things and bounded out onto the street…just in time to slam face-first into her target's chest.

"Ow." She muttered, rubbing her nose.

"Oh jeeze, I'm sorry." Bradley Crawford took a measured step back, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her elbow. "Are you all right?"

"Grand." Yume replied. "I'm afraid I wasn't watching where I was going."

"I know how that feels." He said, smiling. "You're sure you're all right though? I've gotten a few nasty bruises running into things."

"I'll manage." She tucked her hair behind her ears, suddenly feeling incredibly shy. He was just a job, she reminded herself. Just a job. He just happened to be incredibly hot, and tall, and built…

She remembered in time that she was supposed to be interesting him right about now. She directed a subtle command, tweaking his memory a little so that she seemed familiar to him. His eyes flickered a little and he frowned slightly, as if trying to place her face somewhere in his past.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" He asked, voice soft.

He looked amazing when he was confused. His eyes were slightly glazed, his lips parted…

"No." She said. "I don't think we've met."

"Well," He grinned. "We'll have to remedy that then." He offered her his hand. "I am Bradley Crawford."

"Hito Yumemiru."

"You are Japanese?" Bradley inquired.

"Yes. And you are American."

"Mmhm."

"Could be interesting."

The dark-haired boxer offered her a winning smile.

"I know a wonderful little café just down the street where we can get these…ah…pastry things that are really good. You wanna go?"

She should have said no. If she'd said no she would have been able to lure him in and avoid actually getting to know him. But the way his hair fell into his face was very sweet and the way he gestured toward the street was…well, cute. So, against the sage advice of the voices screaming in her head she said,

"All right."

The voices wouldn't stop. They were always whispering, nattering, insisting, demanding. Every time he tried to find silence they would be louder, until he could scarcely hear himself breathing. Then it would begin, the praying, screaming in his ears like the roar of the ocean. Overwhelming, painful, like nails on a chalkboard and the feel of blood under his nails.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…

He whimpered, covered his ears with his hands and sinking wearily to his knees. If only they would be quiet, if only they would stop for a single moment he could learn how to think again, how to function, how to be.

Blessed art thou among women…

"No." He growled. "Not blessed. Cursed. Cursed." The knife was in his hands without his realizing it. He didn't remember where he'd gotten it or how but it felt good when he drew it across his forearms. Blood welled, an agony that he couldn't even feel but one that he could watch, rapt, involved.

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus…

"Shut up!" He rocked backwards, striking his head against the wall so that it gave a resounding crash. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Now he could see them, standing in front of him with arms outstretched, lips moving in eternal prayer. Their hands were red with blood and they were going to touch him, to smear the blood on him.

"It was Him!" He cried. "It was Him! God hates, he cries, it was Him!"

He began to pound on the walls, banging his fists until they were heavy and numb. Then it was his head and he could feel the blood beginning to leak down through his hair, across his cheeks to his throat. It was warm and wet and when he put his tongue out he could taste the salty sweetness of it, the cloying taste.

"Make him hurt." He whispered, sinking to the ground once more. He drew swirling crimson patterns on his arms, watching the blood rise and drip in splashes across the floor. "Make him cry. God must cry."

There was a cross burned into the back of his eyes. A man hung on it, groaning in pain, blood pooling at his feet. It was a haunting image, one that brought with it the nuns and white-collared priests from his childhood.

"Nooooo! Nooooooooooooooo!" He put his head on the floor and sobbed, burying his face in his hands as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "Make them stop. Make them go away."

"Do you think there's any way he's ever going to recover?"

"It's unlikely. Even with sedation he's out of control and I don't dare give him too much or he could go into a coma."

The woman leaned against the window, watching with sorrow in her eyes as the young man sliced into his arms and raged against the walls of his room. There were deep scars on the palms of her hands and she looked down at them, frowning.

"It was never meant to be this way." She whispered. "I only just found him again."

"Ma'm, I'm very sorry about all of this." The doctor said. "But there really is nothing that we can do for him. He shows signs of Schizophrenia, severe Post Traumatic Stress, Depression…his list of neurosis goes on and on. We can't treat any of it for fear of worsening something else."

"I…I understand." She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. "Could you, could you just make sure that he is comfortable then? I don't want him to suffer…"

"Of course ma'm. We'll make him as comfortable as possible for the time that he is here."

"What? What do you mean? I thought he was going to be here permanently."

"Oh no ma'm. In a few days he'll be transported to another hospital better organized to deal with this kind of case."

"Oh." The woman turned back to the room and its troubled patient. "Where is it?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." He smiled apologetically. Then he turned to go, waving over his shoulder. "Anyway, I'll let you see yourself out."

She stared after him, shock apparent on her face. When he was gone however, and it was obvious she would not be receiving any further information she leaned against the window, giving herself over to tears.

And inside of the room the Irish boy called Jei continued to lose himself to madness. Bit by bit, piece by piece the parts of him shattered and slipped away into the darkness until only a jagged outline remained. Just the silhouette of a boy, and the whisper of a gift that no one had ever seen.

Yay Farfie! Well? How did you like it? I know how most people tend to feel about OCs but in this case they're kind of a necessary evil, and I do love them in my own way. Tell me what you think of them, any suggestions or criticisms or anything like that.

Updates should be arriving every two weeks or so. This is the last one before I go off to college though, so the next might be a little late depending on how my professors treat me.

Next Chapter: A Conspiracy and Other Games

Look for updates starting on August 31st

Talk to ya then!