A/N: This is my favorite part. MizoxRazer dynamics MAKE ME SO HAPPY.

And okay? Okay? I owe this one ONE-'UNDRED PERCENT to Weiila. MY Weiila, that is, (not yours) but you can go love/worship her because I say so. She inspired it, was incredible, fixed it and gave me nummy German for Razer to yell. I ADORE YOU, DAHLING.

Razer is… my favorite. Ever. And as I put the finishing touches on this piece, I began pitying him profoundly.

Warning: VIOOLLEENCEEE :O SPOILERTASTIC TOO.

AND A PLOT HOLE MAYBE. Doublyso, for reasons I can't… adequately express in their dialogue, Mizo's gang knows about the poison. I mean, why else would Mizo make off with the antidote at the end, yelling 'YOU WILL ALL DIE'? So. If that's a hiccup in my thought process, (no doubt Mizo would know those kind of tactics to be FAR more than suitable for sleaze-ball Krew's reign of terror) forgive me.

-.-.-.-.-

Aftermath

-.-.-.-.-

"Alright. Let's run through this one more time, shall we?"

His hands were clasped behind his back, his insufferable pink shirt the only wide blot of color in the room. The rest was lost to gritty lighting and the dead grey of concrete.

Mizo appreciated low lights when he worked. They set the mood, he said. Crime lords can't be all sunshine, daisies and fluorescent backlighting, after all. A little incognito is required.

But that could just be his wit.

He stepped to the side, a practiced prelude to pacing. His hands fanned, his voice warm and earnest. Telling a story.

"It's a great day. Great day for business, a great day for fun… the stands are full, all engines revving! Every man ready to shoot out there on that track and take one for the team."

His constant smile sweetened, warming into a skewed paternal thing. His face was handsome, luxuriant.

"Fans are cheering… All for the right people, of course." He chuckled. "And then they're off."

There was a tense silence. Mizo turned around, face bare of any gleaming smiles.

"You lose the race." He said in simple acidity.

Razer tensed in his chair, chest straining outwards as though something within him leapt to refute that claim- as though to insist that there was far more to it than that- but his eyes darkened at a warning glance from Mizo.

A tattered, professional peacock under scrutiny, Razer stilled himself. Mizo, suddenly flat and businesslike, appeared satisfied, and began pacing.

"After you lose the race, you stop on the track. Following your lead, the rest of the team stops with you." Mizo jerked his head, a nod to at least that much understanding. "The Sicks pull up for a little after-circuit banter. You and our hero have a spat. And that's where you lose me, Razer."

Mizo's lips twitched in a faintly mocking smile. Razer's hand clenched in his lap, precipitate fury rising into his neck.

"According to you, entirely human, impeccably poisoned Jak suddenly leaps out of his car and runs straight for you. While running, he changes into a freak. A pale, clawed freak." He was openly mocking the other now, voice delicately unoffending. "He attacks, and… well, just look at you. At the rate you're going, we'll have to call in a new mascot."

Mizo's toothy grin was set back in the gilded pedestal of his face, and he stepped forward, wiping his thumb across Razer's cheek. The touch was intense, his thick palm curling briefly around the others stitched jaw. Razer sneered instantly, nostrils flaring, and tilted his head away as far as he dared.

Mizo chuckled.

"C'mon. Let me take a look at you."

Razer remained as he was, neck taut in refusal. Anger flared in Mizo's dark eyes, and he seized Razer's jaw with new strength, squeezing. The younger winced graphically, body curling invisibly under the strain as Mizo came level with his face.

"Relax, Razer. Unlike some, I don't bite." He whispered through his teeth.

The checkup was quick and impersonal. Once done with one side, Mizo delivered a flick to Razer's ear, and the racer turned the other cheek, eyes dead. Impeccably trained.

A black eye, bulging. Several stitches. Broken nose. Yellowing bruises. Roving over the man's injuries with a mildly interested air, Mizo let out a low whistle as he reached Razer's neck- a pale stretch of skin with ten, precise slits, five on each side. Each was surrounded by a ring of angry, wet mauve.

Dark eco wounds, it looked like- though he wouldn't bet the house on it. He touched one, and was rewarded with Razer's seething intake of breath. Mizo tsked.

"Well, well. It looks like your play-pal at least has enough style to get his nails done while going creature-feature. Your neck was very cleanly cut- almost looks like a matching set, bucko."

Razer straightened as he drew back and dusted his hands off, fixing him with those cold, cultured eyes that, once upon a time, he had found so enticing.

Humorous, how attraction could fade so quickly.

"Are you quite done?" Razer bit each word, pale mouth moving minutely. Even in this hideous state, Mizo wondered at the handsomeness that clung like an aftertaste to the bone-china ridges of his stitched cheeks.

"Yeah, I'd say so." He drew back, leaning against his worktable and studying Razer's passive expression. The room was silent, save for the clean squeak of the other's gloves as he wadded them in his bare hands.

"So you understand." He said stiffly. "You will help me; you will kill him."

Mizo shook his head with a chuckle, reveling in his deep, genial form of amusement.

"Now, now. Murdering a contender outright, WEEKS before the big races? I'm surprised at you, Razer. That would be unsportsmanlike! I thought I taught you better than that." He chided, turning from his companion slightly.

At Razer's invisible surge of irritation, he sighed, voice darkening.

"At least wait this years circuit out, and our buddy Jak will be out of your hair- that I can promise you. Out of your hair and six feet under, that is. All it'll take is a few more weeks. You can wait that long, cant you?"

He turned back with an open expression, only to find Razer's seething where he sat, boots braced against the ground.

"No! I have driven for you for years, faithful as ever- you cannot deny me this! Not here, not now! Kill him, Mizo. Now." He insisted, eyes gleaming feverishly through his injuries. "It will not be hard. Catch him before he changes!"

Mizo's expression faltered farcically.

"Woah, now- hold up there, tiger. Who do you think you're talking to?" Mizo's naked brow furrowed as he sat back again with a displeased thump, crossing his arms across his broad chest. His own bland brand of condescending disapproval flattened his handsome face. "I can most certainly deny you this. In fact, I can deny you anything. I'm the boss. Don't you think you're overstepping yourself a little here?"

"Mizo!" Razer snarled in warning, gesturing violently with his hands and clearly forgetting his place. "I cannot compete with a… ein tier! It is unnatural!"

Mizo was well accustomed to Razer's little habit of lapsing into his native language when agitated, but in this he had to pause.

"This… word you keep using! Tier." His wide mouth ballooned around the word, unnatural as it was. Razer frowned at the slaughter of the vowels, but stayed silent under Mizo's scrutiny, watching passively as the man thumbed his chin with thick fingers.

"What does it mean?" His eyes were more purple than blue, sharp with interest.

Razer's expression darkened, his thin mouth hiking up distastefully as he stirred for an answer.

"Beast." He said after a moment.

"Woah, hey, let's not be so quick to judge." Mizo protested, hands raised in front of him as though receiving a playful punch. Dragging it out with a stumbling, polite protest. "I mean, sure, we've all heard RUMORS about our little friend-"

"What I saw yesterday surpassed the very worst of any gainsay." Razer hissed, straining to make him see sense. "What I saw was beyond rumor or invention- it was madness. That thing is not human."

Mizo's mouth opened- then abruptly closed.

"I don't know, Razer." He seemed to pluck the words out of the air, musically. He began to wander again, all in his familiar, amiable consideration. "Normally I'd trust you, but this is different. You've been known to be a tad… superstitious sometimes."

"Superstitious?" He breathed, infuriated. The word came awkwardly- too many thick sounds for his trained tongue, accent bleeding all the while- but he straightened indignantly anyways, eyes blazing. "I am no such-"

"I seem to remember a certain incident about a year ago where you rudely slapped our friend Edje across the face for touching your car before the finals. Bad luck, you said. A vehicle should be exposed to none but its driver before a big race." Mizo brandished a hard smile, eyebrows raised appraisingly. "A little tradition you kept from the old country, my friend?"

Razer glanced downward, delicate brows contracting. His hands stilled their constant clenching in his lap.

"That has no bearing here," he said after a moment, voice dead.

Mizo made a vague sound, drawing in a bracing breath.

"Ah. I see. However, with as much faith as I have in you… are you sure this isn't some old world fantasy of yours? Some campfire tale gone wrong? The pure idea of a man morphing before your eyes is fine for fairytales, but-"

Mizo shrugged away, half-rolling his eyes, but a sudden scrape filled the room. Razer was up on his feet, trembling visibly with rage. A clammy pink was sneaking up his neck, the color fleshing out the lace-like injuries. He jolted as though to stalk toward Mizo, shoulders rigid, hatred crackling through the distance between them.

"You did not see him, Mizo- his eyes were black! Pitch black!" He snarled, groping heatedly for words as Mizo's unresponsive eyes picked him apart. "He… he changed, twisted! Edje and Shiv will tell you in an instant, I-"

"Was this before or after you got your ass handed to you?"

Razer swallowed, cheek twitching in a fluttering, uncertain sneer. He blew out a tense breath of air as the silence stretched with no excuse forthcoming, handsome mouth soon stretching around his gritted teeth.

Mizo's eyes flickered with cold satisfaction, mouth creaking in a controlling smile.

"Sit back down, Razer."

Cornered, Razer stiffly lowered himself into his seat.

Mizo looked at him briefly, scratched his chin, tapped his forehead and sighed.

"I'll put it simply for you. I don't want anything to do with your little spat. And really, I'm a pretty easy guy to deal with! So I'm telling you now, just so we don't have any misunderstandings. All you have to do to keep me happy… is to keep your ride out of reach of the mini bumper-car session you and your buddy have been having. It's fun and games like that that make my pockets lighter every day." He chuckled, but immediately hardened. "That's my only rule- you'll have to deal with your 'tier' infestation on your own."

Past being incredulous, Razer threw his gloves to the ground and glared up at Mizo, eyes blazing.

"This isn't about your fucking cars!"

Mizo seemed to wave away the rage radiating from the beaten man, and cocked an eyebrow.

"Actually, if you ask me, it's all about my fucking cars." He crossed his arms once more, voice deadly calm.

Razer writhed, lip hiking in a hateful sliver of white, finely manicured nails digging into his palms. His ragged breaths were the only sound in the room, vision blurring into redness. Finally, Mizo's dead expression only seemed to wind him tighter, his whole body heaving as he shouted:

"Du verdammte Scheißkopf!"

Before frozen in a neutral, dangerous smile, Mizo's face twitched. Then his eyes lit from within- and wordlessly, he hiked his foot onto the rim of Razer's chair and kicked it over, swift and sharp.

Razer pitched forward, facedown, making a pained grunt as the chair screeched and he smashed into the cold floor. He felt the gritty grinding of his nose as something within broke all over again, wetness flooding out. Gasping in tight, tense pain, he jammed an elbow under him, releasing an anguished groan as his nose dripped freely, clamped beneath his free hand.

Mizo stood above, something halfway between a polite, carnal smile and a twitch of his lips plastered onto his face.

"Call me finicky, I don't like that word nor the tone you used, Razer."

His only answer was a guttural cough of pain. Razer's eyes clenched tightly, the only sound that of him forcing air in and out with the delicate slurp of blood droplets caught on his lips.

"You shouldn't have come crying to me." Mizo said, voice husky. He cocked his head, watching his head racer tremble with pain with a perfectly comfortable expression. "All of this is your fault. You had to dick with him, didn't you?"

Razer clenched in shock on the floor, sharp eyebrows twisting in something just short of dismay. His green eyes flashed intelligently- sharpened by pain. His red mouth formed a loose circle, teeth poised questioningly.

Mizo laughed, a plastic, blonde-wigged feat.

"You think I don't know? No, Razer- I know everything that goes on in this city. Everything." He said, breathing power into the word. His eyes narrowed. "Your little escapades haven't escaped me."

Razer looked at him in horror for a moment before looking downwards, perhaps at his reflection in the growing pool of blood. Then, while retaining some tattered dignity before, his hand finally clenched at his side in some kind of condensed defeat- a surrender to basic anger. He seethed, sloppy red fingers pinched around his nose.

Mizo rose, resuming business.

"As I was saying. Do you realize how much money out of my pocket it'll cost to recalibrate those racers? All due to your pitiful performance on the track. I pay you for one thing and one thing only, my friend, and right now you're falling a few feet short of earning your keep." He said flatly.

Apparently his view of the bowed raven head wasn't satisfying- he caught Razer's jaw with the tip of his boot and forced it up, eyeing the blood-smeared racer with disgust. Razer returned the glare mechanically, cowed.

"If you haven't forgotten, you work for me." Mizo whispered, voice dipping to dangerous depths. He flipped his toe up, freeing it and jabbing the other's chin. "And if you don't keep your nose clean, Razer, I'll get you and feed you to your little beast friend myself."

Razer lay there, half propped on a shaking arm in a sloppy, cold pool of his own blood, and simply stared.

Then he began cursing at Mizo fluently in his own language- guttural barks spewed forth, heaved and controlled by the deep of his throat and cursing him for living or breathing, crouched like a wounded, cornered animal in all shades of wet red. But Mizo was beyond caring. He had made his point, and was now striding toward the door with his offhanded pace, scooping up some keys off his desk with a large hand. He whistled, plucking his coat off the back of a chair.

The door slammed shut.

Razer curses died into coughs. Silence spanned, dead and grey in the low lighting Mizo liked so much. Mechanically, he sat back and let his head hang, mind swimming back to focus on the pain. He reeled, but forced himself still, pushing away the nightmares that even now would wriggle back into his head, accenting daylight with black eyes. Expecting calm repose to come slipping back to him, as it always did.

But with the pressure behind his eyes and his blood coating the floor, the bandages hanging like flags from the broken crest of his nose, with the door closed and no help forthcoming… it was too much.

He let out a choked, furious sob- it dwindled, then spiked into a snarl of rage. Forcing himself up, he slammed over a chair, kicking it and ignoring the stab of pain it sent into his leg. It clattered, but did not relieve the throb in his nose, and left the room silent save for his angry breaths. His hands clenched, then released. He sniffed.

Gathering from the floor both his gloves and his wounded, bristling pride, Razer stalked out.