Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to Project W unless otherwise noted by yours truly. And no, I'm not making money. Jeez. It's not like anyone ever even reads these stupid things—particularly not lawyers, who mostly aren't reading fanfiction at all.

Notes: This is the first chapter in my rewrite of the story Midnight Garden. I finally have some idea what's going on, and so cherish hope that this might actually be more than the drivelpile I wrote first. gasp There might even be a PLOT! Please enjoy.

A Sense of Dark

Chapter One

by Kye Syr

I was waiting in a park behind a tree in very cold October and the middle of the night for someone to kill.

The other three were nearby, but Brad had decided that we'd do best to spread out. His vision was clear enough, but pinpointing location in a dark, frosty field covered in identical trees can be not easy. So I was essentially alone, and it was late and I was pissed, because we'd been out here an hour and Weiß wasn't here yet. Slow bastards. If my toes fell off, I was going to kill them twice.

The cold and the wait were really only 2/3 of what was bothering me—the other third bothered me much more than they did. I'd had a buzz in the back of my mind for weeks, a pinch and a prod that made me lose control. It felt like pins and needles, as though part of my brain were being sat on. It was uncomfortable and unfun and I didn't know why it was there, and it made our exciting midnight park tour even more exciting.

Of course, it would be even more exciting yet if it did what it had done four weeks before and screwed me over completely. Probably if Brad had known about the buzz, had known that it was the cause of Ouka Takatori's Untimely Demise, he wouldn't have let me out of the house. But I liked privacy, not prodding, and I definitely hated doctors. I'd rather let Brad think we'd meant to kill the girl, even that I'd made the shot, than let him know that my all-important brain was fritzing on me. Without my brain I was next to worthless, and I didn't want Brad Crawford deciding that I was no longer a necessary commodity. Him or Eszett.

I poked out, to see if I could find the Errant Weiß anywhere nearby. Or just plain anywhere, if it came to that. I reached out a little tendril of mind, ready to snare them like a spiderweb if I came upon them, shuffling minds like cards in a Hallmark display. Cotton candy, gothy, dirty, vaguely funny, downright dull; that was humanity. But could I find Weiß?

I couldn't. Wherever they were was either inconceivably distant (say, Mars) or crowded with about twenty thousand people. Since they were supposed to be here, that was kind of strange.

Brad, I said.

Hm? he hmed.

I can't find them anywhere, I said. How are we going to kill what isn't here? More important, how are we going to kill anyone with all our limbs popping off of frostbite?

They'll come, Schuldig, he said. If you can't find them, that's your own fault. And your limbs will not 'pop off' from frostbite.

He paused, and added, Not tonight, anyway. They'll change color and become paralyzed first.

Thanks, Brad, I said. I feel better now.

You should, he said. Now shut up and pay attention.

I shut up and paid attention. It would have been easier without the buzz.

I reached and I looked for a few minutes, but finally I dropped the thread of mind with a growl. If they weren't there, I wasn't going to find anything, so why should I bother looking? I hit the tree behind me in frustration. Somehow the jolt to my arm must've jolted my head too, because the buzz was worse, very much worse, and I couldn't see except for there was someone in front of me. Redhead. But I was the redhead…

Brad! I called without thinking, not caring whether he found out or not, he always knew what to do. I was the redhead!

Brad felt sharp and worried when he answered.

Schuldig! he snapped, not at me. They're not far away! You're going to—

"Schwarz!" spat the other me. Not me…the Weiß one…oh, it hurt…

I looked, I couldn't see right through the buzz, but I looked, the other three were behind him, and the one with the string, he dodged around like a squirrel, my throat, I was pressed against the tree, it hurt, and my head-- the other red said, you killed his sister, and I saw the little one, not Nagi, he looked like he would kill me, and the redhead said, later, and he pulled out his sword.

BRAD! I yelled, and Far and Nagi heard it too, and I must have stayed attached, because the redhead put his sword in my shoulder and they screamed when I screamed and everything buzzed and Brad swore and nothing

They must have dragged me, because my back felt ragged.

That was the first thing I thought when I woke. Then I noticed that the rest of me hurt too, so it made no difference, and that I was in handcuffs. The little pricks had cuffed me, one pair to each limb, the chains wrapped around the limbs of the chair I was seated in. It was a metal chair, all angles, and it poked.

Shit, I said, and then I tried to find someone besides me.

Brad? I said, because if he was there, poking his brain would only piss him off. Nagi? Far?

No answer. I wriggled in the poking chair and pushed out a big breath all at once to keep from panicking. Oh, I hated being out of control. I hated hurting. I hated the buzz.

But most of all, I hated being tied up in a dark room by people who definitely wanted me wounded.

They must have heard the chains rattle, because all at once, it wasn't dark anymore and they were there. They'd never been a bit intimidating until this exact moment. But I was tied up, and I hurt already, and I knew they wanted me to hurt a lot more. The blondie—I snagged the names I didn't already know—Youji looked smug, and Ken looked blank, and—whatever the redhead's name was—Ran? Aya?—whoever looked stormy. As for Omi (who thought he might also be Mamoru)…I didn't want him near me.

It was his sister, after all.

Youji chuckled. It annoyed me. I wanted to hurt him.

"Are the tiger's teeth cut short today?" he asked, in that infuriating, self-assured way of really clueless torturers. That's it, I thought, and started to shove at his mind, but the buzz was so strong all of a sudden that I could see only black, couldn't push, and I sank down with a gasp. What was this?

Youji looked bemused, but didn't let his bemusement throw him.

"Do you hurt?" he said, and he lifted my chin so that my face faced his. I turned my eyes away, and so I barely saw the fist rushing at me. I ducked into the nearest mind to cushion the blow, and jumped out again, feeling burned. Omi, of course.

Yohji's fist hit me hard enough to snap my head painfully to one side.

Shit, I said (my new favorite word). My mind stung with Omi's rage; I was nearly overcome with how much he hated me. Everything he wanted to do to me, I could feel. I stared at him and shivered.

Youji's grin grew. I was surprised it was possible; he'd already looked like the victim of a tragic Botox accident. But it was possible, and his grin grew. He followed my look to Omi.

"He does hate you a lot, doesn't he?" said Youji, turning my head again. Wahoo, Schuldig Puppet Theatre. "And you know what he wants to do to you, don't you?" His touch left my chin and he hit again, knocking my head in the other direction. Buzz, buzz, buzz. I didn't answer.

Youji leaned into my ear, Omi burning to one side and the others standing like sentinals to the other. "Murder makes people want to do terrible things, Schuldig," he said. Don't call me that, I thought at him, and it must have worked, because he twitched. "Terrible things," he continued without comment. "Not many get to do them. And if we didn't do evil already, I wouldn't let Omi do this. But we do evil. And you, of all people, deserve to understand suffering."

Of course I do. Because I am so much worse with so much less cause than you. Because I don't feel others' suffering every day. Because the honey of the mind when I find it so far overwhelms the ash of it when the mind finds me.

"The truth is," said Youji, and his breath was fogging up my ear, "I wanna see you suffer too. You owned Schreient, and Schreient took Asuka from me. I want Omi to torture you beyond imagination, and if it takes him a year to kill you, I want to watch without a blink." I rolled my eyes to meet his (they were green) and didn't say a word. Yohji stepped back with a smile. His green eyes glittered hard like emeralds.

An unflawed emerald, someone had told me, is more valuable than a diamond.

Omi stepped forward, silent and vengeful. Yohji smiled.

They were valuable because it was almost impossible to find unflawed emeralds. All of them were messed up somehow or other, and so, for the most part, emeralds ended up cheaper than diamonds.

He was holding something that looked sharp and gruesome. Sometimes, I thought, it's better not to see what's coming.

"Yours are flawed," I told blondie, just to confuse him.

I closed my eyes and let it begin.

AN: Well, I feel good about this. Much better than the original. I reread the original as I was writing this version, and….ech. Bad writing. I hope this pleases new people, and I hope to have further revision chapters up in the near future.