Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

Author's note: This chapter sucks! The first part contributes absolutely nothing to the progression of the plot, but I needed it as set up to give Ken some time. That, and I love writing Ran… He's just so deliciously angsty. I hope you'll not hate it too much…

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Chapter 2

Crawford wrinkled his brow as he took a sip from his instant coffee; he really didn't know how anyone could like that stuff. Omi had left the office hours ago, as soon as the hunt ended. After all, the boy was still in school and had to keep to a regular schedule. The Oracle gazed at the flickering screen before him with indifference; he really wasn't in the mood for current affairs. A smile graced his lips as golden eyes turned towards the elevator expectedly. The man he was waiting for was due to arrive.

A moment later, the elevator door opened with a cheery ring to reveal a familiar redhead. Clad in a long black trench coat and matching leather pants, armed with a sleek katana, Aya could easily pass for an action film star despite his slender build. If the assassin was surprised to find Crawford still at the office, he didn't show it. Without even sparing the man a glance, he walked towards the mission room to stow away his gear.

With a soft sigh at the assassin's anti-social antics, Crawford followed Aya into the mission room. "Nice work tonight, as usual."

There were very few men in the world that the Oracle respected; and Abyssinian was one of them. It started when they were rivals, when Schwartz was under orders from Esset to eliminate Kritiker's Witch Hunters. While Omi, as mission planner, often steered Weiss right into their traps, Aya somehow always managed to find a way to guide his team out alive. As maddening as it was to have his meticulous schemes foiled, the Oracle could not help but foster a grudging respect for Abyssinian's resourcefulness and abilities.

In fact, the red-haired assassin was the reason the Oracle decided to join forces with Weiss after Esset cast Schwartz aside for a more powerful front-line team. Crawford wanted his former employers to pay; and he knew, with Aya on his side, his vengeance would be assured. "I was pleasantly surprised when you showed up tonight. I know you have an early flight tomorrow."

"Hn." The day was supposed to mark the beginning of Aya's month-long leave of absence. He was scheduled to accompany his sister to the US to undergo a new diagnostic procedure to pinpoint the cause of her prolonged coma. While he would never admit to being concerned about his teammates safety, he wasn't so heartless that he'd stay home and sleep when he knew WAS, an unimaginative acronym for Weiss & Scwhartz, was going after a particularly dangerous target.

"You know there's no reason for you to go, right? Kritiker has the security details for your sister under control," Crawford reasoned in one last attempt to change Aya's mind. He couldn't believe it at first, that Persia would allow Abyssinian to abandon his duties for a full month. Aya was critical to WAS. With the Oracle assigned to the office as 'controller of operations', the redhead was the only one on the field with leadership experience. If tonight were any indication, WAS would be in for some tough times without their field leader.

"I know." A trace of guilt surfaced in the redhead's mind, but he stomped it down mercilessly. Aya-chan was his first priority, the reason why he had chosen the life of an assassin in the first place. Nothing else, not his teammates well-being, not the innocent lives he could save from his work, was more important than being there for his sister. He had failed her once; he would not do so ever again.

"Just don't get your hopes too high, alright?" Crawford sighed in resignation. He had foreseen that nothing would come of this trip; that Aya-chan would be no closer to waking after this procedure than she was before. He didn't want the redhead to have unrealistic expectations from the trip, only to be disappointed. Abyssinian tended to get extremely snappish when things did not go his way; and that was an experience Crawford would much rather not relive.

"Since when is hope a part of my vocabulary?" retorted Aya as he shot the Oracle an annoyed look. He was a murderer; his hands stained in blood, just like the Witches he hunted. Ideals like hope and camaraderie had no place in the dark world he lived in.

"And they say I'm a cynic," the Oracle laughed. Aya truly amazed him sometimes; he didn't know how the man could be so fatalistic and ruthless, and still remained decent and righteous. If only the redhead weren't as frigid as an ice-cube… he'd probably be Crawford's idea of the ideal mate.

Aya chuckled as he glided out of the mission room and towards the elevator in smooth elegant strides. Though he would never admit it, he rather enjoyed Crawford's dry wit and sarcastic humor. It kept Youji in line even better than his own death glares. "I'm heading out. I'll see you back here in a month."

"If the place is still standing," Crawford mumbled at the redhead's retreating form. He didn't need the gift of foresight to tell him that someone was bound to get careless and hurt on a mission, if Omi and Schuldig didn't managed to kill each other first. And to top that off, Persia had his eyes set on a new Hunter, who would likely require much baby-sitting before being of an use to the team. It was going to be a long month.

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A dull ache at the base of his skull chipped incessantly at the comforting fog that enveloped Ken's mind. It was not long before the refugee of oblivion abandoned him, thrusting him back to wakefulness once more. Unfocused hazel eyes flickered open, only to be blinded by the harsh light of a fluorescent ceiling lamp. Ken groaned in annoyance as he flung his arm over his eyes for shade. He was at a hospital, he could tell by the strong antiseptic smell that saturated the air; but for some strange reason, he couldn't recall the events that had brought him there. The last thing he remembered was sharing a heated kiss with his lover in the dark, promising his beloved that everything would soon be back to the way they were, before an unsubstantiated gambling scandal ruined their perfect lives.

"You're awake," commented a sultry female voice, rousing Ken from his contemplation.

"Why am I here?" the ex-soccer star frowned as he heaved himself to sitting position. Dark specks swarmed his vision at the sudden motion, as the pain at the back of his head intensified. While Ken was no doctor, he was no stranger to injuries and concussions, thanks to his choice of profession. Judging by the wave of dizziness dimming his senses, he knew he must have taken a pretty hard hit on the head; but the how and why continued to remain a mystery.

"You don't remember what happened at the warehouse?"

Ken stared at the red-haired woman blankly as he repeated her words in his mind. /The warehouse…. The warehouse…The warehouse…Kase/

It all came back to him in a rush. His lover had led him to a warehouse that night. They were supposed to meet with an informant who could lead them to the leader of the gambling ring that had made Ken their scapegoat and caused his expulsion from the J-League. He had such high hopes for the future then, dreams of being able to play soccer along side his beloved once more. But instead of finding the informant, all they found were thugs under the gambling ring's employ.

Ken fought the gangsters with every ounce of his strength, trying to buy time for his lover to escape; but there were too many. He was knocked down by a blow from behind; and all he could do was lay there and watch as they dragged his lover away. He could still hear it, Kase screaming his name, as the man struggled to get to him, to help him…

Then, there were the flames, smoldering, wild, yet comforting at the same time. His consciousness had been fading then; but he remembered it now, the gentle caresses of the fire, a pain so intense that his skull felt as if it had been split apart right between his eyes, the strange sensation of an invisible force gushing from the imaginary crack.

Suddenly, he felt sick. Images of human flesh set ablaze flashed across his mind; and he his heart, he knew he was the cause. Now, he understood the last look his lover gave him before fleeing in terror. He could never return to his beloved again, to the life he once knew. He had become a monster. "Oh god…"

A few quick confident strides took Manx to the ex-soccer player's bedside. She had ample experience in recruiting Hunters; she was an expert at manipulating grief and despair in Kritiker's favor. But the open vulnerability on Ken's distressed face made her wish there was another way. Despite everything, there was still so much innocence in the young man; he didn't belong in the shady underworld where Hunters and Witches fought to decide the fate of humankind. "Ken, you have a gift. I know it is not easy to accept…"

"What do you want from me?" Ken asked softly without meeting Manx's eyes, jerking away from the redhead's attempt to place a soothing hand on his shoulder. He wasn't exactly smart; but he wasn't stupid either. The woman knew what he was; and yet, she was here, trying to comfort him. That wasn't something any normal person would do; she must have a hidden agenda.

"I work for an secret organization that hunts evil Witches. I am here to ask you to join us," Manx replied in a business-like tone. She was here to do a job; she would do it, even if she found it distasteful.

"Hunt Witches? So you want me to kill?" The ex-soccer player let out a bitter laugh as he stared at his hands. They seemed so clean, too clean, considering the blood he had shed that night.

"Yes, but you will be saving innocent lives by denying these Dark Beasts their tomorrow."

The Kritiker recruiter reached into her briefcase to retrieve a folder. "This is what a Witch can do," she said as she took out a photograph of a dismembered body of a young boy and laid it upon Ken's lap. Another picture followed, a teenage girl, body crushed completely crushed by some unnatural force.

"I will not lie to you; the life of a Hunter isn't easy. It's kill or be killed; and your hands will be as steeped in blood as the ones you hunted. But can you honestly turn away, knowing you have the power to prevent this from happening to someone?" With dramatic flourish, Manx threw the folder onto Ken's lap, its gruesome contents fanning out for the youth to see.

Ken stared at the photos. He knew he had no right to judge the Witches who committed these atrocities. He was just the same, guilty of unleashing his powers upon those who did not stand a chance against him. But damned as he was, he still believed there was goodness in the world; and that it was worth fighting to protect. And if his accursed power could save even one soul from being tainted with darkness, he would do it. As the look of defeat upon his face morphed into one of determination, Ken raised his head and held Manx's eyes. "I'm in."