A/N: All disclaimers and warnings continue to apply; please refer to notes before the Prologue.

Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed--all comments are very much appreciated, and it is very motivational. Apologies but looks like I can't respond individually unless you leave me an e-mail address or sign your comments—but if you do, I will.

Chapter 6: December
It had been a whilesince they'd gotten any major missions; but it appeared that cold, miserable December—a time when all commodities, particularly on foreign markets, did extremely well—was when organized crime also got into the festive spirit. The slave ring they thought they'd dealt with in the spring was back, Manx explained, perfectly coiffed and carefully manicured, gesturing gracefully with one hand as she passed out envelopes containing the mission parameters.

"How?" asked Ken, always the least patient of them all when it came to missions, while Yohji reclined quietly on the couch with his habitual leer on his face, Aya beside him sitting as still as water, and Omi at the computer looking appropriately attentive, as he'd been taught.

"Well, Siberian, although you did take out one of the organizers—Izanami, daughter of Yutaka Kobayashi—turns out she was just collateral damage, in many ways. It was her father and his partners who were in complete control of her and the others you eliminated on that mission. I'm sorry to say we all missed it, but they—the three of them—were the ones in control from behind the scenes. They used whatever tools they could use—Izanami was one of them--and as I indicated, you successfully elimated her along with all their others. But, as Krtiker has learnt over the past few months, all we did was cut off a head of the hydra—and it's grown back. They've reorganized, and with the Christmas season coming, they are making themselves ready to do business. I'll let Persia explain."

So Kritiker yet again fed us to the wolves without checking the facts, thought Yohji bitterly, his eyes hidden behind his shades. Typical. And making it sound as if we somehow should have known. I suppose they're pretty surprised we managed to survive—go Weiss. I wonder if we'll get a bonus this time—we're valuable commodities to them ourselves.

Yohji didn't so much as twitch, however, stillsmirking lazily as Manx handed over the tape, and they all waited until Persia's deep tones filled in room. Then the four watched in complete silence as the horrifying images of Kobayashi and two other men luring their victims—kids, young men, young girls and women—filled the screen. Watched the footage of the young girls and boys as they were were broken down with beatings and torture, getting them ready for sale. They watched old footage of Yukata conditioning his daughter into a creature that lured kids and then "prepared" them for their futures. They watched as, without Izanami, he used his new victims to procure other victims, and laughed as he made them break each other. They watched giggling children, and vibrant teenagers, hopeful young women and strapping youths cry, scream, and despite their efforts and cunning and strength, their threats and pleas and promises, ultimately, and always, end up ready for sale: individuality wiped out with identical expressions, blank and filled with silent fear.

It seemed to go on forever until Persia finally said, "Weiss, these three men are your targets: Takumi Nakamuro and Riku Saito, and the center of it all, Yutaka Kobayashi. Hunters of the night ..."

As the tape ended, Manx turned the lights back up, and Yohji, feeling unbearably sad, looked round the room. Omi looked brittle, as blank as the children on the tape. Aya looked blank with murderous rage, and Ken ... Ken bolted out of the room, and they could all hear the sounds of retching from upstairs. Yohji forced himself to unclench his fist.

Manx's expression didn't change. Weiss, I'll leave you to it then. If you have any questions, you know how to contact me."

When none of the three remaining Weiss moved, Manx moved towards the stairs, lips twisting slightly in an expression that could not be considered a smile. "I'll have Siberian see me out, then. Good luck."

After the woman left, Yohji exchanged a glance with Aya, and moved quickly to stand beside Omi where he sat in the computer chair. Mentally, he cursed both Persia and Manx—they'd raised Omi, and like Yutaka with his child, they'd conditioned the boy into a killing machine—the completely unnecessary, repulsive video images were just another tool in their arsenal of manipulation. Crouching down beside the chair, Yohji spoke softly, calling the blond-haired boy back, "Omittchi ... " There was no response, and so Yohji moved a hand forward to touch Omi's arm, and then jumped back as Omi startled and flinched violently. Omi blinked suddenly, as if coming out of a trance, and turned towards Yohji, watched him work to cover his confusion with sharp irritation. "What is it, Yohji-kun?"

"You okay?"

"I have a lot of research to do before this mission. We should be ready to move by next Tuesday." And Omi turned back towards the computer screen, fingers already flying. It was a dismissal.

Yohji blinked. It was sometimes almost frightening how quickly Omi—Bombay--could process mission information and come up with a strategy. But it was what he'd been raised to do, and Yohji reminded himself not to forget it. Yohji had no doubt that Weiss would be ready by Tuesday. And as much as he worried for young Omi, somewhere inside of Persia's perfect strategist assasin... there was nothing else he could do. He sighed and stood up. "All right then, kiddo. You need anything, you let us know, huh? You've got school tomorrow too, remember." Reminding Omi, as much as he could, every chance he got, of who he was outside of this underground world. Meeting Aya's eyes again, Yohji squeezed Omi's shoulder and moved toward the stairs, followed by Aya.

Leaving Omi in front of the basement computer, alone.

"Feeling better?"

Ken grunted, coming out of his bathroom, wiping his face with a towel. Aya stood at the door, not daring for safety reasons, to venture into the disaster of Ken's room. It looked possibly worse than usual, he thought.

"How's Omi?"

Aya shrugged and didn't answer. The matter of their youngest member was something that had concerned them all, for some time. But until they figured out a way to get him—get all of them--out ofKritiker ...

"I remember the girl," said Ken abruptly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was probably Omi's age. Not older than me. Pretty. She looked ... innocent. From the tape, looks like she was treated not much better than the slaves. She just had a different purpose."

Aya didn't answer.

"How ... how could he do that, Aya, to his own daughter?" There was a world of emotion in Ken's eyes, overlaid by a basic confusion, and revulsion for anyone that could even contemplate something so heinous. Aya moved the three steps it took to wrap Ken in his arms, trying to comfort him the only way he could. He felt warm wetness seep against the skin of his neck, and for a brief moment, closed his own eyes. He couldn't explain to Ken what he didn't understand himself.

Looking past Ken's head, where it lay on his shoulder, Aya's eyes darted to the bed, where a book lay haphazardly on the top of the rumpled sheets. Hagakure, off his own bookshelf, which he'd been given years ago, back in training when he'd first entered Weiss. The Way of the Dead.

Aya raised an eyebrow, moved back to look Ken in the eyes, gesturing towards the bed. "You been reading that?"

Ken took a step back, straightened his clothes and made a clumsy attempt at surreptitiously wiping his eyes. The small movement made Aya's heart clench. "I thought I'd take a stab at it. Understand your bushido."

"Don't." Aya gestured helplessly, trying to explain the sudden grim severity of his voice. "It's not ... it doesn't apply. Not to us. Not for Weiss."

"From what I've read so far, I think it might ..." Ken began.

"No, Ken." Aya deliberately moved into the room past Ken and picked up the book. "No."

Ken shrugged. "Whatever."

Aya shuddered, noting as he slipped the slim volume into a pocket, that the pages looked far better used than what he remembered, and hoping against hope that Ken hadn't read much of the text. From what he knew of his lover ... Ken would completely misconstrue the wrong parts of the ancient writings, and who knew what ideas it would give him. Ritual suicide. Taking on an older lover, and giving him up when the younger reached full adulthood. Living as if you were already dead. There were parallels to Weiss at some basic level, but they were dangerous.

Although ... maybe that would explain some of the cryptic comments Ken had made, from time to time. Crazy comments about Aya finding someone better, after Ken. Comments, as Aya carefully dressed an injury at the end of a mission, that he was dead anyway, and it only needed to hold until they killed him for good. Aya never discussed these remarks; Ken was always tired, or drugged, or drunk, when he made them, and so Aya had tried to dismiss them, not give them any more weight than delusion warramted. But it wasn't just once that Ken had suggested, either jokingly or not, that he wouldn't live or be with Aya much past adulthood. And while death was a reality for all of them, certainly, there was a resigned quality to Ken's voice that even at his worst, Aya had never had, and that only Omi, who was quite certainly the most damaged of them all, have ever approached. Although Omi worked very, very hard at hiding his true feelings from everyone, including himself.

As for full adulthood ... Ken would turn twenty in a few weeks. They'd already talked about visiting the temple, celebrating Seijin no hi when it followed a few weeks later. Orphaned at such a young age, Ken hadn't really made any plans for his coming of age celebrations; Aya and the two others had decided to remedy that, and they'd been planning things for a while. It was good for Omi, whose own celebrations would come in a few years, and while Aya hadn't really done very much for his—having been in the hospital, and just kicked out of Crashers at the time—he remembered his parents planning for it, since he'd been quite young, and remembered what they would have done for him. And Yohji had had Asuka, at the time, to celebrate with. From the stories Yohji told, he had had quite the celebration. And he had a good many ideas for Ken as well, involving brothels and drink and various other things. Laughing quietly with Yohji as they'd made their plans, he recalled telling Yohji he would let him take responsibility for that part of Ken's celebration, but if he let Ken anywhere near a brothel, he'd kill Yohji himself.

Ken made a noise, and Aya looked up. Ken, who had changed his shirt and combed his hair, stood looking inquiringly at him as Aya still stood in his doorway, lost in thought. Aya blinked, recovering, and asked, "You coming down for dinner?" He really ought to talk to Ken about what he'd read, Aya thought again, even though the gods knew he didn't want to ...

"Sure. Hit the lights, could ya babe?" Aya made a face at the casual endearment, and Ken smirked annoyingly, daring Aya to do something about it. A lunge as Ken came close, a yank at an exposed wrist, and a tonsil-cleaning kiss later, Aya made Ken promise he wouldn't be so foolish as to call Aya by any silly pet names again.

But despite the distraction, Aya, feeling the book heavy in his pocket, couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had gripped him. Dismissing it for the moment, he turned and hit the lights as he walked out.

The room plunged into darkness as they closed the door behind them.

Hunting dark beasts usually didn't look like drinking tequila on a Tuesday night, in an underground but upscale bar, but you gotta do what you gotta do, Ken thought, trying valiantly—despite the fight he'd had less than an hour ago with Aya--to suppress a grin.

He was sitting there idly, with amateurish obviously fake I.D. and without weapons, because he was the one who'd been most able to pose as the typical male victim—innocent, underage, and under-privileged, but clean-cut and slender--although admittedly Ken was perhaps slightly older than most of the victims—or he would be very soon, he thought to himself (and despite Aya's glower, Yohji had already promised to show him all manner of decadent delights when he turned of age). There were very few adult men that had been taken, and soboth Aya with his broad-chested build, andYohji with his lanky height and air of maturity, were ruled out as candidates. And while there was no denying Omi had also fit the victim profile, none of the older three had even contemplated letting Omi take on the role.

So here he was, hanging around the right district at the right time, allowing himself to be intercepted by a dead-eyed young girl about his own age, who had given him a "free pass" and invitation to the exclusive club, where his pass had granted him free liquor and free clothes and free leering smiles, all for the taking. Even though Ken had known the agenda behind the pass, he had to admit it was alluring. The obvious admiration, the sexy but tasteful clothing, the free drink for the asking—Yohji, who was far more protective towards the younger two than one would expect from a guy with his apparent morals, had never let him or Omi drink around the house, even though, as he kept pointing out, they killed people for a living. Yohji would just laugh and pour him a Coke, and say he'd get all the beer he wanted when he was legal. It was aggravating. He drank an extra shot just for Yohji, and grinned, while reminding himself to stop and fake the rest. He was getting a very pleasant buzz, and Yohji had warned him that although he could take some liquor because he had a fair amount of mass for his size, he wasn't experienced at holding it, and needed to go slow. And it really didn't taste all that great. But the facade did require he drink something, after all. No teenaged guy would pass up the opportunity he was faced with.

Although as much fun considering he was still on a mission as he was having, it was somewhat tempered. He knew this mission was upsetting Aya beyond measure--Aya hated to leave him so exposed and on top of it all, Manx had particularly warned them it was dangerous, which sort of unnecessary warning had just gotten Aya even more glare-y-eyed. Apparently, the local police had tried this with two other officers before. Each time, the bait had ended up dead, or worse. Manx didn't specify what worse could be, and Ken didn't really want to know.

Ken wasn't really worried, though. Not only could he take care of himself—in hand to hand, he was the best of the four of them, and amongst Kritiker's teams, they were the best there was--Aya, his control-freak, very tense, very barely months-old new boyfriend, wasn't the type of guy to let any serious danger get within a five kilometer radius of Ken. While it wasn't like there'd been any promises made between them or anything—Ken prided himself on his realistic, practical nature, and he was practical enough to know that despite Aya's intensity, Aya would and should eventually wake up and move on to bigger and better things, more talented and beautiful someones--because Aya deserved better, and Ken, who loved him, wanted better for him—Ken also knew Aya well enough to know that, while they were still involved, the only person he really had to fear would hurt him was Aya. Which suited Ken, for the moment, just fine.

And while Ken understood Aya's concern—had the roles been reversed, he would have been the glowering, angry one--Ken was trying to remind himself to enjoy himself. He didn't really mind the lack of weapon, even. He could take care of himself, armed or not, and on top of that, if he could manage not to look at the eyes of the girl beside him, if he could manage to ignore the predatory looks of the older men crowding the bar, the ambience was fine and the liquor was free. Yohji was usually the one that got blessed with these types of undercover assignments—or even sometimes Aya or, if it wasn't dangerous, Omi—but he couldn't remember ever having gotten to do this part of the deal. It was easy. For a mission, it was fun. The ginger-haired little girl beside him was whispering seductively in his ear, a pretty teenaged boy withflat green eyes across from him was smiling at him sweetly. Ken suppressed another shudder, took another drink, and reminded himself of all the other missions he'd had to spend crouched for hours in an airless closet or shivering on a frozen rooftop. All he had to do this time was relax and look vulnerable, and then sit back and let the others do the cleaning up when the time came. He smiled suddenly, and with determination. This was fun. He hoped he made really good bait, he decided—he thought he might like to do this type of thing again.

End Chapter 6. Another short chapter. Chapter 7 will likely be more substantial. Or not. If I've got any of the details wrong—like an idiot I forced myself to do a smattering of research for this bit—apologies, and please do let me know. I'm also struggling with the timeline—if you ask me, it makes no sense that Ken is only 19, but there you go. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you can.