DON'T beta-read stuff at seven am after five rocky hours of sleep. Really. Don't do it.
I had to read this through maaaaaaany times to get it half decent. God I am so tired. So thank me, because this (12 am, woho!) is the only time in the week I'll have open for updates.

Review, go on! Make my day!


Chapter Two
Delirium

I was not happy when I woke up. Parts I didn't even know belonged to my body, suddenly hurt with the force of a thousand storms. Every little inch, every fibre and cell and bit of tissue burned, ached and hurt like a blowtorch had just kissed me inside out. But what struck me the most was the nausea. Throbbing inside of me, wave after wave turning my insides around like a carousel. A carousel I instantly wanted to get off before I threw up my spine.

Gasping, the air felt stuffed and rotten and I had to force it down my lungs, the nausea only growing. If I felt this horrible with my eyes closed, I sure as hell didn't want to know what I'd wake up to if I opened them. A cold floor was all I could make out in the haze, uncomfortable to the point where I bet lying butt naked on ice would have been cosier. I probably would have been able to make out a lot more of my surroundings, had it not been for my skull-splitting headache. And in a way, I guess that was a good thing.

I groaned, wondering why on Earth I couldn't feel my leg. The shock finally gripping me now, memories of before I blacked out rushing to me like water from a burst dam. I gasped, snapping my eyes open as I stared ghostly into nothing. Then the fear came. Rattling me ruthlessly till everything around me seemed to spin, a cold shiver running down my spine, like stroked by Death itself.

Where was I?

Looking around, my blurred vision became clearer the longer I stared. Cutting up the dark to piece it together in some way that my brain could understand. My sharp eye-sight coming to great use, it didn't take too long before I could make out contours in the dark. Contours that slowly blended into silhouettes, shadows of shades and colours, dancing before me before they formed more concrete things.

There was a window, small and broken, letting in chilly gusts of air that stirred up the dust and the dirt. The room was large, but I couldn't make out quite how large as the vastness seemed to stretch out, engulfed by darkness and out into infinity. Just a few meters away from me there seemed to be a tattered old armchair, grey or green I couldn't quite make out but apparently it had seen much better days.

Realizing I was lying down, the smell of the floor did little to ease my nerves. I didn't know what filth could be crawling on that floor, nor did I want to. But sitting up seemed to be a far more complex action than I remembered, every bone inside of me squeaking, like brittle twigs snapping inside of me. I groaned, drawing my knees closer as if to shield myself, but for what I wasn't sure.

As I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion I guessed the armchair wasn't the only tattered thing around. I hoped I wasn't looking half as horrible as I felt.

Hissing as my hand landed on broken glass, I drew it back as a sharp pain dug into my skin. Suspiciously eyeing the floor, I wondered just what else was hiding around there. I could hear sounds from outside, odd little noises that seemed awfully familiar. Something screeching, yet laughing at the same time, blending with a soothing lullaby and the odd smell of something sour.

I couldn't quite place it, even more mesmerized about my whereabouts than before. But most of all, I wondered where Boris was. Panic nibbling at me now, slowly, slowly sinking its sharpened teeth into me and my pulse ran quicker, echoing through my sore skull. What if he wasn't alright? What if he had been hit by a bullet? What if he wasn't even..? Dared I think it?

What if Boris was… dead?

Trying to stand up, I quite as expected failed and my leg seemed close to snapping in half. The strain on the wound I had momentarily forgotten tearing at the skin and the flesh like a gaping mouth, the pain a sharp and brutal scream that sent me flat on my ass with a roar. My voice echoed hollow and frightened through the darkness, hitting me again and again before it died out. The silence that followed felt like the worst sound I had ever endured.

But I was proven wrong as steps broke it viciously, echoing so much I couldn't tell which direction they were coming from. Coming closer, it wasn't long before I could make out someone in the dark. Someone whose smell I faintly recognized, but I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

''Well, you look like shit''

I squinted, as if it would help me see better, recognizing the voice but my brain was much too stirred up to function. Soon enough though, there was the click of a lighter and the flash of a flame, before cigarette smoke cut its way into my nostrils, making my eyes water and my brain – if possible – feel even fuzzier. Boris narrowed his eyes to a thin glare directed at me, thoughtfully taking a deep drag of his cancer-stick.

''Boris?''

''Oh, look at that. You're not completely brain damaged.''

I looked around in confusion, waving a cloud of smoke out of my face before meeting his eyes again. When our glares met, it was almost like getting shot all over again.

''Where am I?'' I mumbled through the fog of my brain, blinking sluggishly at the Russian.

He just took another drag, not answering me, yet his eyes told me he had all the answers. I glared at him, frustration blending with the fear and the pain and the confusion, leaving me dizzy and lost.

''You're not six feet under'' Boris said, giving me the look one gives a stray cat. ''That's all you really need to know.''

I was fuming now, yearning to berate him like nothing else, but my body refusing to co-operate and I promise, I would have ripped his head off if only I hadn't felt like roadkill.

''Boris, what the hell is going on?''

''You're whining, I'm thinking out ways to shut you up with the most fun for least effort.''

''Who were shooting at us and why?!''

''Just some friends.''

''Friends!?'' I spat, outrageous now. ''Friends?! I don't know what deranged little psycho-world you live in Kuznetsov, but in the real world friends don't shoot friends!''

My voice was echoing, sharp and fast like a whip through the darkness. The damp smell of wet wood and moist dirt, cigarette smoke and my own sweat and blood twirling around this little scene of madness, making me freak even more. My heart was thumping rabidly and savagely, the blur of emotions within me exploding and burning like supernovas from inside. My teeth gritted and my fists clenched, eyes burning into the Falcon's own.

''Stop your bitching! You're giving me a headache!''

''Headache?! I've been shot!''

''Duly noted.''

I gaped at him, not because of the nonchalant look on his face that stated he didn't really give a damn at all, but the tone of his voice as he said it. Like getting shot was as normal to him as a mosquito bite in the summer, something that occurred regularly, without anyone making such a big deal about it. And just like that he had struck my words out of me, my vocal cords tangled into each other, my tongue useless and heavy, nothing falling from my lips but silence.

Boris took a final drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out as it fell like poisonous snow over my head, matching the colour of his hair. He put it out on the ground, flicking it off into the distance before looking back at me again.

''Keep it down or you'll get a bullet in the other leg too.''

Standing up, I watched him turn to leave and furiously my brain tried to work out an answer. A demand to know what was going on, where I was, how my leg was, who had shot me, what I was supposed to do, how I should get home, what I did to deserve this entire mess. I wanted to panic so badly but couldn't let myself to, and when I finally thought of the right words to say, Boris had already left.

Silence surrounded me once again, and once again I was left dizzy. Everything spinning, around and round and back again in a never ending motion of blurry pictures. I couldn't fathom anything that happened, couldn't place in my mind how this was possible. The insanity of it all, the actual nerve of fate itself… This couldn't be happening to me. Crazy teams copying bitbeasts, a madman trying to take over the world with the help of Beyblading kids, that I could take. Being ignored by my family and people trying to steal Byakko over and over. Hell, even that psycho island made more sense than this!

What the hell was this? Was my life some never ending mad-house? Where the inmates were my friends and the straight jackets were our own gullible minds? Was I awake? Was I sleeping? Was all of it a dream? Had I maybe just had one Mojito too much and this was all just some delusional fantasy? Perhaps someone slipped some odd pill into my drink? This couldn't really be real, could it?

And if so... why me? Call me selfish, call me a coward but what on Earth did I do to deserve this? And what role did Boris play in all of it? I couldn't understand anything, a headache forming as the frustration magnified. Who the men in the alley had been, why they wanted Boris' insides on a silver plate and how I ended up in the middle of it… it was one large mystery that would take me millenniums to solve. There was only one thing I was really sure of, and that was that I had to get out of there.

Glaring at my leg, my heart sank until I couldn't even feel it beat. I had a bullet wound in my leg, the mother of all headaches and its little cousins lodged between my skull and my brain, and no idea whatsoever of where in the universe I was. The odds weren't exactly smiling at me, and I must have done something seriously wrong in a previous life to piss Lady Luck off so badly.

Snarling, as I summoned all my willpower and determination into one movement, I made number one of the stupidest mistakes of my life.

1. Standing up with a wounded leg

Hissing, biting my tongue so I wouldn't bring attention to myself, I cursed and swore while the pain was immensely flooding through me. Boiling underneath the skin, a skin that felt like it was pulsating itself, ripping away from my bone, the muscle beneath tearing… I took a deep breath, and went over to mistake number two.

2. Trying to walk with a wounded leg

Limping and staggering, movements cut off bluntly and without consideration, I swayed forward through the darkness. Every step I took sent my heart trembling wilder, doubt inside of me corroding my very marrow but I couldn't let my steps falter. Demanding movements, pushing at the limbs and muscles and joints which seemed to have locked themselves, tied into tight, tight knots, I pushed my body further. I couldn't die here, I couldn't die here, I couldn't and I wouldn't die here.

Darkness swallowed me, but for every step I took the more it seemed to dissipate. Somewhere along the way windows were scarcely placed, as if meant to form a map of diffuse light. A map which I followed blindly. My leg felt close to giving up, just lifting the damn thing numbing me with pain, like a knife through my spine that I couldn't get out, and for every step I took the knife rattled. I hissed through the pain, trembling with exhaustion, losing my grip of reality.

But I refused to pass out, I refused to close my eyes even though my eyelids had never before felt so heavy. Even though my chest was tight and stuffed, filled with pain but not with air, my own heartbeats deafening to my ears. I refused to give up, refused to let go. Growling, determination all I focused on I dragged myself onwards, following the wall, hoping it wouldn't lead me to a dead end.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, the world wobbling around me something felt strange. The light in the distance, like the whole world had turned into a tunnel, I swayed a little, trying to keep my footing. My body trembled, my breaths hurt, and something much warm, almost to a point of burning me, flowed freely down my leg. I didn't even have to look to know what it was.

Gritting my teeth I walked faster, but slowly and sluggishly as if my blood had been exchanged for tar, every movement I made was like running through shoulder-length snow. Slow, hard and unyielding, I pushed and pushed but suddenly, the ground moved from beneath my feet and the whole world came crashing down around me. As if the world was one giant snow globe and someone decided to flip it around, I fell with a loud shriek and landed face first in my own blood.

This is the point when I desperately wanted to cry.

I could hear steps coming towards me, loud and fast and much quicker than my own. Groaning I tried to raise myself on my hands, but my arms cramped and I fell, hitting my chin on the cold floor. Blazing pain sizzled through my head, my brain shaking as my vision blurred, through watering eyes I got a glimpse of the exit. Or, for all I knew it could just have been one giant spotlight placed there to screw with me. Whatever it was, I'd have to take my chances and crawl. Crawl like mad before they got to me, whoever they were.

I made a mental note to kill Mao when I got out of this mess. If I ever did. Shuddering, trying to push the thoughts aside I tried to crawl faster. But the steps behind me were closing in now, and with every second my panic grew, and with it my rational sense faded. I knew it had all been a stupid idea. Knew I never should have listened to Mao in the first place, even if this wasn't her fault I was going to get some damn good answers! If only I could make it to the light.

Crawling, panting, the hard floor painful against my elbows and knees, I struggled onwards. But it had been to little avail as I soon discovered, when someone brusquely kicked me in the ribs. Screaming, certainly swearing as well, I tipped over, gasping desperately for air. My chest felt like it had just contracted, drawn into itself letting nothing out nor in, all the while my ribs trying to punctuate my insides.

Someone very frustrated glared down on me, a foot poking me slightly in question. When I gasped, the foot retreated and I could hear a gun click.

''You're not dead, but you're damn well going to be''

I squinted, my vision too blurry now for me to even hope to see something. All I could see was shadows, dancing around me until they mixed into complete, full darkness. A darkness so cold and so threatening it knocked the last breath out of me, and despite my best efforts I fell unconscious.

X

Waking up was twice as unpleasant the second time. Everything that didn't hurt before certainly hurt now, and everything that did hurt was a thousand times worse. I didn't want to breathe, didn't want to groan or blink or anything that could give me away. But eventually I had to give in, flinching in pain as the slightest movement seemed to be torturous. There was a hiss and a curse next to me at the sudden movement, someone getting fairly irritated at me.

''Fuck it!'' I recognized it as Boris' voice, and this somehow made opening my eyes a little less scary. ''Watch where you move, you clumsy idiot!''

What he was talking about was anyone's guess. But as he brought a bleeding thumb to his mouth to suck on it, a pout firmly placed on his face with a frown, I suspected it all had to do with the needle in his hand. A needle that was connected to a thin, thin thread glistening under the ghostly yellow light of a lamp, the only source of light in the entire room. I didn't know if it was the same room as before, or just how far away the outside world was. Or better yet, how far away from freedom I had been.

I looked angrily at Boris who either didn't notice or just didn't care, staring with half-hearted concentration at his work. Namely my leg, which I now noticed was looking half presentable. All the blood I had felt and slipped in had been washed off, the only trace of it being the stains that were left on my pant leg. Blossoming pink skin surrounded the large gaping wound, which wasn't really gaping anymore as the thin thread kept it together. Boris' clumsy yet decent stitches whispered that this was not the first time he had to sew somebody together.

''I mean it, Frankenstein, don't move!''

He glared at me from behind the needle, sticking it with a little more force than needed through my skin, not putting much effort into being gentle with me. I flinched, gritting my teeth but it didn't make matters any better. Finally, after what felt like a hundred years of brutality, Boris closed the wound altogether, throwing the needle into a little metal bowl, the twirling noise scratching at the silence we had stretched out to lie between us.

I stared intently at him, for some reason his cold, harsh eyes filled with anger, refusing to meet my own. I was bristling now, clenching my jaws just to keep myself from ripping out his throat. Mainly I didn't want to admit to the fear, feeling it would swallow me whole if I did. I didn't want to admit the confusion or the sadness, or even the desperation, because I had to stay strong. And the only way to keep myself from crumbling right then seemed to be to be furious, enraged as I lost my temper, letting it run wild like a storm.

''Kuznetsov'' I growled and he turned to look at me now, boredom and agitation in his eyes. ''What the hell is going on?''

He snorted, giving me a pout of mock insult.

''I was stitching you together, if you hadn't noticed. You should thank me, you know.''

''That's not what I meant!''

I sat up straighter now, glaring as fiercely into his eyes as I could, leaning closer just so he could feel the warmth of my anger. The Russian glared back, apparently not in the mood to let me in on the important details. Even though I was the cat, it still felt like he was the one playing with me.

The silence returned, and yet I wished for anything else in the world. Even the sound of my own scream echoing through the walls would have been more pleasant.

''See. This would never have happened if you'd just left me the fuck alone last night.''

The nerve of him. Discussing something as petty as a blind date, even blaming it, for this whole mess I had stumbled into? How sick could a man be? Growling even louder now, digging my nails into the floor, I made sure that if looks could kill he'd be halfway to hell already.

''What the hell sort of explanation is that?! I've been shot and your explanation is last night?!'' I gaped at him, eyes large with rage and I bet I was looking half insane. ''Who were those men and why did they shoot at us?! What's going on, Boris?''

He looked at me, contemplating and silent. His blue eyes the last thing in the world I really wanted to see, making me turn cold and numb inside as he cut me open with his stare. Picking up a cigarette and lighting it, he took four thoughtful drags before blowing the smoke right in my face.

''Let's say they don't really like us. Especially not me since I might have been involved in something about a car and a cigarette…'' he took another drag as I was anxiously waiting for his answer. ''… and ten gallons of gasoline.''

Choking on my own breath, spluttering out nonsense that didn't make much sense even to me. Boris gave me a glare as if I was stupid, shutting me up effectively.

''See, they don't like me. And they don't like people snooping around their business.''

''I wasn't even snooping!''

''You kicked one of them in the head.''

I was about to answer, mouth open and everything but when I came to the point where I had to form words, I couldn't really carry it through. Biting my lip I glared slightly at him, knowing he had a point and hating him for it.

''You've seen them'' he continued, cigarette glowing brightly red in the dark. ''And they've seen you. It's done for you.''

Complete fear and dread drained me from every good feeling I had, my gut twirling like it was eating itself up from the inside and I just wanted to scream. This wasn't happening to me. It couldn't be happening to me. It was insane, all so very deliriously insane.

''Plus'' Boris added, smirking devilishly. ''I can't let you go, you've been to my Batcave.''

Now I just wanted to murder him myself.

''Why don't you just kill me then?'' I hissed, making sure every word sounded more like a threat than an actual question. ''Why didn't you just leave me in the alley?!''

It was a question with no satisfactory answer. No matter how much I thought about it or how many motives I questioned, no answer would please me. It all just made so little sense, I wanted to vanish and pretend it never ever happened. But it was impossible. I knew that, and I grew more and more sure the longer I stared into his eyes. This was as serious as death and just as inevitable.

''For the same reason I didn't kill you back then.''

''What do you mean? You'd have killed me during that match if Byakko hadn't saved me!''

''Trust me, I wasn't even using half my power, Kon. Byakko or not, if I wanted to, I would have gotten you. And I'd have gotten you good.''

There was that smirk again. Mocking and hurtful, darkly vicious and I could almost see the blood of his victims dripping out of his mouth. The amount of hatred I felt right then, could never be measured. Forgiving and forgetting I was all for, but that man, that moment… it was just too much.

''I don't understand! Why are you keeping me here? Why not just sell me to that other gang or…'' I bit my lip in desperate confusion. ''Why?''

But he just snorted.

''Whiskers, don't worry your cute little head about it.''

I gaped, but closed my mouth again with an angry sigh. Feeling half defeated and completely lost, too far away from redemption I had a hard time deciding what my main emotions were. Anger sizzled inside of me as well as the pain of my body, but I wasn't quite sure of what I was angry about anymore. Whether it was Boris for being so… well, Boris-y, or if it was those men who had shot me in the first place. Maybe it was not knowing just what I had landed my sorry ass into, or what was going on. Maybe it wasn't any of it, maybe I just needed to feel something other than the fear.

I muttered, glaring thinly but tiredly at the Russian who simply put out his cigarette in the ground.

''Boris…'' my voice carried out just as thin into the obscure light, but I couldn't draw one simple reaction from him. All he did was glare, irked and bored, waiting for me to shut up. ''What's going on? I mean… really. What is this?''

''This…'' he glanced around him, as if to make sure life was still the same and hadn't just been some illusion, some sick dream that somehow wasn't true. When he looked back at me it was with a look I was going to keep seeing in my nightmares. ''This is reality.''

''Why were they trying to kill you?''

He shrugged.

''The same reason everyone tries to. You'd do it if you could.''

''That's not… that's just… You know what I mean!''

He snorted, mouth something between a sneer and a grin but I couldn't quite tell which was more. It was eerie, like he wasn't amused or angry, but simply tired. Tired and disgusted and right then I bet he wouldn't have minded to rip someone open.

''It doesn't matter. Things didn't turn out as I planned, shit happens. Life goes on.''

I stared at him, stuttering as to say something witty and clever but my brain failed me once more. Boris just looked at me, lighting another cigarette before standing up, the bowl with the needle and such tightly clutched in his hand. I watched him as he left, shivers running up and down my spine long after his steps had died away.

Wherever I was, whoever were there with me, I had to do something. Whatever Boris was up to or who he had pissed off, I knew it wasn't safe to stay there. One night in the wrong company had brought me a bullet wound, and I didn't doubt it would get a lot worse if I hung around too long. Even though millions and millions of questions surrounded me, one thing was certain.

I had to come up with a plan.