"Come in."

The wooden door creaked open, revealing a bulky guy with distinctive pompadous hair. He bowed, eyes discreetly studied the stern man sitting across the room before daring several steps forward. "Good morning, Sir Alaude", he stopped at an appropriate distance, stack of files in hand, waiting for permission to continue his talk.

The young director raised one fine brow at the early intrusion, regarded his secretary with a curt nod. "Report, Tetsu", was all he said before turning back to the number of papers neatly spreaded all over table.

Let out a breath he didn't realize that he was holding, Kusakabe cleared his throat, fumbling through the manila folder.

"We have three new patients coming today," he paused, "... recommended by a regular of ours."

The director halted his work mid-track, eyes squinting quizzically.

"By Mr. Reborn." Kusakabe stiffled back a wince, nodded in confirmation. "And yes, it's that Mr. Reborn, Sir."

Silence occupied the place. He can feel air freezing into ice and weighted down his shoulders. Piercing gaze needled through his forehead. Just as predicted, Kusakabe inwardly groaned, braced himself to just quickly get this done and over with at once.

"All three of them are specified as Special Class Cases. Though there is one unsure, since he far surpasses the general standard even for a SC patient."

"I won't expect any small fry from that loony Reborn's friend-throng." Alaude simply noted. Voice cold and somber.

"Y-yes. A-and, it appears that they are also in the same... shady business."

There was an unimpressed 'hm'. A pause.

"Read." The young director commanded as he went back to the paper piles on his table, then added, "Make it short."

Kusakabe promptly flipped to the second page, scanning through the content with extra heed. Clearing his throat yet again for mental support, he began.

"Rokudou Mukurou. Twenty-two years old. Birth date: 09-06-19xx. Drug addict, alcoholic. Craved for any form of stimulant. His body—a tad better than living dead. No detected physical disability. No found record of defensive action to public peace."

"Assign to Hibird." Alaude replied, face half-bored.

"But Sir, Hibird-sensei—"

"Call this his first case, 'grand debut'."

"He's still new to the job, Sir, is it really alright to give this SC—"

There was something short of life-threatening when the young man shot him the icing glare. An "Are you questioning me?" came out hard, flat like a wall. Kusakabe loyally sealed his mouth shut.

After a long, harsh silence, Alaude broke the stuffiness with a fluid snap of fingers.

"Continue."

The secretary nodded in fidgety motion. Anxiety engulfed his whole giant being.

"The second one is Rokudou Mukuro. Twenty-five years old. Birth date: 06-09-19xx. Sex addict, a beastial one at that. Status being the leader of one notorious gang group. No bodily defect. Surprisingly no STD's nor HIV's deed was found either. Healthy as a lion. Can't keep it in his pants for more than five minutes."

"The report really wrote that?" Alaude's tone was accompanied with just a tint of amusement. Kusakabe scratched his head apologetically, gulping down a nervous laugh.

"Actually yes, Sir. Even his profile picture looks like he's going to dry-hump the camera."

"Mmhm." Alaude jotted down some quick notes on a piece of paper, absently commented. "Sounds like Hibari's next project. I will leave this to him." Then he paused a bit, staring at his own writing. "Hold it, they're both 'Rokudou'?"

"Yes, and the next man too, Sir. Apparently they all came from the same family." A messed up family, he corrected, earning a rare approving hum from the young director.

"Go on, who's the last?"

He asked as though discussing over merchandises; that tone of utter disconcern and blatant heedlessness. Then again, Kusakabe rewinded, his employer has always been rather heartless.

"The last one is Rokudou Spade. Twenty-nine years old. Birth date: 06-06-19xx. Better knowns as 'Daemon'."

He looked up from the file, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from Alaude. To his effort, the man did react just a quirky bit at the name mentioned. Daemon, seemed familiar enough, wasn't it an international terrorist—

Oh. Alaude blinked. Oh.

"Another killing maniac?"

Kusakabe glanced down his shoes, gulping hard before murmuring a hesitant Yes.

If the sheer disgust hinted in the corner of Alaude's eyes was of any indication, it was an obvious one.

The young director waved his hand in dismissal. "Accept the first two. Kick out the third. Fon's taken. There's no other capable therapist in Bloodthirst Department to handle his calibre."

"Pardon me Sir, but 'bloodthirst' isn't his only problem..." The secretary grimmed at the paper in his hand, pretty much summarized it in a gape.

Mildly frowned, Alaude beckoned him to continue.

"He has clear symptoms of split-personalities, almost like programmed modes. So far we were able to observe four of them: one has mental disorder, another varies from savage to randomly short-term stable; with the 'sane' one being hard to predict, and the last one alarmingly quiet as in contemplation. In short comment, they classified him as 'highly dangerous', 'restraint order recommended', and 'best keep in confinement'."

Kusakabe whiffed all out in one breath. He was about to go on when Alaude gave him a 'stop' signal. The young director leaned back to his leather seat, silently bemused.

Next couple minutes were spent without much words, except for the seldom "um-sir?" from a very uncomfortable Kusakabe. The secretary resorted to idyllically shuffle on his feet. Alaude's face was solemn, strict and hard as stone; with barely a blink to tell him apart from Michelangelo's best-sculpted statue. It took somewhat a century-like silence, a frown, un-frown, then re-frown for the young director to finally lean again forward. Turquoise eyes shone like a predator.

"Hand me the file, Tetsu." His voice drick-dropped with shards of glasses. "He will be my new subject for experiments."

"Sir, he's already like this—"

"Exactly why. He wouldn't live much longer in this state anyway."

Kusakabe looked terrified. "Sir, his mental won't be able to undergo your—"

"Exactly why." Alaude knitted his hands as though closing the argument (was there even one to begin with?), tone firm and final.

.

.

"He'd wish he could have died instead."

.

.


[.tbc.]