See previous for disclaimer. I'm not even sure if a disclaimer is necessary...

I don't need a friend
Nor cocaine
I need neither a doctor nor medicine
I don't need a woman, just Vaseline
Some nitroglycerine
I need money for fuel
Explosive like kerosene
With lots of octane and free of lead
A fuel like gasoline!

Benzin, second verse, by Rammstein. Translated from German by Jeremy Williams.

Gasoline

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"What the fuck you lookin' at?"

He grinned insanely. "Time for your haircut." The knife clicked open.

"Oh, Jesus, dude. Please, just chill," ...chill...chill...chill...CHILL!

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"Are you okay?" Kitsune asked.

Keitaro snapped out of his trance and noticed the others were almost done with breakfast. His plate was untouched. "Uh, yeah, everything's chill."

"Well, good. You can be chill while you clean the springs." Narusegawa shot. "Good thing it's Saturday. That way I don't have to look after you, being hung over as you are."

This caught Kitsune's attention. "Hung over? So that's where you were - clubbing. You should have brought me. You know how...affectionate I get when I down a few." She winked at him and tried to show herself off.

Keitaro's reaction was unprecedented. He simply stared straight forward and held completely still. "At least teasing me makes her happy," he thought.

"Keitaro, are you peeking at her?" Naru shot angrily.

Never fails. "Nope."

The girls at the table, having been silently watching these goings on, were dumbstruck. The expected breakfast had been as follows:

Keitaro apologizes for nothing.

Naru nags him about chores.

Keitaro apologizes again.

Kitsune teases him with her body. He is visibly aroused but tries unsuccessfully to hide it.

Naru or Motoko hits him.

He walks back to the table and apologizes, flashing a warm smile that makes them all love him a little more.

Everyone leaves. Shinobu watches him go.

This change was enough to throw off their whole day. Their manager's... no, their friend's behavior was strange, and no one knew why. Though Keitaro had forgotten it, all the girls - even Naru - cared about him deeply, even if they had strange ways of showing it. There was no formal meeting or agreement, but all the girls felt a pressing need to restore the old Keitaro with haste. He was the heart of Hinata Inn, and they couldn't let him be troubled, or it would hurt everyone. First, however, they had to get to the bottom of his problem. He seemed to be avoiding them all day, until he finally appeared at the dinner table wearing his jacket.

"Sit down," Motoko said to him. "You're holding things up."

"Uh, sorry. Eat without me. I'm going out." Keitaro said in response. The girls paused and looked at him for a long time.

"I told Haitani and Shirai I'd hang out with them tonight." he explained lamely.

"We're supposed to study tonight, you idiot!"

"I need some money!"

"I need you to be the test subject for my machine!"

"You are to help me clean the samurai armor in my room!"

"Sempai, I thought you were going to help me with the dishes!"

"See," Naru said, "we all want...er, need you here. You can't go out tonight."

"I understand," said Keitaro. "I'll go wash for dinner." With that, he left for the washroom.

"He's shirking his responsibilities," Motoko said. "I hate that."

"Did I tell you how he promised to study with me, and stood me up?" said Naru.

"What!? He will pay!" Motoko jumped from her seat and ran for the washroom, seeking vengeance. She approached the washroom drawing her bokken, the wooden sword substitute she trained with. Kicking the door open, she dove forward...into an empty room. The light was on and the water was running, but Keitaro was not there.

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Since its grand opening, the dance club "Hangar 04" had earned a reputation for being the loud, dark home of Hinata's seediest elements. There had been four gang-related shootings here, one of them requiring intervention by a SWAT team. There were regular petitions and calls for its removal. However, like a fungus, it had tenaciously attached itself to existence and seemed to survive its many detractors. Its halls, dimly lit by neon and obscured by noxious smoke, concealed Hinata's wealthy and poor alike as they sated needs that could not be taken care of legally. The societal diseases of drugs and prostitution had found an injury from which they could infect all of the town.

It seemed as though the more vigorously the club was attacked, the more defense it received from wealthy misers with political connections. It was one such tycoon, Kentaro Sakata, who Urashima met upon entering the club's main dance floor. The boy was known for his penchant for fast cars and loose women, but Keitaro had not been aware of the depth of his depravity until he had entered the building that night. He encountered Sakata lounging upon a large white couch, behind a low glass table laden with various items known for their dubious uses, such as needles and razors. Sakata seemed pleasantly dazed by the loud, repetitive music and the glaring strobe lights.

"Keitaro," Sakata called pleasantly, "heard you got yourself in a little fight last night."

"I-I don't know what you're t-talking about," stammered Urashima, having correctly inferred that the fight Sakata spoke of involved the bloody knife he had found in his pocket.

"Did that guy make it?" Sakata asked lightly. "Heard he was critical when the medics got to him."

"I don't remember what happened last night, man," Keitaro returned, now visibly upset.

"Maybe that first hit of Gasoline was too much, huh?" Sakata said, almost concerned.

"Look, I need to go." With that, Keitaro spun on his heel and abandoned Sakata, trying to supress his shuddering.

"Not so heavy tonight, my newbie friend..." the drug veteran called after him in a half-solicitous, half-mocking manner. All the while, he bobbed his head gently to music only he could hear.

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What truly troubled Urashima was that Kentaro Sakata already knew why he was in the club tonight. As much horror as he felt from the thought of doing something so wrong, he had done exactly what appalled him so. He was back for more. Even as he walked through the club, noticing the stares he was receiving, and the murmurs of guests remembering the antics he could not, his feet still inexorably dragged him toward the table where he knew Haitani, the good kid gone bad, would be.

Haitani had changed since high school. He was once a polite, if amorous, youth with decent grades. He was involved with community service. He had been able to make friends in whatever situation he found himself in.

All that stopped when he went to community college. His father, who had struggled valiantly with alcoholism, had succumbed and had become unstable and aggressive. When his father lost his job because of the alcohol, the flow of money keeping Haitani in college stopped like a faucet. Haitani, deperate to continue learning, had juggled jobs, causing his grades to fall. He had to find money somehow, and one of his more dubious "pals" had suggested basic drug trafficking, starting with the job of errand boy.

It helped that he was a natural salesman, charismatic and charming. In just over two years he had become an important agent in the trade of marijuana, heroin, and just recently the so-called Gasoline. An important fact about Haitani is that he never used any of the drugs he sold. He was appropriately mistrusting of the drugs, especially of Gasoline. No one he talked to seemed to know what its ingredients were.

The boy knew that to have any chance of making it, he needed to get his college education. To accomplish that, he needed money. To balance work and study, he had to take up a high-risk occupation. He had hardened himself against pity for those whose lives were destroyed by his terrible wares. In short, he was so focused on passing college that he never thought twice about selling his best friend a drug which he knew was bound to shatter his life.

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Keitaro ambled toward the table, staring intently at his feet. Haitani saw his approach. His stooped posture, his sluggish pace, and his occasional glances at Haitani's black suitcase gave Haitani all the information he needed. Here was a man who needed more. The poor boy was already addicted.

"Hey, Keitaro," Haitani called to his friend. "Good to see you tonight. You seem a little down."

"A little down? Haitani, what happened last night?" Keitaro asked directly, sitting across from him at the same type of low glass table that Sakata had been sitting at, on the same kind of white couch. The horrible purple lights conflicted nastily with the white of the couch.

"What do you mean? Oh, you mean your little tussle with that guy from the east side. Nah, he's fine, if that's what you're worried about."

"Haitani," Keitaro barked in a commanding tone, "what happened last night?"

"Aw, chill. You had your first dance with the green lady, tripped into some guy, and he got a little mad. So he told you to meet him outside so he could beat your ass. I slipped you my knife to give you a little edge. So you met him outside, and kinda got carried away," Haitani said, as if recounting the events of a football game. "You don't remember any of that?"

Keitaro shook his head. So the man was alive, but Keitaro had injured him, using Haitani's knife. He had commited two crimes in one night. If he was caught, he would certainly be imprisoned. Naru would be taken away from him. He would lose Tokyo University. He would lose the inn. He would lose everything he loved.

Even as these thoughts raced through his head, he was trading his money for Haitani's syringe.

"Can you do it for me? I hate needles." Keitaro plead.

"Yeah, stop shaking and I'll get you a bit."

"Just half of it for now, okay?"

"Of course." Of course. Haitani had no intention of administering any less than the entire contents of the syringe. By keeping doses high, Haitani was ensured future business.

"Here goes."

The effects were immediate. The feelings went much faster this time. He felt the music, the lights, the taste of the club. He was then dimly aware of being outside, and shortly thereafter he felt the Hinata Inn's presence. He noticed he had somehow made it through the front door, then he was confronted by an attractive combination of sapphire blue and creamy white, and finally he faded into the familiar black.

Greetings, dear readers.

I was moving through some old documents and found this, waiting to be finished. I like the idea too much to let it die like so many other stillborn stories I've seen around. However, I reiterate that this story will not last very long. Two or three more chapters are in order. I've started on the next one already, and it should be arriving very soon. Like in so many good anime series, fanfictions are often ruined by either being massively truncated (Love Hina and Evangelion needed another season) or drawn out to impossible lengths (Sailor Moon and Dragonball Z should have been done by the 26th episode). I almost know how this is going to end, but I haven't decided yet because of all the possibilities that this storyline presents to me.

I'm taking a major turn with the plot, beginning now. Suffice it to say that I think you'll enjoy finding out what the "attractive combination of sapphire blue and creamy white" was.

Again, please review. Flames are fine - they tell me that someone read the story.