Notes: For those who have read Empire of Dirt, the similarities between the explosion scenarios are on purpose. It's to allow a certain amount of vagueness where Empire of Dirt is concerned. Perhaps Gin imagined all of the events of that story in his tortured mind? Or perhaps not. (Though if he didn't, Empire of Dirt still takes place in an Alternate Universe.) And I've tweaked things a bit more again. Thanks to Aubrie for the suggestions!

Chapter One

It should have been an assignment like any other. The ones responsible for the attacks on the Black Organization's bases had never been captured. Gin had always believed that there was more than one person involved, and after several more locations were assaulted, his suspicions were confirmed. He and Vodka had captured one of the people, keeping her alive to tell them the rest, and she had directed them to several others, including the agent who had been working with them from the inside. Gin and Vodka then tracked the traitor to an area in the bad part of town, where her car was parked.

Gin glowered at it. "Something about this doesn't feel right," he muttered, parking the Porsche across the street.

Vodka swallowed nervously. "Maybe it's all a setup, bro," he suggested. "Maybe we're being led into a trap." He did not trust the person whom they had caught. It would not surprise him in the least if she had arranged all of this, wanting to get them into a situation where they would be killed.

Gin grunted. "It's very possible," he answered. "Likely, in fact." He checked his gun's ammunition and then unlocked the door, climbing out onto the pavement. The cool autumn breeze blew his long hair about, tussling the bangs that were already falling over his eyes. He kept a cigarette clenched between his teeth as he walked over slowly and cautiously to the other car. "We'll be careful," he said then, quickly determining that the vehicle was empty. He stepped onto the sidewalk and turned left, heading up the walkway of the old mansion the car was parked in front of.

Vodka nodded slowly, following the higher-ranked Black Organization member up to the porch. He stood to the side, observing as Gin kicked in the door and walked inside, holding out his gun. Then he followed again. There was something eerie about all of this. He kept having the feeling that someone would leap out into their path, or several someones, and that they would have a terrible time making it out alive.

But no one appeared as the duo wandered up and down the long halls of the abandoned house. Their footsteps echoed eerily on the rotting floors, and it looked as if no mortal being had entered that abode since whoever had been there at first. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, cracks adorned the walls, and mildew and water spots were all around on the floor from when the roof had leaked. Whatever furniture was there was falling apart, and yet somewhere in the broken-down building it sounded as if a clock was ticking. But that did not make sense. . . .

Vodka's eyes suddenly widened, realizing what it must be. "Bro . . ." he said shakily, looking to Gin as he came out of one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Gin, suddenly hearing what Vodka had, motioned for silence as he listened more closely. Then he growled. "There's a bomb in here," he announced. "The person we're looking for probably rigged the entire house and then left, expecting that we'd come inside if we found her car." And without another word he headed for the stairs. It was pointless to remain there any longer. If they spent time looking for the bomb to defuse it, they might not be able to get out at all. And the person they were looking for would undoubtedly be long gone by now.

Vodka was right behind him as they reached the main floor and dashed back through the front door. His heart was racing, wondering if they would get away in time, but before he could ponder over it further, the explosion ripped through the house, tearing it apart and sending both men flying from the force of it.

Vodka slammed hard onto the sidewalk, pain ripping through his entire body as he hit the hard surface. That was already enough to make him dazed, but then he felt something strike him on the head. Everything went black.

Gin's flight continued for several more seconds. He hit the hood of the woman's car, hissing in pain, and then fell to the ground from there. He was still conscious, but only barely. He gazed up at the night sky above him as the stars spun in and out of focus. Then it sounded as if there were voices all around him, but he could not make out what they were saying. All of it was a confused jumble in his mind. They might as well be speaking a language that he did not know.

When he felt himself being dragged up a moment later, he wanted to fight against it. He struggled, but he was too weak---and more unconscious than not. Dizziness overcame him, bringing oblivion with it.

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Vodka did not know how long he had been senseless. When he finally began to regain consciousness, it was still dark. He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he quickly reached for his sunglasses, which had landed in the grass, and put them back on. Then he stared in shock at the sight in front of him.

The house was completely demolished. Only a skeleton was still standing, with all else in ashes on the ground. Smoke was still pouring from the framework, drifting into the air and mingling with the other elements of the atmosphere. When Vodka looked around in other directions, he discovered that the mysterious car was still there---and that Gin did not seem to be.

Fully coming to awareness now, he got up shakily in alarm and cast his gaze around the yard. "Bro?" he called, his voice hoarse. There was not any response save for the gentle waving of the trees in the wind.

Growing more concerned, Vodka made his way over to the target's car. He gazed in alarm at the blood that had splashed on the hood and the windshield. Had something happened to someone else while he had been unconscious, or could that be Gin's blood? Maybe the blonde was still around, but he was too hurt to reply, or even . . . Vodka did not finish that thought.

Placing a hand on the car, at a spot where there was not blood, Vodka steadied himself and began to walk around to the other side, half-dreading what he would find. But there was only more blood splashed on the ground, and an abandoned, dark hat. Narrowing his eyes, Vodka bent down and picked it up.

Gin had been here, but now he was nowhere to be found. The Porsche was still there as well, across the street---not that Vodka ever thought that Gin would have abandoned him and left. From the looks of it, Gin would have been too injured to do that in the first place. Vodka did not have any way of knowing whether the other was even alive. But whether he was or not, where on earth had his body gone? Had someone taken him? Vodka clutched the hat tightly, suddenly feeling very alone. He wondered what to do.

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Gin found it strange that he was laying in a soft bed. He had been laying on something cold and hard before. At the moment, that was about the only thing he remembered. He forced his eyes open, and the light immediately pierced his vision, even through the shaggy bangs. Growling, he shut his eyes again. The brightness was too much for him right now. He had enough of a headache as it was. In fact, his entire body was aching, most especially his left side and shoulder. He wondered what had happened. He tried to think, but his mind was a blank.

Then he heard a click, and behind his eyelids he seemed to be able to sense that the room had darkened. This was followed by an unfamiliar female voice speaking in broken Japanese.

"So sorry about that. You'll forgive, yes?"

Gin grunted. The voice had an American accent. After gathering a bit of strength, he managed to reply in fluent English. "That depends on what you want me to forgive," he muttered, finding that it took more energy to talk than he had thought. "Who are you?"

There was a soft chuckle. "Oh good," the voice declared, also in English. "You do speak my mother tongue." There was a pause, and he could hear her high-heeled shoes clicking on the floor as she came closer. "As for who I am, my name is Alice Portman. I'm a doctor."

Oh great, Gin thought to himself in irritation. I must be in some kind of hospital. Aloud he said, "Where is this?"

"This?" He had the feeling the doctor was gesturing. "This is in my little clinic. It's very secluded." She paused. "You certainly took quite a spill. When my orderlies found you, apparently you'd tumbled over a parked car and dislocated your shoulder. You're extremely lucky nothing was broken."

Gin was silent, letting this sink into his mind. Then everything came back---the search for the traitor, the explosion, crashing into the car, the immense physical agony that had washed over him. . . . He opened his eyes, appreciating the now-dim conditions of the room. "What about the man who was with me?" he demanded. "Did they find him as well?"

A brief look of surprise went through Portman's eyes, but then she masked it. She was a tall woman, with short blonde hair, blue eyes, glasses, and a stylish burgundy business suit. Gin thought that there was a definite "business" quality to her face---a cruel ruthlessness. "I'm sorry," she spoke then. "Yes, they found him, but there was nothing that they could do for him. He was dead. He sustained a fatal head injury when he landed. Oh, speaking of that, you yourself ended up with a bad concussion. I almost wasn't certain you'd wake up, at first."

Gin was no longer listening to her. Vodka was dead, just like that? And that woman spoke of it so flippantly. She was not sorry at all. But at least she did not try to seriously pretend to be. That would annoy him even more. He gripped a handful of the quilt. "What did you do with the body?" he asked coldly.

"I didn't do anything with it," she answered. "It wasn't brought back. My orderlies were focusing on you, because you were still alive."

Gin glowered at her. "Then I won't believe he's dead," he said flatly.

Now she frowned, but Gin knew that he caught a glimmer of interest in her eyes this time. "I didn't realize he meant so much to you," she commented. "What is he to you, out of curiosity?"

Gin gave her a look of disgust. "It's not any of your business," he snapped. "And all I said was that I wouldn't believe he was dead without seeing the body. That doesn't mean he's important to me in any way. It means I don't trust you."

"True," she nodded, "but why should you distrust me? I don't know you, but I had you brought here so that I could help you. Without me, you might very well have died. You were in bad condition, with your dislocated shoulder, the concussion, and some wounds I had to stitch. You must have been cut by some of the flying debris."

"You could have an ulterior motive," Gin retorted, ignoring her last comments. "Most people don't save complete strangers without expecting to get something from it." He shifted in the bed and then hissed in pain, looking down at the bandages at his side and around his arm. "How long have I been here?"

"Nearly a day now," she replied. "I've been watching and waiting to see if you'd wake up." She smiled quietly. "And now you have. Are you hungry, by the way?"

"No," Gin said defiantly. He still found her suspicious, and he had to wonder if any food that she had was poisoned. He did not want to accept anything supposedly edible from her until he better understood why he was there.

"Very well," she said calmly, and turned to head for the door. "I'll be back to check on you again later. You'll surely be hungry then." She paused when she reached the doorway. "My apologies about your friend," she added then, and left. Gin glared after her.

Was Vodka dead? Gin still did not believe it. He did not have any proof, only the word of that physician whom he did not know and had never heard of. What was she even doing in Japan, trying to run a clinic, if she did not even speak Japanese very well? Something was definitely strange. For all he would know, maybe she was mixed up in the very plot that he and Vodka had been investigating.

The only truth she had spoken, to Gin's knowledge, was that he was injured. At the moment, he did not feel like getting out of bed. Not that it would have made a difference if he had. He had heard the door locking when Portman had left. She wanted to make sure that he did not get out. He growled to himself. As far as he was concerned, he was a prisoner.

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Vodka was still sitting next to Gin when he heard footsteps approaching the door. He looked up as a doctor entered the room. Gin also looked up, but his expression did not change. He did tense, however, and the nurse felt it as she continued to work with the marks left by the harsh whip.

It would take a while before Gin could ever feel better towards doctors. Right now he just wanted them all to leave him alone. He was confused, so confused, and he wanted time to try to sort through it all. Was any of this even real? Was Vodka really there? Gin had never wanted to believe that his partner was dead, but so many false memories and hallucinations had been forced upon him during his absence.

At the moment, he was not sure at all what was real and what was not. He wondered if anything was real. Maybe everything was a realistic dream or a drug-induced stupor. Maybe he was still in Portman's laboratory, where he had gone after he had frantically fought off her men with the small dagger that one of them had been using to torment him. But if this was not happening, then Gin had to wonder how far into madness he had fallen. It seemed more real than the previous hallucinations.

Then voices pierced through to his consciousness again and he turned his attention to what seemed to be taking place around him.

"What do you think, doctor?" Vodka asked hesitantly.

The doctor sighed, looking put-out by the entire thing. Obviously he did not want to be there. "Well, we examined him for any signs of internal injuries. We still need to do some definite X-rays, but I think the majority of what we need to worry about is in his mind. It seems like we should keep him here for overnight observation, or even longer, after what's he been through. For all we know, he could snap and attack any of us at any given time." He frowned, giving Gin a scrutinizing once-over before looking back to Vodka. "You said that several people were dead at that 'clinic', apparently from being stabbed. Your partner probably did it, unable to stand the treatment he was undergoing any longer."

Vodka knew that was likely true. "But that's not the same thing!" he objected. "We aren't hurting him. He wouldn't attack unless he felt threatened." At least, he hoped that was the case. He had to admit, he was not certain what Gin might do after all that he had suffered. But surely he was not so far gone that he would simply strike out mindlessly. Vodka refused to believe that.

The physician grunted unkindly. "It's hard to know what a madman would do," he replied. "I think we should not only keep him in the infirmary wing, but in isolation until we know how he's going to behave." This doctor was very different from the older man who had tended to Vodka's arm. This one was quite young and had little feeling for his patients, due to his immense bitterness over having to serve in the Black Organization. As far as he was concerned, all of the operatives simply deserved to die, and if he thought he could get away with it, he would probably kill more than one of them. He did not intend to treat Gin with any sort of kindness now.

Vodka stared at him, his mouth dropping open. "You can't do that!" he exclaimed in outrage, after a moment of trying to find his voice. "Gin hasn't hurt anyone here yet. He should be allowed enough trust to not go locking him up as if he's been on a violent rampage on the base. He's been passive ever since I brought him here." He clenched a fist tightly, appalled by this man's discompassionate attitude. "If you shut him away like that, then you'll only make him worse!"

The doctor gave him a bored look. "He assaulted you, didn't he?" he said flatly. "It was bad enough that you needed stitches."

Vodka stepped forward to stand in front of the man, who was about his height. "He didn't know who I was at that point," he retorted. "He thought I was going to hurt him."

"And we don't have any guarantee that it won't happen again." The doctor finished writing on his clipboard and looked to Gin, who had been sitting silently and observing with eyes of emerald ice. "We'll sedate him for now so that he won't give us any trouble while we do the X-rays. But he'll stay here no matter what we find." He looked right at Gin as he spoke, but continued to talk as if the blonde was not there.

Now Gin's expression changed. Panic, alarm, and anger flashed through his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was raised and there was an edge to it. "I won't stay here!" he cried. He rose up, fully intending to flee the room, and Vodka had to immediately get in front of him, firmly grabbing at his shoulders.

"Bro! Just calm down!" the shorter man pleaded, wondering what he could do to reason with him. He did not want Gin to have to stay here either, but he did know that it was important to take the X-rays, and he was not sure that Gin would allow them to in his current state. Maybe, if Vodka had approached him about the subject, it would have been different. But the doctor's uncaring attitude and his insistence on drugging Gin was making the blonde feel an extreme need to leave right that minute. Vodka did not know what to do, and he continued to hold onto Gin's shoulders as he spoke.

"You'll be alright," Vodka told him, trying to keep his voice even and calm. It was hard, when Gin was fighting to get out of his grasp. "They won't hurt you. They . . . they're not like Portman and her men! They just want to make sure that you didn't get any internal damage from what that woman did!" But Gin only struggled against him, at last shoving him aside and causing him to lose his balance.

"I won't stay here!" Gin repeated, his voice going back to its usual, dark tones. His eyes flashed dangerously. "I won't stay here for any reason! And I won't let you drug me!"

Slowly Vodka got up from where he had been pushed into a corner. He swallowed, watching his distraught partner, and then looked to the doctor. "I don't think he's going to be able to adjust to this idea," he declared, growing upset himself over this unfair situation. "It makes sense, after what he went through. . . . He doesn't want to be drugged! Can you blame him?"

"I don't care what he wants," the doctor growled. "You can see that he won't cooperate otherwise!"

"He might have, if you hadn't said that you'd have to sedate him!" Vodka could not help exclaiming. "He was letting the nurse take care of his wounds. If I'd been able to talk to him about the X-rays, then he might have agreed to that! But now he's convinced that you're going to hurt him, and he's not going to calm down!"

The doctor snorted in annoyance.

Vodka mulled things over in his mind, feeling his anger only increase. He was not, and had never been, a forceful person the way Gin was, but he was not going to stand for this. Gin deserved better treatment than this cruel doctor was giving him. "If you don't find any internal injuries, it would be better for him to come back with me," he ventured now, surprised by how firm he sounded. "He should be somewhere familiar instead of a place that'll just remind him all the more of what he went through!"

The doctor frowned. "We wouldn't be able to monitor him from there," he retorted. He was growing irritated by Vodka's interference. Gin could have been put under long ago if it was not for his partner's stubborn attitude.

"But I could," Vodka replied. "I think the most important thing we can do is to keep him calm and help him to feel safe, and right now he just can't feel safe if he's anywhere that makes him think about what that woman did to him. And your attitude isn't helping things at all!" He looked at the physician firmly. Maybe he knew his medicines, but Vodka knew Gin, and in his current condition it did not seem wise at all to keep him there any longer than absolutely necessary. And if Vodka could help it, he would not be leaving Gin in this man's care.

"I do what I have to," the doctor retorted. "I've made my decision. He's going to stay here, under sedation, until further notice. It's either that or locking him in isolation."

Gin regarded him with hatred. "Try it and I'll kill you," he hissed.

Vodka felt a shiver run up his spine at Gin's half-crazed voice. "Those would be the worst things you could do!" he cried at the doctor, distraught and angry. "Portman probably did that all the time to him, and she probably hurt him with other things in those needles, too."

The doctor frowned at him, frustrated. "He'll just have to learn that this is different," he retorted, taking out a hypodermic needle and filling it with a substance. "Restrain him," he said to the orderlies, who had just appeared in the doorway.

Gin watched them coming over to him, memories flashing through his mind of his experience. He had been approached many times with a needle in the past, most of the time when he could not defend himself against it because of already being too weakened. But he would not stand for it again! No one would force him down and inject anything into his system, not when he was finally able to fight back. He had fought Portman's men and he would fight these people too. He seized the nearest man, sending him viciously to the floor. Then he whirled, grabbing another's wrists and slamming him onto the bed. When a third came at him from behind, Gin kicked out and sent him crashing to the marble tiles.

All of this happened in a matter of a few seconds. It was so quick that Vodka could not do anything to stop it. He stared in alarm as Gin lost control, lashing out at anyone who dared to get close to him. Several times Vodka tried to reach out and take hold of the other, but he could not grab him amid the chaos of flying orderlies. And when the doctor himself went to Gin, stabbing him harshly in the arm with the needle, Gin instantaneously caught him around the neck with one strong hand and began to squeeze.

The physician gasped, clawing at Gin's wrist and trying to loosen the other's grip, but Gin only held tighter, especially when the doctor started repeatedly jabbing the empty needle into his flesh. All reason had fled from the blonde's mind. The only important thing was to protect himself from this new threat. He knew that he was going to pass out in a moment, but he was resisting it as long as he possibly could. He could not fall prey to any more experimentation! He would not!

Now Vodka finally managed to get to Gin, and he grabbed the tormented man from behind, struggling to pull him back. "Bro, you have to let him go!" he exclaimed desperately. "You can't just kill him! . . ." But he could certainly understand Gin's panic. The doctor did not care whether any of this made Gin upset or not. He was completely unsympathetic to the situation. Vodka was afraid of what the consequences of Gin's actions would be, should the man he was choking live to continue the treatments. If so, he would undoubtedly make certain to make it as miserable as he could for Gin. Though, if Gin killed him, that could end up looking bad too. Even though it would only be self-defense in Gin's mind, perhaps the other doctors would not see it that way and they would force him to be imprisoned in isolation.

Gin tried to fling Vodka back with his free hand. "That's what all of them are trying to do to me!" he screamed. "They're trying to make me lose my mind!" But he could not keep his attention divided, and now the doctor was able to get free, coughing and gagging. Looking at the blonde with hatred, the physician grabbed up a nearby metal tray and struck Gin twice over the head with it, dazing him and causing him to lose his balance. Vodka tried to hold onto him, but Gin slid to his knees, shuddering as the sedative began to take affect and as he grew dizzy from being hit on the head.

Vodka looked at Gin's attacker with a mixture of shock and fury, watching the man standing there with the object clutched tightly in his hands. The heavyset man tried to think of something to say, but nothing would come. When he saw the doctor move forward to hit Gin again, however, Vodka rushed forward and punched him, sending him stumbling back and the tray crashing to the floor. "Stop it!" Vodka yelled now, his body actually trembling from his rage. "Stop treating him so cruel!"

The physician looked at Vodka, spitting blood onto the floor from his split lip. He muttered a foul oath under his breath, hatred gleaming in his eyes for both of the Black Organization operatives. Vodka glared back, not intending to back down.

"Here now! What's all this?"

Vodka looked up with a start, seeing the senior doctor standing in the doorway. He felt a certain relief, but still, the damage had already been done. Vodka did not even know how to remedy things after what had just taken place. "They were trying to sedate Gin with a needle, and he wouldn't take it," he announced, indicating the others in the room.

The man's eyebrows shot up. "That was very unwise, under the circumstances!" he exclaimed, and looked to the younger doctor with a reprimand in his eyes. "And knowing you, Aoshi, it was done without any thought for what Gin might be feeling." This was not the first time that Aoshi had acted in an uncaring manner. Sometimes his superior wondered if the other physician was trying to get himself killed for malpractice and insubordination. It was likely to happen, considering his recent behavior.

"Why should I care how he's feeling?" Aoshi retorted darkly, throwing a few choice words into his comment.

"Well, if nothing else, it could mean your job and your life," the older man answered evenly, entering the room. "But you should also remember that he's still a human being, no matter what he does in life. And our job is to look after him and the other operatives when they need it. There's no place in our profession for being judgemental. Anyway, many of these agents still have goodness within them. If you have a little patience, you can see that for yourself."

Aoshi glowered at his superior, his eyes flashing with disgust. "You just sympathize with all of them! You don't care about what they've done! You don't care about all the people they've killed, especially that one." He pointed at Gin, who was still kneeling in a daze on the floor and rubbing at his head, his expression twisted in anger and pain.

"I care," the other doctor answered calmly. "But he isn't the only guilty party. You and I have done our share to further the Organization's work as well. You should stop to think about that once in a while. If the Organization is ever shut down, it would not merely be the assassins who would have to suffer the law's justice. People such as you and I also would."

Aoshi spit out another oath. "He's not a human being," he snapped, looking to Gin and back once more. "None of them are! We're not in the same class as them!" He rubbed at his neck shakily, his voice rasping. "Look at this! Look what that wild man did!"

Vodka was outraged. "He was defending himself!" he interrupted. "And then you just hit him with that tray even after you got free! You didn't have any right to do that!" he cried, and knelt down next to Gin, who was still shuddering and trying so hard not to sink into unconsciousness. Slowly Vodka reached out, laying a hand on the other's shoulder. "Bro?" he asked hesitantly, not sure if Gin even still realized what was going on.

The blonde's head snapped up at the touch. He regarded Vodka with a look mixed with anger, confusion, frustration, and betrayal. Vodka drew back, haunted by those accusing eyes. He was not certain what Gin was blaming him for---not finding him sooner, not stopping the doctor from hurting him, both, or something else entirely. But before Vodka could figure out which, Gin slumped forward in a dead faint. He had lost the battle with the sedative, and being hit so hard with the metal tray---twice at that---had not helped.

Quickly Vodka reached out and caught him, his hands shaking. Gin again shuddered briefly, but then went completely slack and helpless in Vodka's grip. For a long moment afterward, Vodka simply continued to kneel on the floor in the midst of the chaos, cradling the other's upper body in his arms and feeling helpless.