A/N: Yay! I got the chapter done at last! But let me not dwell on how much being back at school sucks, on the trials and trivialities of shuffling computers around and spending three days moving files, but merely be AMAZINGLY happy that I no longer have to use floppy disks to post! YAY! (Floppies were the absolute bane of my existence, can you tell? XD)
Disclaimer: Same old, same old. But lots of lovely original characters in this one, yay! Oh, please, if you've forgotten- remember that back in England, the media name Ryou's hero persona 'Faceless', not 'Masquerade', okay? Enjoy…
Nine- An Innocent
No-one came to England for the climate. True, there were never hurricanes or earthquakes; but then, there wasn't much of anything else either. From early in September through to April or May, the English dashed about under a fixedly grey sky. At this time of night, so close to Christmas, it was colder then usual, and the little girl shuffled impatiently, wrapped up well against the frosty air. She sighed, and a small cloud of steam appeared before her.
"Mommy…" She asked, slowly. "What's he doing?"
"Just wait a second longer." Her mother assured her. "You'll see…"
"I can't see! It's so dark!" The girl answered, pressing to her mother's side. She knew that their shop, their home, with it's familiar name- Jacob Miller's and Son's- was right across the street, but she couldn't see it. It unnerved her.
Then, all at once, the shop lit up, shining in it's brilliance and unveiling the new sign above the shop, the one that no longer had her grandfather's name, but her dad's, and… She stared up in awe at the new name.
Tom Miller's And Daughter's- Traditional Butchers since 1814.
She looked across, and saw her father standing in the doorway, smiling at her. She ran across, hugging him hard.
"You're welcome." He chuckled. "I thought it was about time we made this shop our own, isn't it?"
"Yes!" His daughter replied. "I'll be the best butcher ever, you'll see!"
"Not tonight, you won't." her mother answered, joining the group. "Go on, off to bed with you…" She watched as her daughter scampered off up the stairs.
"Rachel's such an unusual girl." She said, straight faced. "Most girls her age want to save animals, be vets- not be a butcher and slice them up!"
"Ah, you're just jealous that she likes me more then you." Tom teased, gently.
"She likes you now." His wife commented. "But you can't buy her love, Tom. You need to spend more time with her."
"I know." He sighed, hugging her. "Don't worry. Now that the shop's back on its feet, I'll have more time. We won't be struggling for cash… When I open up again after Christmas, things will be different. You'll see."
"Don't be long locking up." She replied, kissing him gently and pulling away. "It really is getting late…"
"I'll be up in a minute." He promised, as she too went inside the shop and into their home behind it. He stepped inside after her, turning to shut the door behind them, and lock it up for the night. However, a man suddenly threw himself at it, smiling sheepishly.
"You still open, mate?" He called through. Tom frowned a little. It was ten PM on the twenty-third of December. It was hardly likely. "Please, I forgot to get a turkey in! My little girl'll go crazy!"
Tom couldn't help but smile. Ah, that explained it. He knew only too well what a father would do for his daughter. He shook his head, but pulled the door open. "Just be quick, mind. My wife would kill me…"
The man laughed, stepping inside, nodding gratefully. Tom moved to push the door to, but, once again, the man put his foot in it, to keep it open.
"Hope you don't mind." He said, sardonically. "I brought a few friends with me…"
"What…?"
From the darkness on the other side of the road, four, perhaps five, men materialised. Tom took a step back in shock as they spilled in. He hadn't even noticed them standing there! How had he not seen them? How had they been so well hidden? And what did they want…?
The men all but ignored him as they lifted the flap in the counter, and moved over to the tools of his trade- the knives. Everything from carving knives to meat cleavers were inspected, and, one by one, tossed into a pile near the door.
"You…" Tom slowly made his presence known, swallowing hard. He was so frightened, but he couldn't just let these men walk out of here with those instruments. They were designed for use on flesh that was already dead. He was not at all convinced that was their purpose. "You can't take those."
"Why not?" One of the party smirked. He was young, very young, perhaps only twelve or thirteen. And yet, something about him unnerved the poor, old-fashioned, butcher. Tom swallowed again, but stood his ground.
"Because I don't think you need them for meat, do you?" He asked, slowly. The leader walked over, twirling the biggest of the knives, smiling.
"Oh, but, you see, we do. But here…" He pulled Tom's hands out, wrapping them around the handle of the blade. Then, he let go. "If it makes you feel better, you can do the job for us. You see, there's a little problem that needs to be taken care of…"
Tom stared at in horror. "I… I won't! I won't do it!"
"You will." The twelve year old smiled. "Look around, Thomas. Two of the men have gone. They're hiding, right now, in your house. The only decision you have to make is if they die… Or our 'issue' does. Choose!"
Tom bit his lip until it bled, but stared at the floor all the while. How could this be happening…?
"No? Fine. Then another choice presents itself. Who will die first? Your wife, or your child…?"
"Fine." Tom whispered. That single word sealed his fate.
"Good man!" The leader of the pack smiled. "This is where you'll find the target…" He handed a small slip of paper earlier, thusly proving that this had all been planned. "We'll be going now… But, we'll be back in the morning to check you've done it. If you fail, of course, we will have to be reimbursed…Merry Christmas!"
Suddenly, the other two reappeared as mysteriously as they had done earlier, and the four older men picked up the collection of knives, before hurrying out. They had also taken the money from the till, and even the smashed the glass in his counter. All he had left was the solitary, cruel, knife; sitting in his hand, longing for blood. He threw it away, disgusted, and, although he was a grown man, he began to cry bitterly.
He had sold his soul to something awful. But what choice did he have but to follow through…?
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"Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town, not a creature was stirring, not even a knife wielding megalomaniac." The girl muttered, drifting along the ground. "Come on, guys! I don't think we're gonna get anything, and I'm freezing my latex off down here!"
"Should have got some better powers, then, shouldn't you?" One of her two companions replied, appearing for a second, perching jauntily on the top of a lamppost. Under his balaclava, the only visible point of his face was his mouth, and it infuriated her that it was smirking. "Or at least a better costume…"
"Better then a black jumpsuit, Phanny!"
He stuck a tongue out at her, groaning. "Oh, come on… 'Phantom' is bad enough. Come on, Elli, do you have to shorten it?"
"My name is Eclipse." She told him, tartly. "And, by the way, I wouldn't use it if you'd tell me your real-"
The third member of their party, Faceless, timidly cleared his throat. He had descended from being their ariel viewpoint some time ago, and he, to, was ready to head home. "She has a point." He said, ever the peace maker. "It is quiet. It may not be Christmas Eve till tomorrow, but I would still like to be heading home…" He turned to Eclipse, his mask covering only the top half of his face and his hair, brown eyes peering through. "And this is why you should wear a coat."
"A coat?" She sighed. "What kind of hero would I be then, huh? Honestly, guys, try to get into this a little more…"
"Um…" Phantom said, from the top of the lamppost. "Don't sign off just yet, gents! I've just found us a knife wielding megalomaniac or two!"
"Really?" Eclipse demanded, spinning around even as she shrunk into the shadows that gave her a name. "Oh, yeah, I see them! Face?"
"Way ahead of you." Faceless answered, easily, already up above her somewhere.
"I think it's your turn, anyways." Phantom pointed out, settling down into a more comfortable spectator position on the lamppost. "We're here if you need back up."
"Awesome." Eclipse smiled, the corners of her Irish mouth disappearing beneath the dipped edges of her white and black, jagged, mask. "Leave it to me, lads! I'll show you how it's done!"
She breathed in sharply, and, suddenly, the shadows that clung around spread like ink in water, concealing her from view. The men running down a side street, weighed down with several knives each, had no chance of seeing her as she approached beneath her cloak of darkness. Before them, there was suddenly blinding light, white, and with such intensity it burnt their faces and eyes. Screaming, they all blundered backwards, hands over streaming eyes. They all tripped and fell, the knives clattering to the ground, the blades sending sparks up from the cobbles. The light dimmed a little, but was still as bright as day, bright enough to see the girl standing before them. She wore a mask, patched in black and white, that covered her whole face up to her forehead. At the eyes, it snaked off at either side. The white side rose in two points up to Heaven, while the black side pointed downwards at a pit. Her whole outfit- trousers and a strange top that moved into points like the tails on an old fashioned coat, but at the front- alternated between black and white, just as she herself could redesign the balance between light and darkness. Curly, sandy blonde hair fell around the edges of the mask, but beyond that, the only relief from black and white were her eyes, looking down at them without mercy, deep and green.
"Evening, gents." She muttered, surveying them. Her eyes came to rest on the youngest of their group in surprise. "A kid…?"
"So much more then that." He smirked. "But I guess you'll see soon." The kid pointed at one of the men, who had got to his feet, and had begun bolting up the street. Phantom, from up on his lamppost, jumped down and attempted to grab him, but the fall was too prolonged.
"Face!" He yelled.
"On him!" Faceless replied, and he bounded off, springing along cushions of air, after the man, who moved surprisingly fast.
"Hope he catches him…" Eclipse muttered, watching him go.
"Elli!" Phantom screamed. "Look out!"
She turned her attention back to the men. One had got up in the distraction, and was swinging a large carving knife at her face, about to stab it into the chinks of her mask that allowed her to see out. "Woah!" She yelled, acting on impulse through hundreds of gymnastics lessons and far too many fights like this. She back-flipped away, not even knocked of balance as her swinging feet caught the guy's stomach. For good measure, she sent a flash of light into his eyes that would blind him for the next hour or so and probably emotionally scar him for the rest of his life. But, by now, the rest of the men were on their feet, and each had at least two knives. They came towards her- and they were all wearing sunglasses now. They'd been expecting this fight. Eclipse backed away slightly, but it was no use. They advanced towards her, and she pulled the cover of darkness across like a curtain between them, so she could not see them and they could not see her; but she could hear their boots. They were still coming.
"Oh, crud… Reinforcements?"
"I'm always here." Phantom replied, instantly standing just in front of her. Smiling, Eclipse pulled back the curtain and placed them all in her artificial daylight.
"And here." Another Phantom said, over at the 9 o'clock position.
"And over here…" A third Phantom said, at the bottom of the circle.
The men looked around them anxiously. Around them, there must have been twenty or twenty-five versions of the hero, all smirking quite happily. The only way to win was to take out the original, but which one was he…?
One of the men decided to strike. He held his knife before him like a very short sword, and ran for the Phantom before him. He moved so fast he could have been floating himself, but he still tumbled straight through the guy and ended up rolling onto the hard, gritty stone of the street, splitting his lip on impact. As he fell, the knife had curled around, putting a graze across his stomach. The man groaned in pain, and Phantom- all of him- smiled.
"Who else wants a go?" He asked, smiling.
As the men hesitated, Eclipse nodded at her comrade.
"Ta. I can handle it from here."
Their opponents suddenly found themselves blind, in a darkness so absolute that they could not tell if their eyes were open or shut, that they did not know their hand was before their face until they poked their evidently open eyes. Even as they yelled out, the darkness echoed, as though they were miles from anything or anyone. The darkness swallowed, greedily eating their words and screams, and soon, soon, it would swallow them to.
In the silent darkness, the men felt rather then saw the ropes around them, and felt rather then saw or heard the backs of their buddies pinned against theirs. There was no point fighting now, as one by one the knives were prised from their hands. They remained in the terrifying black, unable to tell how small or large it was, completely blind, other senses smothered. There was nothing to do but to wait, and shake.
Eclipse stepped calmly out of the bubble of darkness that the men were captive in, and dusted herself off. "See?" She said, triumphantly. "I told you it was a good idea to keep some rope handy!"
"Okay, okay, fine." Phantom sighed, reaching into the pocket of the long, dark coat he wore. "I'll phone the police."
Eclipse nodded, looking away down the street in the direction the runaway had gone. "I wonder if Faceless collared him yet…?"
Phantom shrugged as he waited for the phone to get through. "You know what he's like. He works better alone, I think. He'll be fine."
"He's so distant sometimes." Eclipse sighed. "Why won't he let anyone be his friend…?"
"It's the curse of the superhero." Phantom answered, grimly. "Never get close to anyone. Oh, hey, Chief. It's Phantom. We've got a couple more guys for you out here on Elm street, so come get them, okay?" he paused, suddenly getting a sour look on his face. He snorted. "Well, when you start doing your job, we won't have to. Just come get the guys, okay?" He hung up, looking annoyed. "Charming. I don't know why we bother sometimes…"
"The greater good." Eclipse answered softly. "We're out for the greater good."
"…You come out with such rubbish, sometimes." Phantom said, almost fondly. "You're just in it because it makes you feel cool."
"Well, that too…" Eclipse admitted, laughing sheepishly. Both turned at the sound of a siren. At least they moved fast. "Hey, looks like our job is done. Time to call it a night."
"Yeah…" Phantom agreed. "Unless you want to… um… go hang out somewhere?"
Behind her mask, she looked surprised, and both were glad of the covering over their red faces. But she nodded.
"Um… Okay."
They headed towards the park, and the rusty old swing sets, to sway and to get to know each other that little bit better, even if they could never truly know who the other was, behind their masks.
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Faceless was not having anywhere near such a nice night. Not an inch or an iota of fun entered into it as he swooped along dark, cold streets, lit by dark, glaring, cold, streetlights, illuminating only cobbles and frost; and the barest edges of buildings. The man he was chasing knew this, and how to take advantage of it, seeking blind spots in the black, bleak cubbies and in blind spots of his birds-eye view. Faceless had been forced to descend some time ago, but had no chance of keeping up with the guy on foot. Still, he followed determinedly, blindly on; not really knowing where he was going, but soon the man slipped away. Frustrated, he reached inside his mask to unfold it where it had begun to curl up, and froze as he saw the man, looking nervous, concealing a knife, hurrying into a nearby building. It was tall and austere, and he could make out the sounds of a business party on its last legs. Indeed, as he watched, the man was forced to pass the first of the leaving guests on his way inside.
Faceless' heart began to pound. This was more then the usual petty thievery, this was someone with an intent to murder. He hesitated for a moment, remembering he had promised his sister not to do anything stupid, but it was only a moment. It was just one guy. He could handle it. And there was surely some security, and bodyguards and the like around here somewhere.
He hesitated no longer, and began swiftly climbing up through the air, trying to scout a good angle to leap in on a surprise attack.
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The paper told him everything except what he really wanted to know. It told him the target's name- Seto Kaiba. It told him where to find him, the quickest way to kill him, the best time and place to do it and the best way to get out again; which was so considerate. But it did not tell him who this man was. It did not tell him what he was like as a person. It did not tell him what Kaiba had done that meant he deserved to die.
And, as he was to find out in a little while, it did not tell him that Seto Kaiba was just a child.
The building was just across the street, but it felt a world away from his comfort zone. He looked at it nervously, imagining he saw a figure, a phantom of death, flitting, running across its threshold and away. He was about to turn around, head for the nearest telephone box and call the police, but something stopped him.
He was remembering the eyes of the thugs as they issued their threats. They had been the pits of humanity, without mercy, without compassion; without a trace of anything that gave humankind a soul. He had no doubt they would follow through on their threats, and probably do so with a smile. He closed his eyes, trying to build his nerves. The place before him was just offices, anyway. Whoever this guy was, he'd be a fusty old business man, no life left to live. Tom was sorry. He was so sorry. But there was nothing he could do about it now except step out onto the street, and cross the road. He had to go forward. Always, inexorably, forward.
He passed a couple on their way out, and, mechanically, as though everything in the world was right, he wished them a good evening. They didn't reply, paying him as much attention as they did to the cobbles they walked over. And yet, Tom still felt as though there were eyes upon him, judging him, condemning him. He pushed the doubts aside. He had no choice.
The note had clear instructions on it. He was to wait where the stairs turned a corner, and, when they passed, get him. He had the knife hidden under his jacket, colder even then the night outside. He would cut straight across the throat; a quick death would be best, and it would not spill quite as much blood as a vertical slice would.
Something inside him was appalled at how calmly he was applying the physics of the slaughterhouse to this. Yes, it was just like killing a cow or a pig or a chicken. Just meat. He had to tell himself that.
Again, he felt appalled. How could he be so callous? This was a living, breathing person; not an animal. A person with family, with hopes, with dreams…
No. He couldn't think like that. If he thought that way, he wouldn't do it. It was a person who had to die. That was all.
Footsteps on the stairs. Lots of them. He tensed, wondering if this was him, but it turned out to be a body guard, in a pristine black tuxedo, he looked at him in suspicion before Tom dropped his gaze. Dismissing him as not being a potential threat, the bodyguard called up the stairs- although not turning around- and he spoke the words Tom was somehow expecting.
"All clear, Mr Kaiba."
"All this fussing, man!" A booming voice declared, as a man with eyes as cruel and heartless as those that sent Tom rounded the corner. The rest of his face was taken up with a large moustache, that you could tell never had to move to make way for a smile. Behind Kaiba came another heavy. Tom swallowed. Would he have to deal with the two bodyguards to…? How much was too much…?
"Seto!" The man shouted suddenly, and Tom hastily tried to cover up his surprise. "Hurry up, or I'll leave you here on this god forsaken Island and go back to Japan alone!" He sighed noisily, and continued on down the stairs, complaining in loud English, perhaps thinking the person he spoke of would not understand him. "That kid! I bring him all the way out here to see how real business is done, and the ungrateful brat just stands in a corner all night, moping, and speaking only to correct his betters…!" The voice drifted away, and for a second, the whole building was eerily silent. It set the mood perfectly as Seto rounded the corner, not looking happy at all, his face a mask. He could not have been much older than thirteen.
And Tom had to kill him.
"…Seto?" He checked, not wanting to get the wrong person. He might give people the wrong sausages from time to time, but he couldn't mix up something as important as this. Not something like this.
The boy turned, looking at him in suspicion, but said nothing. Biting his lip, Tom reached into his jacket.
"I… I have to…"
Seto began to move away, half-knowing what was under that jacket, and what purpose it served, and half curious. He couldn't help but hope this was someone to take him away, to get him out of here, to rescue him and his brother… But the hope had long since gone from him, replaced by a careful cynicism. He began to move towards the stairs, but not fast enough. The man pulled out a knife, and advanced towards Seto; backing him into a wall. Seto had no choice but to die.
Tom held the knife aloft, ready to do it, but his arm froze up. As the boy shut his eyes in preparation, he couldn't make himself do it. He swallowed again, knowing he had to convince himself, just like the first time he had slaughtered his own meat, he just had to bring the knife down and do it.
Just do it, Tom. Just do it…
"I…" He faltered, and, suddenly, the window by their side exploded inwards, and he found another kid suddenly jumping onto his back, sending him flat into the floor, the knife skittering away down the stairs. Another kid. That was the third one tonight. How ironic…
Tom did not struggle, did not fight, as Faceless pinned him down, holding him to the cold stairwell. He cried, at what he'd almost done; and what he would never have been able to do, even to save his wife and daughter. His cowardice had condemned them. But what could he have done? What was he supposed to do? He cried softly, silently; with a broken heart, and a broken soul. He had failed.
I'm sorry…
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"Another New Year's day, and here we are, doing exactly the same thing we did last year." Phantom commented, breath blowing out of his mouth in clouds of steam as he sent a couple of duplicates of himself out to pull practically comatose people up and off the streets. "Cleaning up after the drunkards."
"It's not pleasant." Faceless agreed, trying to keep the ones that were particularly paralytic- anyone who wasn't had long since stumbled home, leaving just these behind- breathing through a combination of basic first aid and his powers. One of the men groaned, and promptly vomited to one side. Luckily, it was not the side Faceless was kneeling on. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Oh… Lovely."
"It really puts you off drinking, doesn't it?" Eclipse agreed, dimming the light for those so hung-over they couldn't deal with it. "…Why do we do this every year, anyway? We're Superheroes, not… not… This isn't our job!"
"Time for a tea break?" Faceless asked, nodding as the first of the weary paramedic teams arrived on the threshold of the pub, tinged by the first light of the New Year. They'd been at it all night- besides an hour period between 11:30 and 12:30 where they had dashed home to see in the New Year with their families before they were missed. Now, it wasn't long until it was a sensible time to be up, and they would be expected to be in bed before that. Some sleep would be nice to…
"Defiantly." The other two agreed, and, silently, they headed towards their place. It wasn't a nice or particularly pleasant place. In fact, it was a fairly strange, dirty, and uncomfortable place. But it was a private place, on a rooftop of an old house, easy enough to climb onto, and it was special to them; even though all it had was some chipping tiles, a chimney, three cups, a packet of biscuits and a thermos flask.
They'd been here many times before.
Once the tea, stored there the previous night, had been poured, and the biscuits shared, the three sat down on the roof in a companionable silence; Faceless rolling up his cloth 'mask', although it was more like a balaclava, to eat; Eclipse struggling on through the hole in her stiff, black and white face piece. Phantom, meanwhile, whose mask only covered his eyes and the top of his head, chuckled at their difficulties. The tea warmed their hands and stomachs after the long night, and they found themselves yawning into the delicious smelling steam that trailed from the cups.
"We'd better get home." Phantom said, slurping down the last of his cup. He picked up the empty flask. "It's my turn to refill this, yeah?"
"As long as you don't make coffee again." Eclipse answered. "Coffee is just… bleah…"
"Well, next time I do it, I'll make some hot chocolate." Faceless promised. "Just for variety, you know…" He paused slightly, swallowing. "Guys… I need to tell you something, but I'd like to do it… Face to face. Would you be willing to meet me?"
"I guess…" Eclipse said, curiously but immediately. Phantom gave a grunt which may or may not have been affirmation, and that was probably the intention of it.
"Okay…" He said, slowly. "Then… Would you meet me on Saturday? In the café on the high street, at three o'clock. I'll… be reading a paper, or something. There won't be many boys our age doing that, right?"
"Got it." Eclipse said, simply. Her line of work meant she was well used to secrets. She stood up, stretching. "I can't wait to get out of these work clothes! It's time to go and sleep in this evening, people! What a way to start the year…"
Faceless made no reply. It had happened again- he should have known better then to get the Monster World game out. And now, he had to wonder if this year would be any better then the last.
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Miller, 39, was found guilty yesterday in the Magistrate's court of conspiracy and intent to commit murder. He was sentenced, along with his accomplices, to five years, without bail. Many consider this sentence too lenient. The victim and his father, Japanese weapon manufacturer Gozaburo Kaiba, were not in attendance although the following statement was released…
Ryou sighed, folding the newspaper up. He didn't want to read any of this. And it didn't look like anyone was going to come. He glanced around at the busy café, with it's cheery yellow walls and cosy red checked curtains, but didn't see anyone that looked likely. He bit forlornly into the Bakewell tart, figuring he may just as well eat it and go home. He had to pack, after all.
He couldn't help but feel so down. They'd been here six months, almost twice as long as any other place, and it had felt so right… but his curse had struck again. It was time to move on, and leave those that were behind in the shadows of his memory.
"May I please sit here?" A boy inquired, politely. Ryou looked up, surprised. He met deep, blue eyes, looking firmly back at him, not hiding their curiosity. His black hair stood in flattened spikes, looking as though he had just taken off a bicycle helmet, or a cap. Or a mask.
"Certainly."
"Good!" He said, sinking gratefully into one of the seats. Then, he looked at Ryou, a little suspiciously. "You weren't expecting anyone, were you?"
"I was, but I'm not sure they'll recognise me." Ryou answered, smiling- yes, he recognised the voice. His companion smiled too, leaning in and lowering his voice.
"Sorry I'm late, mate; I got a bit caught up with a skirmish in a shopping centre." He tapped his nose, chuckling. Ryou nodded, and the boy- Phantom- leaned back to examine him.
"So, it was hair you had hidden under that mask." He commented, quietly. "I wasn't sure if that was it or if you just had a deformed, abnormally large head."
Ryou laughed, and then nodded again. "Thanks for coming."
He shrugged. "I just want to know what this is all about. Any sign of Elli?"
"Right here, although I wish you wouldn't call me 'Elli'…" An Irish, sunny, immediately recognisable, voice called from behind him. She slumped into the seat next to Phantom, examining Ryou. Then she sighed. "Great. He's cuter then I am!"
"Um…" Ryou said, sheepishly.
"I wouldn't say that." Phantom commented, looking the newcomer up and down.
"…Really?" She asked, surprised. "I mean, I always thought I… Never mind."
"Thanks for coming." Ryou said again, awkward and suddenly formal. "I have to tell you something…"
"Well, there better be a good reason we've all come out in the open." The other boy commented, folding his arms, but not in an intimidating manner.
Ryou nodded once again. "I… I'm afraid I'm leaving town."
"What!" The girl cried, swapping looks with Phantom.
"I'm sorry…" Ryou said, uselessly. "I've loved working with you both. But there's been… I have to go. Tomorrow."
"That's a bit sudden! What about that Crime boss!" The boy cried, but then he sighed. "Well, whatever. We worked together for years before you came along. I'm sure we can manage again."
"I know you can." Ryou smiled. "I wasn't much help…"
"Don't say that!" She told him, fiercely. "It's been a pleasure working with you."
"Likewise." Ryou answered, accepting the offered hand and shaking it. He did the same with Phantom's true self. "But I wanted to come without masks, because I wanted you to know who I am. My name is Ryou."
"Sophie." The girl informed him, easily.
"Ian."
"Thank you." Ryou said, sincerely. There was no greater gift to be given by someone who survived on their secrets then their true name. "…Good bye."
The three split up, for the last time.
The three split up, for the last time as they currently were. The next time they met would be some years later, and none of them would be the same.
But that's another Superhero Story.
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Prison did not suit Tom. He didn't like the other men and the food was atrocious. Gradually, he drew further away, further into himself, his body going through the mechanical schedule of day to day life. He had not seen his family before coming here, but there was still the hope that they would be waiting for him when he came out.
There was hope, at first.
The whole time he was in prison, he only had one visitor. A man. One of the gang. One that had evaded Eclipse and Phantom. One that Faceless had mistaken Tom himself for. The one that should have been in here. The one who had killed, in cold blood; who had felt the Miller's blood running warm over his fingers as he had slit their throats and left them to die alone, believing their husband or father to be a murderer. And he was smiling the whole time as he told Tom this, as he said, so very casually: "Of course, you failed, so I did have to take compensation…"
Life was even more mechanical after that. He just wanted to get out of here, and to start again. He felt ill. He felt as though his soul had been ripped from him. He could hear them, the voices of the dead, inside his mind. Crying, screaming, begging, and asking why he didn't come. Why didn't he come?
And, as his visitor had said- "How lucky I am Faceless was tied up filing a police report. He might have stopped me otherwise."
There was no chance of Tom's innocence being proved. No chance that Faceless would get his come uppance, not until Tom got out of here. He behaved well, and soon, found himself working in the prison library. It was a job that got him out of all the other routines, and out of socialising; beyond dishing out books to those that were not allowed to leave their cells. It also gave him internet access, and years of time.
He knew how to use it.
Opening Google, he simply typed 'Faceless'.
Slowly, slowly, cyberspace opened up before him; and gradually, over time, he traced where Faceless had appeared over the years, and, eventually, found out those who had moved to those places, found a time scale that fit. It took him almost three years, but eventually, a curiosity that had become an obsession bore fruit. He found a name. Ryou Bakura.
And yet, the name itself seemed to have it's own small claim on the net, within school forums and blogs, going back years. He seemed to be a blight, a curse; sending people into mysterious comas.
The only way to break a curse is to destroy the cause of it.
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Tom walked out of the gates without looking back. He had not served anywhere near the full term of his sentence, but a miracle had happened. Those hero kids, although not the one he hated, had finally bought down the crime boss, and, to gain a more lenient sentence, he had betrayed his followers without remorse. One of the men had been proven to be the real final member of that gang, the one who had killed his wife and child, and Tom had been let out. He could have gone to court and demanded compensation, but he never wanted to see a courtroom ever again. Justice had been served to the killer of his wife and child, and that's all that mattered to him now. Justice had been served.
But still… That Faceless. It had all been his fault. If it had not been for Faceless, now he was out of prison, he would have had someone to go back to. He would have had a home to go back to, a family, a life. But, because of that punk kid playing the hero, he had nothing. No-one.
Tom shook his head fiercely. He had to stop it. Faceless- Ryou Bakura- had become his obsession all the time in prison, it wasn't healthy. He had to stop blaming him, try to understand that the guy had done his best, but he couldn't convince himself of it. As he walked down the streets, everywhere reminded him of Faceless, whispers of hatred at the edge of his mind. He had to leave. He couldn't stay here, he'd go crazy. He had to get away from Faceless, or he would do something that would send him right back to prison. He had to get away.
Tom did not return to his shop. No doubt it had been seized by the authorities by now anyway. He could never go back, nor to some parallel world on the left or right where this never happened. All ways of escape were blocked; the only way he could go was forward. So he went.
Forward, along Elm street, a turn to the left. Down Hayden Lane, onto the Colchester road. The second turn off to the right. Up Dugmore Grove. And there it was. A train station. He placed his hand against the cold glass, reminded for a moment of his time inside, and then pushed the door open. He marched straight over to the map of the train routes, and scanned over it for a second, looking for the furthest point that this railway could take him. That's where he would go, and then perhaps another train after that. He went over, and brought the ticket; taking a good chunk from the meagre amount he had now, and went down to the platform.
All was still as he and the other passengers waited. Not a thing stirred, as the area around him hung grimly onto the last page of the book, not wanting to be written out just yet. But then the train arrived, and Tom got on it; leaving one, sad, story behind in favour of a new beginning. A new story. A new life.
But the old wasn't done with him yet. The book had a few chapters left yet.
Here, again, was Faceless. Haunting him, as did the ghosts of his wife and daughter. How could he put them at rest? How could he put them at peace?
It was Faceless. It was all Faceless. Faceless had to go.
Tom knew who Faceless was. He knew who he was each and every day, as he heard about his latest exploit on the television or radio, as he opened his newspaper, and at night, as he dreamt of his tortured, dead, family. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand it. If Faceless was going to follow him like a shadow, always just behind him, until the day he too was stone and cold… He'd have to make sure Faceless died first. Tom had to be free, had to avenge those he loved. He had to. He had to do it. People would understand that he simply had to do it. They'd understand. Just because they hadn't before… they'd understand. If they'd ever lost anyone close to them, they'd understand. His wife still spoke to him, inside his head. No-one else could hear her, but it didn't matter. He had to stop Faceless before he got anyone else killed. Yes, he had to make sure no-one else was hurt by this strange boy. He would be the hero, this time. He was doing nothing wrong. Nothing wrong at all.
A simple look in the Yellow Pages told him the number he needed for the Bakura household. But he didn't want to speak to Faceless, he wanted to make sure Faceless never spoke again. What he wanted was the address.
The family hadn't been living there long. They never lived anywhere for very long. So they wouldn't have had time to decorate yet- he wouldn't be ruining anything. He'd just be getting rid of a menace to society.
He was so certain in his belief that his resolution did not waver for a moment, even as the flame of the match danced about in the air, waxing and waning. He did not hesitate as it fell, tumbling gracefully, into the petrol poured about the small, spare room he'd already managed to break into. The petrol went up nicely, and from there, the fire could work alone. Tom walked away. He'd only just become a free man. He didn't want those malicious police men locking him up again.
Free…
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"But… well, I was out, and when I got home, the fire fighters were putting out the last of the blaze."
Tom found he could almost, almost, be himself if he never thought about anything. If he just… existed… without thinking about the dead- whether he had killed them himself or if they had been taken spitefully from him. If he didn't think about it, he didn't have to face it. He had avenged them, hadn't he? So why did it still hurt to think about? Why wouldn't they go away, out of his mind, out of his dreams? Why did they still haunt him? What did they want him to do?
"I saw my mother's body being lifted out of the wreckage of the stairs. She was dead before they even got her into the ambulance."
He couldn't get away from them, even in his sleep. His wife and his daughter, who he loved. Faceless, who he hated so much. But they were all dead. They were dead. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? Did they want him to join them…?
But that was not the answer. No. He found out what the real reason was.
Faceless, the little devil, was somehow still alive. That confirmed it. He should have died, but he did not. He wasn't human; he was some sort of monster with monstrous powers, and Tom was the only one that knew it. He had to get rid of the kid once and for all. For his family. For mankind.
"She was gone, and our house had gone, and Amane was gone…"
A short bulletin on the news said about a new hero appearing in some far-distant corner of Japan, the reporters' stupidly large smiles widening as they chuckled about where England's own heroes had gone- Faceless had disappeared, and shortly after, so had Eclipse and Phantom. Gradually, even all the lesser known heroes were fading away, or were reluctant to come out in the open. Indeed, this 'Masquerade' over in Japan was the first Superhero to come out into the open for quite some time. But Tom knew better. Somehow, he just knew it was Faceless in a different disguise. He was up to his old tricks again, this time on a whole other continent.
Well, Tom would soon put a stop to that. If it would finally bring him peace, he'd do anything. Anything at all.
"And I just ran away. I didn't know what else to do."
The fire hadn't killed him before. He'd need something even more elaborate. Perhaps the only way to get to him would be through those around him, just as he'd done to Tom. Perhaps he could find an ally, someone else who saw through the disguise, who hated him, that would lead him to the villain's loved ones. Perhaps to defeat him physically, he would need to first defeat his heart. Yes, that was it. Burn everyone and everything close to him. Burn it all, send him right into Hell where he belonged, in a pyre burning all his sins. But a normal person like him wouldn't be able to do it. He'd need to become a Superhero to combat him. He could do that easily enough. He had plenty of money, especially if he sold his house. Money could buy anything- even something to fight and defeat superpowers. All he needed was a name that would kindle the fire of pain and fear into every evil doer that heard it; one evil doer in particular.
Faceless had to be afraid of fire after the blaze Tom had made at his house. He had to be. So he would use it against him now. He would use fire.
And he would be called The Pyromaniac.
It was time to go to Japan and finish what the hero had started.
"If they were that close to you, you can't just wipe them out of your life. People that are close to you change your life. You can't just ignore them after they're gone anymore then you would when they were alive. The only way they're still here is through you, and your memories."
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The Tom Miller case. One of my biggest blunders.
I know in my head that there was no way I could have known he was innocent. No way I could have known what he said in court wasn't a lie- that was the Magistrate's job. And yet, every time I think of it, I want to cry. I condemned that poor man, and his family. They were murdered in cold blood, thinking their husband and father was a guilty man. I hope they didn't believe it. I hope they never stopped trusting him, but I don't know if that's the case.
This is why I never take anyone to the Police. My job is merely to assist, not to judge. I understand what it feels like to lose your home and family. I know the pain of it. And I also know now that, no matter how guilty someone looks, it's not my place at all to judge. Miller was standing over Kaiba with a knife, and yet, he was innocent. He wasn't going to do it. He was never intending to do it. He couldn't do it.
A good man went to jail because he couldn't do it, and hesitated instead of getting away.
Still, how odd it was that it was Kaiba, of all people, that he was after. How odd that, some years later, he would play such a role in more of our adventures. I wonder if he remembers that day, if he's realised it's me- well, Masquerade. I wonder if that's why he's out to get me? It wouldn't surprise me. I saved him that day, but I bet he doesn't want to know. If he can prove to the world that I'm a fake, he can finally prove it to himself.
But none of that matters right now. I have bigger problems.
I'll find you, Amane. I swear it. I won't lose my sister again.
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A/N: There. We have officially hit rock bottom of how nasty this fic is going to get, I promise. But, just to straighten any discrepancies out, here is everything that's happened so far in a chronological order:
1. Ryou and Amane, at the time they lived in the house near Penny and Jay.
2. Ryou gets the Mill. Ring, Uh-oh!
3. The Monster World game that gets Jay.
4. The Bakuras move around the country as, in each place, more people go into comas. Around this time, Ryou discovers his powers and takes on the persona of Faceless.
5. In one such place, Faceless meets and works with Eclipse and Phantom.
6. The events of this chapter.
7. Tom in jail as Ryou continues to move around.
8. Tom burns the house the Bakuras are living in at that point.
9. Ryou goes to Japan, vowing not to be a hero anymore, as all the series take place.
10. The fic as it began all the way back in chapter one!
There. I hope that cleared up any confusion. (CoughSCOOBY!Cough) Now, it's time for rhetorical questions, and also time for Extras, so let's make this quick! Just what will the Pyromaniac do now? Will Ryou be able to save Amane, or will Seto get in the way? What will Penny decide as she struggles with right and wrong? And who else loses a home, health, and maybe even a life…? I'll update as soon as possible with A Superhero Story Chapter Ten- A Hostage!