Author's Note: Here I am again! Surprise! Now to story!

Disclaimer: If I owned the four series that make this up so far, crossovers like this would be a thing. Which disturbs me.

Ferry Fight

Isn't a Pun In the First Place

If it had been Adam there alone, he probably wouldn't have done anything to stop the assassin. It wasn't any matter of like or dislike, it was simply that his reflexes were not fast enough, that he would have fallen just short of stopping the killer, and his mission would have been a success. He wouldn't have cared that much, either—after all, Milly was simply some hanger-on of Lancer's, no one of worth to Adam.

But Misaka was there too.

Misaka, who had already seen enough bloodshed and death—even if only by proxy—to last multiple lifetimes.

So as the sword came down, Wilt was already spinning through the air, striking the blade and knocking it away. Milly came awake with a start, pulled her legs in, kicked upwards to strike the assassin in the face as Adam charged in, intent on retrieving his sword. She then flailed briefly, entangled in the bedsheets, and the assassin stumbled back, steadied, brought the blade around, and Adam was tugging Wilt from the wall, unable to react.

Misaka was another story. The clone girl leapt at the assassin, wrapped her arms around his neck, and there was a terrific crack. The assassin, his mouth wide open in a silent scream, ran backwards and slammed Misaka against the wall, but Milly was free now, pulling one of her pistols out from under her pillow and bringing it to bear. The Assassin reached behind him and threw Misaka in front of himself, but had to dodge away when Adam, his blade freed, charged him. He leapt out into the hallway, and Adam had his first good look at his opponent.

It wasn't a very good one, though. The man was taller than him, by just a little, but most of his body was covered by a ragged, grey cloak, and his head covered by a large, disk-like hat that obscured his eyes. He was, however, holding a short Japanese-style sword—one that Adam identified as an uchigatana—in one hand. Adam sheathed Wilt, and dropped into an iaijutsu position. He heard Milly behind him, urging Misaka to wake up, and tried to push it aside.

It didn't work. Rage bubbled in Adam's chest, threatening to burst destructively, and Adam pushed it down as best he was able.

For a second that seemed to last forever, the two opponents regarded each other.

Then Adam triggered Blush, and shot Wilt hilt-first at his opponent. His opponent brought his own weapon up to deflect it, and Adam closed the distance between them and swung Blush—held by the barrel—at his head. The opponent ducked under and Adam grabbed Wilt out of midair to block his counterattack. The assassin kicked him away, and Adam flipped gracefully, landing on his feet in a manner that would have left Blake envious and charged again. The assassin leapt to the left, turning to run, and Adam turned, bouncing off the wall and launching himself into pursuit.

Behind him he heard a sound of metal, and then a loud ringing sound filled the air. Milly must have triggered some kind of alarm, he decided. Disadvantage, it affected his hearing and ability to maneuver. Fortunately, it did the same for his opponent. She had probably used this method , or one like it, to escape from previous pursuers. Already, passengers were spilling from their bunks, and Adam leapt over one, rolling to his feet, ducked under another's arm, pushing forward, heard a woman cry out in pain, saw her collapsing as he ran past, hand clutching at a bleeding wound in her side, but she could be left for medics, and Adam pressed on.

Then he charged out the door onto the deck, and the assassin leapt down on him from above.

Lancer did not like being woken up in the middle of the night, so he covered his head with the pillow. It didn't matter, though. The alarm cut through the wonderful, soft, cushion-type thing like a hot knife through butter. Finally, Lancer threw the pillow aside and started for the door to find out what all the fuss was about.

The second before his hand closed on the handle, someone began hammering on the other side. Lancer groaned, and threw the door open, revealing Milly and Misaka, the former carrying the latter piggyback.

"What happened?" Lancer asked. "She okay?"

"Hitman," Milly replied grimly. "They probably caught on to me when I made that phone call. I should have been more careful—"

"What?" Lancer asked.

"Backstory, I'll explain later!" Milly shot back.

There was a pause.

"Adam's fighting?" Lancer asked. Milly nodded. "Then we'd better go find him—actually, no, you're the one he's after. Find a good hiding place, get Misaka there, hide."

Misaka groaned, stirred.

"Adam and I will come get you—"

"No," Milly replied. "If there's another hitman on board…"

"You have skills," Lancer replied. "Use them. And tomorrow morning, when all this is done, you're going to explain this to us."

Milly inhaled, grimaced, and nodded. "Not tomorrow morning. Once we get to Area Eleven, I'll show you to a secure place. I'll talk to you about it there."

"Fair enough. Now get going."

She shifted Misaka around to get a better grip, and started running. Two days later, she would realize that Lancer had only been wearing a pair of boxers at the time, and fall over herself giggling, but that's not important right now.

Blue, skintight armor formed. Red steel spun in air, falling into Lancer's hand. He knelt, cupped his chin in his free hand. Then he reached down, and began drawing a line on the floor.

Adam threw himself into a roll, narrowly dodging the assassin's blade. Coming up, he unsheathed Wilt and, spinning around, swung overarm at the Hitman, whose blade flashed out to block, his left foot swinging up to kick Adam in the stomach, but Blush cracked across his shin as he reached out. The hitman jumped back, landing lightly, but Adam had gotten him fairly hard with his last strike, and most of his weight was on his right leg. The two were still for a moment, regarding each other.

"Koumori," Adam said accusingly, bringing Wilt up to point directly at his opponent. "What in dust's name are you doing?"

The hitman chuckled, his voice deep and gravelly. He reached up slowly, and removed his hat. Free of its weight, a pair of bat-like ears springing up, making Koumori appear a full head-and-a-half taller than Adam. Coal-grey hair, once cropped short, formed a veil over his eyes, but Adam could see his manic, vicious grin and could make a guess as to what his eyes were like.

"I was wondering if you would remember me," the former White Fang member replied. "Isn't it just wonderful—"

"What. Are. You. Doing." Adam hissed. His eyes flickered down to the ground, noting the small, flickering symbol that had suddenly scurried through the doorway after them. Koumori hadn't noticed it yet, if he could only keep his eyes on him…

"Always so serious, aren't you," Koumori laughed. "Can't we just—"

"TELL ME!"

Koumori went silent. When he spoke again, his voice was devoid of levity. "Don't tell me you actually care about those humans." Adam didn't answer. "You… Why would you..."

Adam charged.

The next minute was a frantic blur as steel crashed against steel, Koumori's weapon extending with a flick of his wrist and glowing with a ghostly, dust-infused light, Adam trying to beat him away for enough room to unleash his semblance. As they fought, Adam tried to remember everything he could about his former subordinate.

He had been dedicated to the ideals the White Fang professed, Adam remembered that. That the only way to make their position better was to force the world to give them the respect the Faunus needed, that they deserved. Koumori had cheered at the top of his voice at the rallies, had been the first into battle and the last out.

Stab. Counter. Parry. Punch. Block. Repeat.

That, as it turned out, had unsettled Adam—the violence that the White Fang engaged in was a means to an end, a necessity. Koumori claimed to recognize it, but it was all that any of them could do to drag him away from the fight. Blake had given him the speeches that had left them rolling their eyes. Lupe regarded him with suspicion and did everything possible to avoid him, and Adam himself had done his best to follow her example. Kay had complained, and made him the butt of her jokes. Lewis, however, had reached out to him, tried to keep him from going too far, tried to keep him, to use an ironic turn of phrase, human. He had been the slightly estranged brother to their little faux-family, which was not whatever Blake said it was, "closer than blood?" What did that even mean? No one had ever realized—or admitted—that there was something off about the bat.

Lancer exploded out of the doorway, thrusting out with Gae Bolg. Koumori leapt, flipping through the air, his cloak spreading and making him look all the more like an honest-to-dust bat.

Things had changed after Blake left, and Adam was left to pick up the piece, leaving the surrogate family that they had formed shattered behind her. Adam had done his best to keep them together, but it was not to be. Lewis was dead in a month, and Lupe left the White Fang not long after, claiming it wasn't what she had signed up for. Finally, Adam decided that he needed to be stronger. Kay knew a guy, knew the man who had raised her, so Adam went looking.

Lancer and Adam charged in unison, weapons shining in air. Koumori touched down lightly, grabbed Gae Bolg by the shaft, blocked Wilt, swung his leg up between them and kicked them aside. Lancer dropped into a crouch, used his momentum to spin the spear around and bring the butt of it down on Koumori's head.

When Adam had returned, things were worse. Between the five of them, especially Lewis, they'd been able to control Koumori when he was about to go too far, but having been left alone with only Kay, the bat-Faunus had gone from psycho to unstoppable serial killer. Kay's words were bitter and sarcastic, no longer finding the brighter side worth seeing. One night, she had confided that she feared for her life whenever alone around Koumori. Fortunately, Adam found that he could exert some measure of control over Koumori, who now obeyed him with a strange, almost sickening glee, leaving him more unsettled than ever.

Koumori stumbled, giving Adam the opportunity to charge in, plant his fist in his solar plexus, doubling him over so that Adam could bring Wilt's hilt down on the back of his neck. Koumori fell to the floor, lifted himself into a handstand and flailed his legs like helicopter blades, driving Adam back.

Finally, the day had come when they learned the fight was over. Three killers were left with nowhere to go and nothing to do with themselves. Koumori had followed Adam like a distressed puppy, while Kay took a breath and tried to force them to strike out into the world. Everyone knew the problem, even if they didn't acknowledge it—the fight was all that they had. Now, there was nothing.

The faunus hitman twisted to land on his feet, catching the blade of Gae Bolg inches from his face. Lancer released the spear and charged forward, kicking out. Koumori rolled backwards to avoid the attack.

Over the days, Adam's control over Koumori had slipped, the former terrorist growing more and more crazed. Without a present enemy, he no longer had any one to point him at. Finally, Kay had tearfully admitted that she couldn't stay any longer, that the fear was just too great. Adam had seen her off at the train station, wished her luck. And then he got on the next train. Koumori was a wild animal. Adam wanted nothing more to do with him.

Koumori swung his weapon, and a whip of energy flicked out, cutting through the deck. Lancer leapt away, Adam dodged around the attack and came in close, striking with Wilt again, Koumori broke off the attack to dodge, then formed the whip again, attempting to trap Adam's arm, forcing him to drop back.

Blake, Lewis, Lupe. Sometimes Adam felt a little jealous. They'd gotten out at a good time.

Deeper, Adam dredged. Memories that he'd buried as deep as he could, that he had purposefully forgotten, searching for something—anything—that he could use against his former teammate. Finally, he just decided oh whatever and went with the simplest and—in Adam's opinion—most ridiculous.

"Koumori!" he shouted, gesturing grandly with Wilt, "What would Lewis think if he saw you doing this?"

Koumori shrugged. "I don't know," he replied, "he's dead."

Drat. Not that it was a very good idea in the first place, but drat.

Adam and Lancer charged once again, from opposite sides…

As Misaka came to, the first thing she noticed was her splitting headache.

"'Ow,' moans Misaka, diplaaaooooooooowww," she whimpered.

/10032/ I told you that was a bad idea, Misaka points out flatly.

/10033/ Shut up, Misaka whimpers.

Misaka reached up to the back of her head, gingerly dabbing the spot that was throbbing in agony. Her fingers came away bloodied.

"Shhh!" Milly hissed in her ear. Misaka turned to face her, and immediately regretted the action. This was the second thing she noticed—she and Milly were squeezed up against each other in a small, dark space. By Misaka's guess, it was a broom closet or something of the like.

/11119/ The last time that happened was to Misaka-7835, wasn't it? asks Misaka. That was right before he started getting creative.

/Last Order/ Don't go there.

/10033/ ooooooowwwwwww

"Wh-wh-wha—" Misaka attempted out loud, trying her best to ignore the PAIN bouncing through her skull.

"Shh," Milly whispered. "There could be more of them."

More… What was she talking about…

/11111/ The hitman, Misaka reminds her dazed sister.

Hitman… right… ow.

"'Where…' Misaka… ow…"

"Don't worry about that right now," Milly said. "Right now, we're going to wait for Lancer and Adam to come back. Understand?"

"'Yes,' says Misaka," Misaka managed. She blinked. It seemed her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark.

"Good," Milly gave her a forced smile, and hugged her knees. "Now keep quiet."

Stomp

Milly's eyes widened, and suddenly lights streamed around the edges of the door.

Stomp Stomp Stomp

Milly inhaled, exhaled deeply, silently. Misaka stared at the floor, where a pair of shadows blocked the light's entry.

The words that Adam and this 'Koumori' guy had traded meant that they knew each other from way back when. Unfortunately, Adam tended to be tight-lipped about his past, so Lancer wasn't sure as to the exact nature of their connection. As of yet, he had to figure the bat-faunus for himself.

So far, he knew two things: Koumori was nuts, and Koumori was GOOD.

By now, the three combatants had reached the point where, to a casual observer, they were little more than blurs pressing against each other, assaulting their opponent in an almost invisible whirl of steel, blades clashing in a storm of attacks and deflections, movements that were skill, instinct, or some mixture of the two. Even when one of the three was knocked away, they only received a split second to breath before the battle was rejoined, even fiercer than before.

Involuntarily, a smile began forming on Lancer's face. Though who could blame him? It was the best fight he'd had in years.

Koumori ducked under a strike from Adam, deflected Gae Bolg, threw his sword into the air, and brought his hands together. The deck cracked, and a shockwave blew Adam and Lancer backwards. The three stood still, breathing heavily, watching each other warily. The exchanged—one that seemed to have lasted an eternity—couldn't have gone longer than five minutes.

"How…" Koumori hissed, pointing his sword at Lancer. Lancer shrugged.

"It's all in the wrist, really. You need a balanced weapon—"

"How could you betray your own kind!" the bat-Faunus ignored him, shrieking at Adam. "Fighting alongside this… this HUMAN?"

"I'm a HEROIC SPIRIT!" Lancer snapped. Koumori and Adam ignored him.

"What about you?" Adam replied tersely. "The Ashford girl is no one to the Anti-Faunus crowd, and your strategy says more assassin than freedom fighter. That implies you're working for someone. Someone… possibly… human?"

"Human target," Koumori replied.

"You're messed up," Lancer said.

"Silence, human!"

"HEROIC SPIRIT!"

Koumori's face went slack with confusion for a split second. "Huh?"

Lancer gave him a blank glare. "You don't watch the news, do you."

"It doesn't matter," Adam said. "We're not done here. And your chance at your target is gone."

Koumori paused, and nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," he said. "We'll have to continue this discussion later, Adam."

Then he leapt—high, high in the air—backwards—off of the ship. Adam and Lancer charged forward, looked over the side. Nothing. Adam's hand clenched over Wilt's hilt, and Lancer groaned.

No body.

Koumori was out there. And now they didn't know where.

The twin shadows remained still in front of the door. Two shadows, two feet, one target. Milly edged over further to the side, raised a leg, and let a breath out.

The doorknob clicked.

Milly thrust her leg out, smashing the door against the figure. She rushed out, grabbed the figure by the shirt front, barely noting details like a brown jacket, comically large pompadour, and slamming her fist into his forehead. The man's eyes rolled up, and he went limp. Milly hooked her arm under his shoulder and swung him around, now between Milly and the door of the room. Under her breath, Milly repeated the creed she had developed after a while on the run, one that had saved her life several times already.

"If there's one, there's always another."

She fished the pistol out of her waistband.

"And if there's two, there's probably one more."

She was ready.

And then a gunshot rang from the small vent on the ceiling, and cut a thin line across the skin on Milly's left shoulder. Milly swung her shield around, brought her gun up, fired at the vent. A quick snapping noise caught her attention, she looked around to see Misaka, goggles over her eyes, pointing at a spot on the ceiling, a split second before another shot came from that spot aiming at her again. She fired again, the bullet punching through the ceiling easily—no blood, no sign, no hit. Misaka pointed again, and Milly took the cue, putting three bullets in the spot indicated. There was a shriek, and Milly's gun dropped—the voice was high, childish, couldn't have been older than fifteen. There was a loud clanging, and suddenly silence.

Her meat shield moved. Milly brought her hand down on the back of his neck in a swift chopping motion.

Misaka stared at the downed enemy for a full thirty seconds, before turning to Milly. "'He works for the Atlesian Mob,' says Misaka, receiving a summary profile on the enemy," she said.

Milly nodded "I figured."

"'Are you in trouble with the Atlesian Mob?' asks Misaka," the teenage clone asked.

"No. With one of their friends," Milly replied tersely.

After dealing with the hitman that Milly had seized (bodily dragged him to the security personnel, ignoring Milly, Adam, and Lancers' shared awkwardness at not considering this option first), they had spent the rest of night huddled in an outward-facing circle, the four of them, no one sleeping on the off chance that the shooter in the vents reappear, or the man that Adam called Koumori come charging through the door.

Misaka had asked the Network to provide everything they could on Koumori, and then briefed Milly on the ex-White Fang's rather dubious accomplishments. Milly had turned a rather pale shade of green, and asked Misaka how her head was feeling—it was fine, though still throbbing, and Milly had a go at it with a First Aid kit that they had been given after some asking around.

It was nothing Misaka was not used to. All the Sisters carried memories of carefully planned ambushes and nights spent waiting for the inevitable apprehensively. Compared to that, this was nothing.

Misaka turned to look at Milly. "'You're shivering,' Misaka observes," she noted. "'Are you afraid, or cold?' she asks, worried.

"I'm not cold," Milly replied, raising her hands to her face. "I just… Oh dust, I thought I was over this."

"Being scared?" Lancer asked, still suspicious but temporarily mollified by the promised explanation.

"Not that, just…" Milly threw her hands in the air and leaned back, her shoulder bumping against Misaka's. "Yeah. I'm scared."

"Nothing wrong with that," Lancer replied. Misaka couldn't see, but she guessed that he had given a noncommittal shrug.

"Please stop talking," Adam groused. They were silent after that. Misaka would have preferred that the conversation continue and hold off the near-palpable tension that continued for hours, as the ferry docked, as they went down to the vehicle bay or garage or whatever it was supposed to be called—

/14400/ No one's looking it up for you, says Misaka exasperatedly.

—and went over the RV for any signs of intruders or sabotage. When it had been satisfactorily scanned, they had climbed in, all four still on Combat Alert. Lancer started the vehicle, rolled gently out of the ferry onto the dock, and into Area Eleven.

"Okay," Lancer said, "Secure place."

Milly nodded. "Forward three blocks, then turn right, we want to keep to the streets with more traffic…"

Author's Note: Next chapter: Ashford Academy! Oh yeah, and other stuff, like backstory explained, and the secret to successfully averting a bad ending.

And please review. Please.