The first thing he had noticed was the smell. It was an acrid sort of sense, one that immediately made itself known to his nostrils. It was the scent of discarded cigarette butts and cheap beer. She had sat down, the stool creaking underneath her, and began to talk to the bartender. Her elegant attire conflicted with the dismal scenery so sharply, he could've thought she wasn't real for a moment.

Or that he was dreaming. Ever since that little impromptu 'test' at the warehouse, he realized that it could be pretty hard to judge what was real and what wasn't. Unless of course, he had a totem, which he didn't. Miki wasn't entirely sure how they worked, but she did know that they had to have a unique 'feel' to them. This meant the item had to be modified in such a way that the dreamer wouldn't know. He didn't have the tools for that now.

Another blast of noxious air brought him back to his senses. Akira might not look the part, but her standards were low enough to cut grass. He couldn't really judge. Cheap, acidic swill was just the thing to get your mind off a multi-homicide. The bartender she was currently trying to hold conversation with was bewildered at the contrast she made. Business was business however, and he quickly shuffled over to the beer tap to fulfill whatever order she had made.

Kenji walked over and sat next to Akira, mumbling something to the bartender. Kenji drank? Now that he thought about it, he had seen a couple of bottles in his room back at Yamaku. When… she was tied on his floor. Thinking back on that entire situation, it was pretty silly, but now it only felt like another grain of salt in the wound. Not as much a wound as it was a gaping hole where he had been nearly split in half.

Other than the four of them, the bar was pretty much deserted. Two people shared a table near the back, but they didn't look like the type to start shooting at them. Thom had assured them that no heat would come their way. He personally took care of the bodies. Hisao didn't want to think of what that entailed. They gave him the safe house code so that he could rest there while the cops gave up on finding a British douchebag in a suit.

Miki uncomfortably stood there, looking for a seat that wouldn't entail buying a drink. He had to hand it to her… ignoring the faux pas, Miki was the last person he'd think would remain sober. And at that moment, Hisao didn't feel much like blacking out the events of the past few hours with stinging brown liquid.

He sighed, turning around in the process. The bar was small, and it was only a few steps to the exit. The bell sounded as he left, snapping Miki out of her daze. He saw her turning her head as he stepped out of the door, into the cool night air beyond. Akira and Kenji didn't notice, Kenji was ranting to Akira about how he was right, Akira looking like she needed another drink. The wooden door slammed behind him, ushering in the atmosphere around him

The night air contrasted with the stuffy atmosphere of the bar. He could still detect the distant scent of pollution on the wind, but compared from where he came from it was certainly a welcome change. Cars passed lazily down the small street in front of him. As much as he hated the feeling, he couldn't remove the thought of one of those stopping in front of him and dropping him where he stood. Hisao never thought he'd become like Kenji. Then again, Kenji was one to get incredibly agitated over nothing at all, where he was anxious about a very real possibility.

There was still the matter that the trail had gone cold. Sure, they had the machine now. What now? They had done all of this to get in touch with a corporation to slowly find out which one was hiding Suzu. That had been the plan, but after that firefight it seemed that someone knew about what they were really fighting for. Was there even a Plan B? Plan A was a hail mary as it was, he couldn't conceive of a realistic Plan B.

Other than shooting everyone, of course.

Another car passed, bringing with it another wave of noxious gas. He let it pass over him without a second thought.

A part of him wanted to scream at him, asking him what he had become. The rest of him quickly shushed that nagging thought. He was doing this for her, nothing more. Once he found her, everything would be fine.

Everything would be normal again.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, the door creaked open behind him. A person he had once known all too well stepped outside, hand in her pocket. She looked… vaguely concerned about something. She shuffled her feet as if a great weight was straining her joints. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closed it.

She was being careful with something. It made Hisao wary.

Before she could say anything, Hisao spoke up, racking his brain for what a normal conversation sounded like.

"Why aren't you in there?" A simple question.

She hesitated a little before answering. She had expected to begin the conversation.

"I… don't drink." She was looking off to the right, her eyes unfocused. Her eyes held the same gaze she had worn while she was in the warehouse.

Hisao had something he wanted to ask her, something that had been bugging him ever since the warehouse battle.

"Why are you incredibly proficient with guns, Ms. Miura?" His words came out cold, almost clinical. It wasn't a fluke, he meant to sound like that.

Miki's face shot up, as if she hadn't expected him to notice that. It was hard not to, she handled the pistol like a professional, minus one hand no less. And the gaze in her eyes… what was that? Was it disconnection? Or was it… remembrance?

Another car passed by, signifying a change in the conversation. The breeze picked up, sending a few pieces of trash across the road. One of them hit Hisao's ankle, but he remained stoic.

Miki's face took on a variety of expressions. First surprise, which gradually sullied into a small frown. Had she expected this conversation? Her eyes became unfocused, almost clouded. She was remembering something. Something that she had deep within her. It was obvious.

"What are you hiding?" His voice lowered, becoming almost threatening. Was she hiding something about this whole situation? Did she have a part in this? Was she threatening Suzu's safety? He couldn't allow that.

So, he stepped forward, but Miki remained still, looking off in the same direction as before. Her fists started to flex, not in a threatening way. Was she trying to be strong?

Hisao was certain of it. She was hiding something, and it was hurting them all.

So he stepped forward, putting a threatening hand on Miki's shoulder. Before she disappeared, he might've asked himself why he was doing this. But everything was clear now, he was right. This was for Suzu's sake.

"Tell me. Now." His words were more forceful, trying it's damndest to appear menacing to her.

Miki statuesque form remained still at the contact, offering no reaction to this turn of events. Hisao began to trail his hand towards her neck.

But he never finished that gesture.

Miki suddenly moved, sweeping Hisao's legs out from under him. He gave a small cry of surprise as his support was removed from under him. As he was falling, Miki twisted his arm behind his back. As he landed on the hard concrete, Miki straddled him, pinning down his other arm in the process. He was completely at her mercy. How was she able to do that without a hand?

She held him there for what felt like minutes. The cars passing by paid no mind to the strange scene in front of a dismal bar. Finally, she spoke. It was a strange voice, one that he hadn't really heard her use before.

"You ever wonder why I've been pursuing Suzu for all this time Nakai? Why I've spent countless funds and hours towards finding her!? While you relied on a detached police force funded by the very people who stole her!?"

Her words stung, referring to his countless efforts as a waste of time. In some way they were. If what she said was true, then with his prior efforts he really had no chance in finding her. He didn't get the chance to retort before she spoke again.

"I know how much you want her back Nakai, but you ever stop to wonder why we might want her back? Or are you just using us all as a means to an end?"

"I'm not-"

"Bullshit, Hisao. The rest of us know you're not the same man who left that school." He... wasn't?

Her grip softened slightly, Hisao could wriggle his arms slightly. He didn't fight free however, if she took him down this easily, she could probably knock him out just as simply.

"…neither am I…" He said softly, her menacing tone all but gone. Hisao barely had time to question it.

Miki sighed, then completely relinquished her grip on Hisao, standing up. Stunned for a moment, Hisao eventually brought himself up, rubbing a new bruise on his arm. He brushed his cheek to clear some of the concrete residue that had accumulated there. He wasn't angry. More along the lines of surprised at this turn of events.

She sighed, returning to the pose she had maintained until she had brutally brought him to the ground. This time, however, she was looking directly into his eyes. As much as he hated it, he couldn't help but being drawn to that look.

He swallowed, before asking his question.

"Why… do you want her back?" He knew now, it wasn't simply a matter of Suzu being her friend. It was deeper than that. It was… something else. It was her eyes, they were a dead giveaway.

"Because I've been living a lie, Nakai."

Shock flashed throughout his brain. What lie?!

"What…?" His choked voice was much more composed then his thoughts were. Miki however, remained calm.

"Look at me. Do I look Japanese to you?" She had a point. Her dark skin most certainly was foreign. He'd never really questioned it before. But what did that have to do with living a lie? Miki unconsciously started rubbing her stump, as remembering a repressed memory.

"N-no, I suppose not…"

Miki exhaled through her nose again.

"My real name's not Miki Miura."

Hisao's brain became alive with all manner of conflicting signals. He couldn't maintain one facial expression, so he settled for a simple eyebrow raise, one that didn't do much to reveal his current state of mind.

"My name's Phhuong Chhet." Miki looked like she had just released the world off her shoulders, but she still looked tense… why?

"It's…" She began, before Hisao interrupted her.

"…Cambodian." Hisao said this word on dry lips, tearing his gaze away from her. He adopted her look from before as he realized that for all this time, he was probably the first she she told this to.

"I used to live there… before this happened…" Her voice became slightly droning, as if she were trying to hold back tears. She gestured to her stump as she said this, and for the first time Hisao noticed that it never completely healed. A nasty scar still remained on the underside of the missing limb.

"I was a… child soldier there. I did… some things I'm not very proud of…" Her voice trailed off, as she remembered her dark past. Hisao didn't bother asking her what kind of things she did, as if he had already guessed.

"I never told her Hisao." A short tear fell down her cheek, quickly wiped away with a quick hand gesture. Hisao simply stood there. Comforting her was out of the equation for him, he doubted any word that came out of his mouth could sound sincere.

"I don't care what happens. I'm telling her." Her voice became her own again, untainted by her past. She shuffled a bit before adding: "Don't call me Phhoung. That part of my life is over now." She turned around and walked away from him, down the sidewalk. Hisao didn't bother walking after her.

For a man who now worked in lies and deceit, it was hard to get used to.