Dark Adaptation

Disclaimer: It is not mine. Descendants of Darkness, that is. Dark Adaptation is mine. Even the psychological term is mine. I also own one dog, a Queen sized bed, one noisy rumbling laptop, a rather twitchy eyebrow and one glass of caffeine.

Tsuzuki

It took a good few minutes for Watari to calm down completely. At last his breathing returned to normal and the anger slowly leaked from his face, until the harsh lines on his forehead had soothed out. He looked up slowly and met my eyes, pulling his face into a smile. I could see the effort it took just for this small gesture.

"Yeah, you're right." He stepped out of my embrace and clutched my wrist, pulling me along behind him. "Come on, let's go. The sooner we get out of here the better."

I nodded and allowed myself to be led back over to the trapdoor. Watari placed one hand on the rungs of the ladder I had missed on my impromptu descent and lifted his foot off of the ground, setting it on the lower most rung. He started pulling himself up but I grabbed the shoulder of his gown in order to delay him.

"Um… maybe you should let me go first." I suggested, gesturing at his garment again. Watari raised an eyebrow clearly misconstruing my meaning.

"Tsuzuki… I'm not so physically inept that I'm going to fall off of the ladder and land on you." He snorted. He looked offended.

I waved my hands hastily, assuring him I meant no slur. "It's not the falling that worries me… although now I think about it-"

Watari punched me in the shoulder with his free hand. He punched me hard. I reeled from the impact.

"Hey!" I guess I underestimated just how upset he really was. My shoulder was throbbing. "I was joking! I just think you should let me go first because of what you're wearing."

Watari's eyes widened in realization and he glanced down as though to reaffirm that he was barely clothed.

"Ah." With an embarrassed look he stepped back from the ladder and swept his hand out in front of him. "Right. Um… sorry. You first then."

I moved toward the ladder, massaging my shoulder and resisting the urge to smack Watari back. Regardless of how bad he was feeling, that punch was uncalled forAnd it had really hurt. Taking a perfunctory glance under my shirt, I could see the red welt flaring violently against my slightly tanned flesh.

"Interesting…" Watari murmured, following my line of sight. "The fact that I could even strike you and leave a mark upon your skin… and that such a minor infliction hasn't healed in a matter of seconds… Fascinating." He glanced about, adjusting his glasses as though that might aid his assessment. "Just what kind of place is this? Are our bodies actually here or just our consciousness'?"

"Well when you figure that out, let me know." I said, diverting my face so that he couldn't see me roll my eyes. When it came to figuring out intellectual issues, I preferred to leave the thinking up to others. Right now, I didn't care if my brain was here while my ass was being used as a soccer ball in Alaska. I just wanted to get my figurative ass out of there as quickly as possible.

Watari sighed. "There's no need to be sarcastic. Just because you have no desire for higher knowledge doesn't mean the rest of us-"

I spun around, both feet already on the lower rung of the ladder. "Look, we can discuss this later." I snarled through gritted teeth. "Do you wanna get out of here or what?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Watari said, raising both hands in defense. "You're right. It's not important. Let's just go."

"Right." I started up the ladder, holding the key chain clenched between my teeth. The floor above was still sheathed in darkness and nothing moved. Though why exactly I expected something to do so probably had more to do with the atmosphere and what might have been anticipated of it, more so than my initial nervousness. By the time I was halfway up the ladder, Watari started after me and moments later I was hauling him out of the trapdoor and onto the floor above. As I shut the trapdoor, Watari took initiative and plucked the key chain out from between my teeth and shone the light at the surrounding walls. His expression, though mostly coveted in darkness, appeared troubled.

"What's wrong now?" I asked. I didn't mean to sound impatient but I was getting awfully weary of Watari's extreme reactions to everything. I'm sure the entire situation was rather unsettling for him and that was all the more reason to get the Hell out as soon as possible.

"This isn't right." He said and I was relieved to hear that his voice sounded as usually composed as it always did. "The basement is the same room I remember… but this room… no, this isn't right. The walls are too… tall. The passages too wide. It's too sophisticated."

"Watari… who cares?" I snitched, not particularly caring how ornery I sounded. "I don't know what this place is, or how we got here or even why the Hell we're here! None of this makes sense! Why should the building logistics make sense, for God sake?"

"I don't know!" Watari yelled and the high pitch of his voice was enough to chastise me thoroughly. "Why are you so angry at me?"

I felt my voice lose its sharp clarity and pitch to a defensive insistence. "Because you're fussing over the most irrelevant things! Why should the walls matter?"

"Why?! Why? Because I think I've figured something out!" Watari jabbed his finger down at the trapdoor. "I was whisked here once before. Only for a moment, on the way to Kokakuro. That kid was here, that Pandora."

"He was?" Now I was interested, I admit it. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Well it's not like we've had a great deal of conversations since I started the investigation." He made his way over to the wall and leaned close to examine the paintwork. At least I guess that's what he was doing. With Watari, who knows? "Anyway, I came here once before. And Pandora – he said he created this place. But I don't know how true that is. I think anything we stumble across here, is pulled straight from our memories. He said he uses the places that stick in our minds. For whatever reason. I wager the reasons are predominately traumatic. Those are the memories that are hardest to shake, after all."

I considered. It didn't seem too outlandish; if you took into account the higher powers that we were possibly dealing with.

"Okay, so say that's true. How does that explain this then?" I gestured at our surroundings. "Nothing traumatic has ever happened to me in a place with wide white walls and tall ceilings."

"No?" Watari said. He shone the light behind me. "How about that? Does that jog any memories?"

I followed the lights direction, already sure that I wasn't going to like whatever 'that' had been ascribed to. I wasn't wrong.

The light reflected off of rusted metal and bounced across various creased edges of what may once have been white sheets. The wheels of the hospital gurney had been bent askew and the front appeared to have been violently rammed against the far wall. As I watched, horror stricken, the gurney's level of balance tilted and it painfully started to roll back from the wall. No… it wasn't moving on its own. It hadn't been there when I had passed through mere minutes ago. This had only just occurred whilst I had been in the basement. The gurney was still somewhat in motion.

"Oh my God…" I whispered. I felt my knees threatening to collapse beneath me and I had to brace my hand against the wall to keep myself from falling. The high ceilings… the long corridors… it all made sense to me now. "The hospital… This floor is the goddamn hospital…"

Watari nodded, though he didn't seem pleased about being right. He diverted the light away from the gurney and brought its' glare back down towards the ground.

"It's basically featureless, so I couldn't tell myself. I was only sure when I saw that." He flicked the light quickly back at the gurney and then redirected it before I had a chance to focus too hard on it. I wasn't certain but in that small piece of illumination, I was sure I could see patches of blood staining the sheets. "There's nothing else around here that might indicate we're in a hospital. Except for the floor of course." He stamped his foot and the noise echoed all the way down the hall. "Ahh… stereotypical creepy hospital echo. Gotta love it."

"But of course it's featureless…" I said, more to myself than to Watari. Nevertheless, I could see his face turning back to focus on me. "I was so messed up back then… I don't even remember much about the hospital. I just remember looking around at the walls as I was wheeled back and forth into surgery…" I could see that memory resurfacing in my mind even as I spoke of it. My bleary, half lidded eyes gazing with distorted perception at the blank white plaster as it zoomed behind the railings of the gurney used to transport hospital patients. The ceiling lights flashing by in a blur overhead. "I can only remember very few things… even the faces of the nurses and doctors I have no recollection of. … I think you're right, Watari…" I swallowed with difficulty, and then forced myself to continue. "Why would a hospital look like this, if it wasn't plucked straight from my memory? It would be whole otherwise… this is just like some drug-induced version of the hospital. A deluded mans' memories… God Watari… we're walking on our memories…"

"Don't be so morbid." Watari said, our roles suddenly and dramatically reversed. He grabbed me by my inside elbow and tugged me close, leaning forward so that we were eye to eye. "Remember what you said to me before? Memories are only memories. Whatever happened here is over. Isn't that right?"

I forced myself to nod. It was better than thinking about whose blood it was on those sheets.

"Our own consciousness is responsible for this, Tsuzuki. And that means we have a certain level of control. So if that's the case…" He smiled at me hopefully. "-could you please, zap me out of this ridiculous outfit?"

"Huh?" It took me a while to click to what he was suggesting. "I didn't put you in that!" I spluttered.

"Well it sure as Hell isn't a part of my memory!" Watari exclaimed, giving the edge of the paper gown a disdainful little tug. "The most I wore down in that room was a sheet! If I was lucky, a pair of underpants!"

"Would you prefer to be running around in just a pair of underpants?" I said, maybe a little nastily. I couldn't help it. I was tired and scared and tired of being scared. It was so much easier to just be remiss of my manners then go to the effort to demonstrating them.

"No. But a pair of underpants along with this would be nice." Watari shifted about, clearly uncomfortable being clothed in only paper. "Couldn't you just – you know, try concentrating on giving me my normal clothes?"

"Like I said," I was getting frustrated. "I'm not responsible for your little adult store getup. I have no idea why you're wearing that!"

"That makes two of us!" Watari fussily tucked his hair behind his ear. It was a habit of his that became perpetually frequent when he was either annoyed or anxious. I could see I was in for a lot of hair tucking. "Look, if you're not going to zap me out of this number could you at least lend me some of your clothing? You have more than enough!"

"Forget it." I said, shortly, pulling my jacket in around me. "You're not having any of my clothes."

Watari's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Tsuzuki, we've been through a lot you and I. I have supported you, dragged you home drunk from bars, put you to bed, mopped up your vomit, analyzed the most ridiculous and insubstantial evidence you have ever brought to me and all I ask for, besides a guinea pig on certain key occasions, is that you give me some small token of clothing in this freezing cold asylum and you actually refuse me. That hurts."

"Whatever. I'm cold." I snapped back. Maybe just a little too cruel, considering what I had learnt of my dear friends' past, so far.

"You're cold? You're cold?" Watari's eyes were turning into beady little embers. Quite an achievement, considering he was wearing his wide, telescope lens glasses. "You're cold, alright. Cold hearted. Think about me! I'm wearing a paper dress for the love of God! My legs are one big giant goose pimple!"

"There's a very good chance that those are just your natural pimples." I said, sympathetically. Watari punched my shoulder again. In the exact same spot. "Yowch! You bastard!"

"You're the bastard. Just lend me your boxers! I can put them underneath the dress."

I'm sure my expression was one of pure mortification. "My boxers?"

Watari gave me a sly look. "You do wear them don't you? Or is this just your roundabout way of telling me you're freeballing?"

I didn't know what freeballing meant but I wasn't about to clue Watari in to my ignorance. "Of course I'm wearing them! I just don't know how I feel about you wearing them."

"Are you suggesting I'm not hygienic enough for your precious boxers?" Watari snapped, looking cross. I shook my head.

"That's not it! I'm not that rude!"

Watari looked mildly relieved for a moment. "That's good then."

"I'm just worried you'd stretch them. I mean, I'm fond of you and all but let's face it Watari, you ain't exactly a lightweight round the hip area if you get my drift."

SMACK! I started to wonder if my shoulder had popped out of joint. Watari glared at me as I rubbed my newly acquired bruise, possibly considering slamming me into the wall with the aforementioned hospital gurney if his expression was anything to judge by.

"They will fit." The blond said, threateningly. I wondered if he was directing this threat at my underwear or me. "I'll make them fit. So why don't you just hand them over like a nice little Chastity-boy and we can get ourselves moving out of this here hallway. You might think it's cold by your standards but put yourself in my paper dress. I'm getting a draft. And it isn't nearly as refreshing as Marilyn Monroe made it look standing over that grate if you catch my drift."

I winced. "Point taken. I'll be back in a moment."

"Don't wander off." Watari called as I crept around the nearest corner and converted it into an impromptu changing room. "We don't know what else might be lurking around here."

I figured that exercising caution in a place like this was only common sense but I didn't say anything. Watari and I were already snipping at one another like a long married couple, I certainly didn't need to add to that.

Once I was around the corner, I wished immediately that I'd brought the key chain light with me. The hallway beyond was pitch black and the gurney was less than five feet from my back. I put all my effort into ignoring it and hastened to unbuckle my pants, keeping my ears peeled for the smallest sound that may have come from the darkness. I didn't much fancy the thought of standing around in that unfamiliar place with my pants around my ankles and I worked quickly to extricate myself from my boxers, stepping neatly out of the legs and then hastily yanking my trousers back up around my hips. As I buckled my belt and rethreaded the button through the hole, a loud crash emitted from the hallway in which Watari was standing. Startled, I yanked the zipper of my pants up without first clearing it. My coinciding shriek provided a fine example of the 'stereotypical creepy hospital echo.'

"Tsuzuki?! Are you okay?" Watari popped his head around the corner, none the bit concerned as to whether or not I was modest first. I managed to flash an 'okay' sign with my fingers, even as I was bending in double from the excruciating stabs of pain flickering up from my pelvis region.

"Fine, I'm fine! Just didn't clear the zipper."

Watari clenched his teeth sympathetically. "Silly boy. Were you startled by that big crash just before?"

"Yes!" I growled, finding the strength to kneel down and retrieve my since vacated boxer shorts. I held them out to Watari, hoping he wouldn't inspect the pattern on them too closely. "What was that anyway? You scared me half to death! No pun intended."

Watari took the boxers off of me with a grateful expression. "Thanks. Oh and as for that crash, I found another door down this hall. It was hidden behind a big pile of boxes."

I nodded. "Yeah, I passed by those before. They were filled with newspapers, right?"

"Yeah. They caught me by surprise, being so heavy and all. I was just examining one of them and then the box fell and-" He made a raspberry noise and gestured with his hands enthusiastically, indicating a number of objects crashing down like an avalanche. "- down they all came. But there was a door behind it. I may need your help moving some of the other boxes aside. Oh and speaking of boxes-" He held up my boxer shorts. "-love the design, Tsuzuki. I never thought anyone actually wore love heart print boxers but as usual you're the exception, good buddy."

"Oh shut up." I said, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "I think they're cute."

"I'm sure Muraki does too." Watari added covertly, holding the boxers down at ankle height and then stepping into them. "And don't you worry, I won't tell that jealous cad I'm wearing your underwear. God forbid he might get all the wrong ideas about us. I'll wake up one morning with my balls in my mouth!"

"And yet you'll still be able to talk around them." I said, unable to hide my pleased expression at the shocked look this elicited. Usually I'm not very good at comebacks but that one was gold.

Watari's stunned look eventually melted into a wide smile and he actually chuckled as he pulled my boxers into place.

"Are you saying I have really small balls, or just a really big mouth?" He asked with a grin. Watari never really minded if the joke was on him, just as long as it was funny.

"Perhaps a little of both." I said, chuckling. I was feeling nominally more pleasant, so I shrugged off my jacket and handed it to him. "Here, put this on too. I'll be fine in just my shirt and trousers. And you'll probably catch your death in that skimpy thing."

"Cheers Tsuzuki." Watari gratefully accepted the jacket and pulled it on over the paper dress, buttoning it up at the front. I was broader in the chest and wider in the shoulders than Watari, so it hung a little loose on him but there wasn't much that could be done to coordinate his outfit. To be honest, he did look a little ridiculous. He was wearing a black suit jacket, over a white paper dress, with boxer shorts peeking out from underneath that. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"What?" Watari said, catching my expression. I guess I hadn't been that careful after all.

"Nothing!" I said, no longer bothering to hide my smile. "Let's go move those boxes, shall we?"

We made our way back around the corner and into the adjacent hallway. Watari was right. There had been a door hidden behind the carefully stacked boxes. It was a large steel double door; such as you might see in a warehouse or storage room. Most of the boxes near the top of the doorway had been pushed away by Watari's clumsy efforts. Newspapers were spilled out across the length of the hallway, various black and white headlines glaring up at us from the floor. Most of the doorway was still obstructed however and I could see that it would take some effort to remove what was left of the blockage.

I glanced over at the blond and flashed him my most encouraging smile. "Well, let's get cracking."

Watari sighed, flexing his insubstantial little biceps. "Damn… what a pain. We scientists aren't meant for heavy lifting, you know."

That was Watari's makeshift Dr. Spock excuse for everything. 'We scientists aren't meant for- (insert respective task here'). It didn't matter that every Guardian of Death, no matter how physically inept in life, had twice the strength of your average man. Sometimes I wondered whether Watari was just plain lazy.

"If you had your way, scientists would be meant for nothing but making weird potions and shagging swordsmen. Now come on!" I strode over and grabbed the first box I saw, lifting it easily enough and carrying it over to the far side of the hallway. "The sooner we unearth this door, the sooner we find out what's behind it."

"I sure hope it's worth all this effort." Watari groaned, following suite and selecting possibly the smallest box in the pile. He carried it over and placed it down on the floor beside my box with an exaggerated moan. "Speaking of swordsmen, I sure wish Ori was here. He'd have no trouble moving all these boxes." He sighed dramatically. "But I left him all alone in an alleyway strewn with disembodied corpses, to fight a psychotic mini-skirt wearing demon with only my gender confused djinni to help him."

"Wow." I said, grabbing hold of the next box and bringing it over. "Bet he's glad he hooked up with you."

Watari grinned impishly. "Oh, he's far too nice to admit when he's made a mistake."

I was suddenly feeling quite chatty. Now that I was sort of involved in a serious relationship with someone (with Muraki, I'm never quite sure how to phrase that) talking about these kinds of matters suddenly felt more comfortable. And no, the disembodied corpses thing actually wasn't of much interest to me. That's a routine conversation topic in the Bureau. Relationship issues… now there's interesting for ya!

"Yeah. You'd be countin' your blessings for more than that!" I chuckled, dumping my box and heading back for my third. "I mean it's not every day a supermodel falls into your lap, is it?"

Watari went silent and so ignorant was I, that it took a full minute before I realized the reason why. Apparently, I'd offended him.

"Oh… Watari I didn't mean it like that."

Watari waved a hand congenially, nearly dropping the box he was carrying. I couldn't see his face very well but the tone of his voice indicated that he wasn't angry with me. Not that I didn't deserve it, mind.

"No, it's okay. Actually, I've kind of been wondering the same thing myself."

This was certainly unexpected. Watari wasn't exactly your insecure kind of guy. Nor was he overtly confident. Rather, he seemed to be one of those people that floated through life in a carefree manner, wholly content with who he was and how those he associated with perceived him.

Watari placed his box down gingerly and stretched upward, the bones in his shoulders popping as the tension was released. His smile was malleable and genuine.

"I'm not sure why a guy who's got so much going for him, would bother with someone like me… though, I have seen weirder couples than us!"

I wondered if he'd just developed lazy eye, if he'd been purposefully looking in my direction when he'd said that. I grunted as I lifted one of the final few boxes and pushed it aside, not worrying about stacking it up with the others.

"Muraki and I are not a couple." I said, having decided that it was indeed us that Watari had been referring to. "Sure it's a weird arrangement… but it's hardly mutual! Totally him, y'know! I don't have ANY sort of feelings towards him of ANY sort… Just in case you were thinking that!"

Watari was looking at me curiously and I realized my blabbermouth had taken me too far as usual. Hoping to redirect the conversation, I shoved the last couple of boxes aside, revealing the steel entranceway in all its' glory.

"Well, there's the door. Shall we go?"

"Let's." Watari agreed, moving over to stand beside me. I wanted to wipe that smug little smile right off of his face. "Before you stick your foot any further up your ass than you already have."

I felt my face flushing violently and looked away from him, even though he wasn't likely to see my embarrassment in the dark. With a resigned nod, I pressed both hands against the door bars and pushed hard, expecting them to swing open immediately. They rattled dangerously in their hinges but didn't move an inch. I tried pulling next but that was even less helpful. As I rotated between pushing and pulling with close to hysterical determination, Watari tapped me on the shoulder and pointed something out with the key chain light.

"Lookie." He said, though I guessed that's what he wanted me to do in the first place. I let go of the door handles and glanced down to where the light was aimed. It was a keypad. 9 numbered buttons in total, the wiring leading into the wall. I groaned, smacking my hand against the door.

"Great, just great!" I cursed, not bothering to hide my frustration. "It's locked by a code. Now we'll have to go wandering about looking for the damn password, just so we can get through!"

"Actually, I don't think we'll need to go far." Watari corrected, bringing the flashlight over and shining it on the left hand door, not an inch or so from my face. I blinked in the harsh illumination and squinted at what appeared to be a long string of words, written in red and sequenced into shabbily constructed stanzas.

"What is this? Some kind of poem?" I wondered. I leant close and read the scrawled hiragana and katakana out loud:

The Face of the Sinner

The face of the Sinner stares up upon you

An amethyst gaze, so tender and true

Retribution calls, the damned pray in hope

By dawn the felons shall swing by a rope

But what mask wears each sinner?

What does each soul deserve?

What crimes are their memories?

How many will burn?

Should you wish to proceed

To the answers within

Solve these sins that are not yet sinned

This mans thoughts, for one alone

His crimes so deep he could never atone

He declares his love, then hides his heart

He means to tear your mind apart

Hear the words he speaks for you

These silent words are his most true

Eight numbers hide inside these words,

The key to tomorrow within each verse

Should you wish to see within

Solve these sins that are not yet sinned

"Your amethyst eyes, so deep and so true---

You are looking at me as I am looking at you.

You wear no pain but the marks on each wrist

The perfection of time and every last kiss

I place my finger upon your lips

My every breath fumbles and trips

My heart is in turmoil

Your innocence remains unspoiled

Ah, how you torment me!

Your beautiful smile, your sumptuous lips

Before my crimes, you deny salvation

I must destroy you, to destroy myself

I lean forward and kiss your mouth

Would you shiver and curse my name?

Ah, but I know your weakness' as well as you know your own

That is your sin, your contemptible shame

I taste your tongue, you close your eyes

Before I know it, my teeth bite down

So now you scream, and thrash and cry

The blood drips down onto the ground

But still you are so beautiful

How can your blood arouse me so?

I clutch your face with my right hand

And sink my lips upon your nose

The taste! Your screams! The more that I need!

I drag my nails across your cheek

The blood that spurts, your painful shrieks

A melody of destruction weeps

What should be next? I can't decide?

To tear from you, your ears or eyes?

Into darkness you could disappear

Or your own sweet screams you would not hear.

At first the left, so the right will hear

Then the right, the cartilage soft and sweet

Down your face, flow your guiltless tears

I lap the warmth from each round cheek

The last you see, before darkness descends

Are both my thumbs upon each eye

Your screams are mute, your thoughts are dead

'Goodbye to the light, my love. Goodbye."

Eight numbers hide inside these words,

The key to tomorrow within each verse

Should you wish to see within

Solve these sins that are not yet sinned

"Cute." I said sarcastically.

"It's a puzzle." Watari deduced, stepping around me and leaning close to the door, index finger and thumb pressed against his chin in the classical gesture of curiosity. "And it's more than obscure enough to be incredibly annoying."

I took a step back from the doorway, one arm positioned protectively before my face.

"It's damn sick, that's what it is! Who the Hell would write something like that? And for what reason? Forget about it. It's not gonna help us get through the door any faster, now is it?"

"I beg to differ." Watari released his chin and set his hand on the title of the poem. He worked his fingers down to mark each stanza, such as children moved their hands when reciting the 'Eensy Weensy Spider' song. "The answer is right here in front of us, we're just not meant to see it right away. Whoever wrote this lyrical verse wants us to think about this a little."

Judging from the complexity of the poem, I gathered this unknown poet wanted us to think about his or her words for the next century or so. On my own I sincerely doubted that I would have been able to decipher the obscure jargon. I couldn't get through a crossword puzzle without running to Tatsumi for help! I may have been a detective, but that shouldn't have suggested that I enjoyed straining my brain over every little detail I was presented with. I much preferred things to be straightforward. My perplexing relationship with Muraki had already tested my mental acuity to the limit; I was certainly in no mood for this sort of nonsense!

"I don't wanna think about it." I said, knowing I sounded childish, though not particularly caring. I was so tired and fed up with being jerked around all the time. Lately I'd felt like nothing but a dancing puppet on the end of tangled strings, being jerked here and there about the place but unable to be properly directed whilst the knots remained. To be honest, I didn't even want to try figuring the poem out. I had no idea where to begin. My brain hurt just thinking about working on it!

I sighed; a deep physical representation of my weariness and sat down hard on the white floor, chin cupped in my hands and elbows rested on my knees.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this… but I kind of wish Muraki was here." I said, pulling the small journal out of my shirt pocket and flicking back through the pages. You know… in case the door code had been scribbled there, undetected by my previous examination. "I bet he'd get a real kick from deciphering such a gory puzzle as this."

Watari glanced down at me and plucked the key chain light out of my hand, bringing the light back over to the door. He pursed his lips and made a few 'put-put-put' sounds, then tucked his hair behind his ear. All his very worst and most annoying habits were making their appearance now.

"You're probably not going to like this Tsuzuki but hear me out -" He tapped the first stanza and then the sixth, one after the other. "- I think there's a good possibility that Muraki is our poet."

"Eh?!" I shot back to my feet in flash, so quickly in fact that the resulting breeze momentarily blew Watari's paper dress askew. Now I was definitely glad I'd leant him my boxers. "Muraki? How could Muraki be the poet? Are you saying he's wandering around here somewhere?" Instantly I spun around and scanned the hallway behind me, just to be sure that the perverted physician wasn't slouching up behind me to validate his presence. Thankfully I was met with nothing but the eternal searing darkness, so black it looked wet. No crystal blue eye pierced me through the gloom.

Watari shuddered. "I certainly hope not. I mean – no offense to you Mr. 'Hey-we'll-probably-maybe-possibly-be-doing-it-soon', but that guy really isn't my cup of tea. Gives me the creeps, actually."

I nodded. "That's okay. He hates you too." I ignored his huffy expression and joined him in front of the door again. "So, why do you think Muraki was responsible for this? Which stanza's did you point out again – the first and sixth ones, right?"

"Right." He affirmed, shining the key chain light back to the top of the poem so that I could read it again. "It just sounds to me as though the entire poem itself has been written about you, from Muraki's perspective. Don't you think?"

I re-read the two stanzas Watari had indicated and then read the entire poem from beginning to end, just to be sure. It did sort of sound like something Muraki would say about me… or rather think about me.

"He did once say he would have to destroy me, because he loved me so much." I confessed, not even pausing long enough to feel embarrassed about that candid conversation so long ago in Kyoto. "There is a mention of that here… and the color of my eyes…" I scowled. "Damn… why does there always need to be a mention of that? Isn't my beautiful personality worth noting from time to time?"

"Not particularly." Watari teased. Before I could smack him for the offending comment, the markings on his arm starting to glow a vibrant red and he clutched the joint of his elbow where they had ceased their progression, gritting his teeth against the pain. I leaned close, placing my hand on the center of his back.

"Is it spreading again?" I asked, wondering if perhaps I was more fearful of the brandings than he was. Watari breathed deeply and straightened up, pulling his lips back into his usual trademark smile. I was starting to resent that smile. When compared to the times when he was truly happy, I couldn't help but see the reality of just how cold his face was at moments such as this. When he smiled not for his benefit but as a means of reassuring those that might have otherwise offered him sympathy.

Just as one hand blocks and the other one welcomes. That smile was telling me to back off. Don't help me. Don't sympathize with me. I'm fine.

"Hey, instead of wasting effort on worrying about me, how 'bout putting a bit of noggin into figuring out this puzzle, eh?"

I grumbled audibly as I looked back over toward the red lettering scribbled down the door.

"What's there to figure out? Someone, who might be Muraki, wrote me a Valentine, big deal. I'll be happy just so long as he doesn't actually do any of that crap to me. Then we might have issues."

Watari nodded thoughtfully, squinting at the small text on the door. He'd always had problems with his eyesight. Without his glasses he was practically blind. I wasn't sure how he coped at nighttime. He told me once that he sort of just bumps into things and ricochets around his apartment. I suggested he get contacts once but he just shrugged it off, explaining that he got a bit creeped out by anything touching his eyes. Yeah, one of those eyeball people. The kind you can gross out by pulling back your eyelid and poking the corner of your eyeball. I bet just reading the lines in the poem about 'Muraki' putting my eyes out with his thumbs was disturbing him. Not that he was the only one mind.

"You notice how there's a common theme?" Watari was still musing, still convinced that the answer was right here before us. "See? The last few lines all but tell us that the numbers to open the door are right here in front of us! It's an 8 number combination…" He looked over, noticing the calico journal clutched in one of my hands. "You got a pen? I think we'll need to write this down as we figure it out…"

"Good luck with that!" I snorted but nonetheless tried to be useful by searching my pockets for anything that might have passed for a pen. It just so happened that I had a small pencil nub in my shirt pocket. I usually kept it there for emergencies – you know, if I went out drinking and happened to meet someone who needed me to write down my number… Hey, it has happened before! And what I wouldn't have done for a pen on those occasions in which I didn't have one.

I pried open the calico journal and exposed a blank page, readying the pencil nub astride one of the blue lines. Watari stepped back from the doorway, arms crossed, thinking. I waited for the impending epiphany, drumming the pencil impatiently and watching the light from the key chain dancing across the door. Watari took his sweet time. We stood in silence for two minutes, at the very least.

"The theme…" Watari finally announced, in his very best Old Testament voice. " – is both sin… and a face. It is your face but the puzzle is directing us to look outside of the literal sense. Notice the first stanza? It is outside of the reference to Muraki's… 'thoughts' as they were and they refer to the face of the sinner 'looking up upon you.' The 'you' in the poem is actually 'us'. So 'something' is looking up at us. What's below our direct eye line, Tsuzuki?"

"Don't ask me." I sighed, chewing on the end of the pencil. "You're the scientist here, not me."

"As you so constantly remind me with your belligerent attitude." He was all but trying to keep from snapping at me. "Could you at least pretend to be helpful?"

"Helpful? Right. I'll show you helpful." I slammed the book shut and shoved it into my shirt pocket again, positioning my now vacated hands before my body in the summoning preparation position. "I'll summon one of the 12 Gods to blow this door to pieces. To Hell with the damn poem!"

"Our powers don't work here." Watari insisted. But I got the feeling he was only assuming that and hadn't actually attempted to use them. His powers were hopeless in the best of situations. Yeah that's right, you heard me. "If they did, I'd use your pencil and draw an opening through the door for us to step through."

I snorted. "Your powers have been so crap lately, I'd be worried the opening would close around my middle!"

Watari shone the light in my eyes, momentarily blinding me.

"Don't forget it was those crap powers that snatched you out of Hakushaku's perverted storybook, Tsuzuki." He reminded me as I rubbed my eyes feverishly. Dots continued to dance across my vision even when Watari had redirected the small beam. "It hurts me to realize that even Tatsumi has more faith in my powers than you!"

I made to retort to his words but realized there was no point in continuing along with that argument. He was right, in a sense. It was better to focus our efforts on overcoming this particular barrier, rather than using it to conjure up new reasons to snipe at one another. I guess I was just frustrated with the way things had been going lately. Also, I didn't exactly relish the idea of examining the poem in depth. The theme of decimation and the imbibing of my facial features were all too reminiscent of what had passed between Muraki and I just before I had stepped into this nightmare world. Only the poem didn't make any indication of the cannibalistic nature having a means to an end, as such, restoring his spiritual essence. It was harsh, violent and completely and utterly focused on Muraki's personal vendetta against my face.

- and suddenly, I had it. I knew how the poem worked, if not the exact solution.

"The theme is a face…" I murmured, moving around Watari to stand before the keypad. I leant down close to it. Closer still. "If I'm not mistaken… ah! It makes sense!"

Watari nodded, with no small amount of satisfaction. "Ah… so the ball finally drops. Yep. The keypad-"

"Represents a face!" I couldn't help myself. I slapped Watari a high five, not caring how dorky it looked. "It's below our line of sight, so the face is looking up at us!" That's when I felt my own face physically drop. "Wait… but that keypad looks nothing like a face!"

Watari nodded, tapping the corner of the flat surface with his nail. "No but you said it yourself. It doesn't so much look like a face. But then again, it doesn't have to. It is only meant to represent a face. Let's take a closer look, shall we?"

1 2 3

4 5 6

7 8 9

The more I looked at it, the less sense it seemed to make to me.

"Yeah… That keypad and I? Separated at birth. We could be twins."

"You're just not looking at this metaphorically!" Watari scolded, who contrary to my dull mood seemed quite cheerful. Right, I forgot. The man loves a challenge. Hated losing but liked the process of deconstructing a conundrum that any other normal person would have found mentally tenuous. "Think of the human face and then compare the number pad. You could actually assign each number to a part of the face. Look." He put his right hand over his face, fingers branching across his forehead, pinky finger and thumb resting on his cheekbones. "The eyes are somewhat at the top of the head, right? So… 1 and 3 would be the eyes…"

I ran my fingers across the top of my face, brushing aside my bangs to expose my forehead.

"Um… actually the eyes are more towards the center of the face…" I offered, running my fingers down to brush across my eyelashes. I could remember Muraki doing that at some stage and wondered if I would ever be able to let him do it again without thinking back to this poem and its stanza devoted to eye gouging. "So, wouldn't 4 and 6 be the eyes and 1, 2 and 3 the forehead?"

The scientist shook his head. "Uh-uh. I thought that myself at first but the forehead couldn't possibly be divided up into three sections. The poem doesn't refer to the forehead at all, so I think we can safely eradicate that from the equation. I really think that 1 and 3 refer to the eyes. Could you write that down for me?"

I removed the book from my pocket and quickly drew a copy of the keypad onto one of the blank pages. It was hard to see what I was doing in the dark. Still, I was able to draw two arrows indicating numbers 1 and 3 as the eyes of our 'figurative' face.

"What would 4 and 6 be then, do you think?" I asked, once I had finished. Watari turned to face me, holding his hands up to his ears and pulling on them so that they stuck out slightly.

"The ears are below the eyes on each side of the head." He explained, bringing his fingers forward towards his nose. "Notice my nose is in the middle, between the ears? Both the nose and the ears are referred to, so I think they're a pretty safe bet."

I jotted that down and examined the representation I had made in the notebook. I didn't need Watari's help to figure out the rest.

"Right below the nose is the mouth. Mouth, lips and tongue are all represented by number 8!"

"Right!" Watari enthused as I marked number 8 as the mouth. I could tell he was really enjoying himself. Having a great time! It was a damn sight improvement to how melancholy he had been down in the basement, so I didn't bother scolding him for his enthusiastic behavior. "And your cheeks are actually on either side of your mouth, not under your eyes. They're technically the cheekbones. So the cheeks are numbers 7 and 9."

I marked those down as well. By now we had the face well and truly covered.

"Okay." I said, holding the notepad out for Watari's inspection. "Does this all seem right to you?"

He shone the light down onto the page and took a closer look at my scribbling.

1 and 3 Eyes

5 Nose

8 Lips

7 and 9 Cheeks

4 and 6 Ears

"So now we have numbers to ascribe to the facial features mentioned in the poem." Watari established, handing the journal back to me. "I just hope we're right the first time, because the idea that we have to go to any more effort to get out of here… well… let's just say it's tantrum inspiring!"

I nodded. "Agreed. Guess we break down the stanza's now, huh?"

Watari slapped my back merrily. "Hey, don't get too depressed about it, good buddy! We're only talking about Muraki rearranging your pretty little face." He chuffed far too merrily. "Though I don't think it needs to be mentioned that my boyfriend hasn't written any disturbing poetry about me."

"Oh give it a few more days and I'm sure he'll have something scribbled out on the bathroom wall." I couldn't believe we'd actually regressed to arguing over who had the most normal lover. Like I needed to be reminded that Muraki had the moralistic values of Hannibal Lector. And judging by the poem, perhaps even the same tastes.

"All he needs is my face and a nice keyante…" I mumbled with a sigh. Watari cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Eh?"

"Never mind. Let's figure this thing out, eh?"

We set to work deciphering the poem. The first stanza, well that just told us that the keypad represented a face, so we could basically discard the rest of that. Though… a part of it worried me, I'll admit. The entire theme of the poem kept revisiting the theme of sin and retribution. Perhaps it made sense… our entire existences, be as they may, revolved around judgment, atonement and retribution. The fact that the poet referred to a capital form of punishment was what concerned me the most, however. 'Swinging by a rope by dawn…' as though judgment for the 'felons' was close at hand. I was frightened by those words. I was a sinner. The keypad was a representation of my face, which is why the poem was titled 'The face of the sinner'. Of that I had little doubt. The poem called for us to look into our hearts and confront what we had done. That's what it wanted us to see before we could enter.

The second stanza, I guess it submitted the idea that evil wears many masks, if one wants to reuse an old cliché. Again, not particularly useful in the discovery of the code. Dismissible. Disturbing. But dismissible.

The fourth part became more personable. It did seem to be about Muraki. His thoughts were for the most part continuously focused on me and had been for some time, if I could trust any of his words. His crimes were unforgivable, of that there is no doubt and since the moment he had first entered my world, he had attacked my already fragile mental state. 'Tearing my mind apart.' Yeah. It had to be Muraki. If we were to take the 'object of affection' in the poem as myself.

"Amethyst eyes," Watari read aloud, grinning over at me. "Sorry, mate. There ain't too many guys around with eyes like yours. If you don't include anything written by Mills and Boone that is…"

I was just starting to feel like I could figure the whole thing out. I still wasn't as psyched about it as Watari but as the process became more fluid; a strange sort of excitement did start to sweep through me.

"This line here, 'You are looking at me as I am looking at you.' Clearly refers to the reader, us, looking down at the number pad. And the sign of no pain… no… physical imperfections." I blushed, feeling that this was perhaps a little too bold of me. It had only been a few hours prior that I had examined my body in the bathroom mirror and ascertained as much from my visual assessment. It certainly wasn't something I was proud of. "Only the scars on each wrist… from where I tried to kill myself."

Watari inclined his head a little but didn't say anything. He wasn't big on the pity thing, Watari, so he would rather say nothing at all, then risk saying the wrong thing.

"The next couple of stanza's just yap on about him thinking you're hot stuff and how bad it makes him feel to love you too much and so now he has to break your face." He gave a big fake sigh. "How romantic… he should sell the rights to Disney."

I leaned close, quickly scanning down through the next few lines. "Could the first number be 8?"

"From the finger pressed against the lips?" Watari asked, leaning additionally close and pulling his eyes mostly shut to focus the letters. I felt bad about his sorry eyesight. It must have been a real pain, especially in the dark.

"I was actually thinking about the kiss." I said, pointing to further down the poem. "Do you think the finger pressed to the lips would count?"

Watari nodded erratically. "Yeah. Definitely. It says 'press'. What do you do to buttons? You press them. I think that refers to the number 8, which we decided was the mouth. So yes… 8 is the first number. And the second. From the kiss."

I jotted that down, wondering whether Muraki actually considered such dark thoughts whenever we shared a kiss. I'd always assumed that any internalizations he was having at a moment like that, was perverted if anything. Goes to show you should never just casually interpret another's motives. People are complex. They have layers. Like cake.

… I prefer cake to onions, all right?

I tapped the next stanza with the pencil nub. "When he… um… bites through the tongue… is that another 8?"

"I'm not sure…" Watari groaned, running his hand back across his forehead, fingers tangling in his upturned bangs. "Damn… it's too late for this… Why didn't I just climb in with Oriya when I had the chance?"

"I'm not sure but after the night I've had, I'm all for climbing in with him too."

Watari chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Sorry. It's back to Mad-Eye with you. Anyway, as for the code… let's see how we do for space. If we're still a number short than we can throw that 8 in there."

We continued to hack our way through the verses. The third number was 5, as it referred to the devouring, or at least the tasting, of the nose. I hoped we weren't expecting to enact the exact actions on the keypad but Watari assured me that we probably just needed to punch in the numbers.

The fourth number turned out to be a little more difficult. We skipped over it at first, then went back to it and stewed over the verse where 'Muraki' dragged his nails down 'my' cheek. Did this take into account the entire portion of the face from the cheekbone down to the cheek? We eventually decided that it referred to the cheek, which had been specifically mentioned. But what side of the face? Was it 9 or 7?

"Is Muraki left handed or right handed?" Watari asked, after we had stewed over the stanza for what felt like forever. I had to actually think hard to remember just which hand it was that he primarily used. You might laugh, but if someone doesn't actually tell you, you wouldn't even be expected to know if they are left or right handed.

"Muraki… he's right handed. I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if he'd used his left hand a lot." I thought back to the second time we had met, just after his bat minions had caused that little girl to collapse on the street. "When we first met we shook hands. He offered his right hand."

"Okay… so, to say he was holding onto the side of 'your' face, then we can probably safely assume that he scratched your left cheek. Which would be number 9."

I scribbled that down. With my right hand. "Hey, Watari? Are you right or left handed?"

He gave me a weird look. "Does it matter?"

"I'm… just curious." I said, not really sure why I had felt the need to ask that in the first place. But there was something there; something just beneath the surface that begged the answer to what might have otherwise been an irrelevant question. Like a splinter in my mind this feeling bothered me but I still wasn't able to fully extricate it.

He continued to stare at me with that same expression. "I'm ambidextrous."

I frowned at him, feeling my cheeks go slightly red. "I didn't ask for your sexual orientation. I asked whether you were right or left-handed! Not what you did with them!"

The strange look just went on and on. Then, he started to laugh. "Ambidextrous means I can use both my right and left hand. I usually write with my left and do everything else with my right."

Talk about feeling stupid. "Oops." I said, trying not to laugh at my own folly. Watari was happy to do it for me. "Oh shut up! Let's do the next number. You can make fun of me later!"

"Oh, I'll pencil it in." Watari said with a very cheerful smile. Sometimes I really couldn't understand that guy. Usually he was so energetic and carefree but when he was bummed out, man! His emotions were always on the extreme. But I suppose I'm not really one to talk, am I?

We returned our attention to the poem. "Okay… so now our dear psychotic friend has touched your lips, munched on your tongue, bitten off your nose and scratched your cheek open." He visibly shuddered. "Damn… talk about your extreme makeover."

"Poor figurative me." I mused. "I think my ears went next. Though he had a hard time deciding whether to do them or my eyes first."

The poem all but threw the next two numbers at me. First the left ear – number 6. And then the right – number 4.

"Notice a pattern?" Watari said, as I marked these two numbers down. There were so many patterns in this garble that I didn't even know which one to point out.

"What do you see?" I asked, hoping for a different interpretation. Watari didn't disappoint.

"The rearrangement of your face has become more than just a mindless act of destruction. Muraki is effectively destroying all of your senses, leaving you in darkness." He pointed out the numbers on the keypad, using that to represent the face. "See? First the sense of taste and speech. Then the sense of smell. Now your ears, so you cannot hear. And last your eyes… both at the same time." He paused to consider that. "The last two numbers are 3 and 1, then. But they have to be pressed at the same time, just like Muraki takes out your eyes in the poem. Simultaneously."

"We're not positive that this was written by Muraki." I said, feeling just a little annoyed and yes I'll admit, a little defensive. Oh, don't look so smug, Muraki. "This could just be someone's twisted interpretation of him."

"Like Muraki isn't disturbing enough on his own." Watari held up a hand, warding me off. "Okay, okay, I'll back off. Let's just tap this code in and hope we got it right in the one go."

I handed Watari the journal, making sure he could see my seething expression in the light from the key chain. He chose to ignore me and quickly punched in the code: 8, 8, 5, 9, 6, 4 and then 3 and 1 at the same time. It was strange to think of him re-enacting some appalling tapestry on something that was supposed to represent my face. Thankfully, once the final two numbers had been depressed, a deep metallic click echoed from the door lock and I forgot about whatever psychological babble had been coursing through my brain, returning to the happy familiar blankness I was so accustomed to.

Watari rattled the door handle and we both breathed a big sigh of relief, as it swung inward.

"Ha! Nice try, you bastards. But not good enough." Watari laughed brazenly, pushing both doors all the way open. I was relieved and grateful to have gotten past the puzzle but another part of me was openly confused by the complexity of it all.

"What was the point…?" I murmured, tucking the calico journal away and stepping forward to join Watari at the doorway. "Why would anyone want to construct such an obscure puzzle just to open a door?"

Watari shrugged, meaning to imply that he had no unique interpretation but then went on to offer it anyway. "Why? Because someone is messing with us. Because power becomes boring after a while and sooner or later those that sit on it regress back to playing childish secret agent games. It must be exciting or something for them. That's what I think. Sometimes, people just like to play with the minds of others. Why? Because they can and because no one stops them."

His face was carefully neutral but I judged from the tone of his voice that as much as he had enjoyed working through the puzzle, it shouldn't have implied that he was in any way impressed by it. To him, I suppose, it represented an abuse of intelligence. To orchestrate power with deliberately callous intentions towards those that would have struggled, frantic to overcome these caustic roadblocks.

The world was full of people like that. I'd been witness to the cruel nature of humans and demons alike. Yet, those words had still surprised me. I couldn't even imagine Muraki doing something like that. It seemed so… fitfully childish. Children grew up. They grew out of playing secret games, invisible ink and obscure code words. It looked great in movies with 007 playing the part of the sophisticated secret agent with all his wacky gizmo's, flash cars and finely pressed suits but real life wasn't anything so dramatic. People longed for a maturity, which came part in parcel with leaving fantasy and illusion behind. We all knew very well that a rabbit doesn't magically appear beneath a hat; it is lifted into position by a mechanism beneath the stage curtain.

This poem was childish maliciousness. And it frightened me. The idea of dealing with a power that could amuse itself so easily just by watching us squirm… the mind of a child with the power of God at its' fingertips should be more frightening than the Devil himself.

And so, I was done with it all. I was eager to wrap all this up and step through the door, praying that it would lead to my awakening on the bathroom floor with only Muraki to concern myself with. Better the evil you know, as the saying goes.

We stepped through the doorway, side by side, feet perfectly in synch. It might have looked funny in any other situation but I was a little weary of humor right then. I was disappointed to find that the doorway did not lead to my miraculous awakening but instead opened up into another long passageway, descending downward almost dramatically. It was lit, for which I was grateful. Naked overhead bulbs flickered along the roof, illuminating the passage for as far as I could see. It was certainly no longer connected to my 'supposed' hospital fabrication. The walls and floor were a sort of sickly green, the kind of color that makes you inadvertently think of the dentist.

We started down it, leaning back on our center of gravity to keep from tilting over and rolling all the way to the bottom. After a couple of steps I felt something grab my hand and nearly threw myself forward in shock before I realized that it was only Watari. I reflexively battered his fingers away, not feeling particularly touchy feely right at that moment.

"Tsuzuki, I need to hold your hand." He insisted, no longer continuing forward and just standing on the spot, giving me a rather dirty look. I shook my head at him.

"Forget it. I gave you my jacket and my boxers but there's no way I'm holding hands with you." It was a different matter if we had been drinking or for whatever reason were in a particularly good mood but any other time – no way. Full-grown men, even if they were gay or bisexual, didn't have to go around holding hands just because they were scared. Today's generation, I tell you! Nothing but a big society of huggers and hand holders and arm linkers – it just wasn't right!

Watari's eyebrows came down even further. I couldn't remember the last time that he and I had been in such a bad mood with each other. I could tell I was annoying the shit out of him and vice versa! Ordinarily, it would have meant more to me, this shift in our relationship but the longer we stayed in that alternate plane, the more negative an influence it seemed to have on our personality. And even with this in consideration, I just didn't particularly care enough to do anything about it.

"Tsuzuki, I can barely see ten feet in front of me! My vision is worse than ever!" He swayed a little and clutched at the aggressive brandings across his arm. "Not to mention this! It just keeps throbbing and burning! I could lose my balance if the distraction becomes too great."

"Couldn't you just hold my arm or something?" I whined. He sighed very slowly and I could tell he was trying desperately not to spit chips at me.

"I'll level with you… I need to keep my balance but I'm also… a little afraid."

I groaned, just so he would know what a big pain he was and grabbed his hand, tucking it through my arm and holding it with both of my own.

"We'll go down slowly. There's nothing to be afraid of, Watari. This is a cakewalk compared to what my day job is usually like."

"Yeah, well that's easy for you to say." Watari grumbled as we slowly continued our descent. I wondered if it was just my imagination, or if the lights were indeed starting to grow dimmer the further down we went. "You're a field op. Me? I just quietly sit behind my computer minding my own business. This is all just a little new to me, y'know?"

I started to say something in response when a keening wail broke out through the darkness directly below us. It was just on the edge of my audial range but I thought I could recognize what it was. The sound of a baby crying. Just one piercing scream to express agitation or even fear… you should never hope to hear an infant make that sound. It stirs something deep within your soul, the defensive part of yourself and you just want to run toward that child and rescue them. All adults must feel that impulse at some level, whether they're a parent or not.

Watari and I froze where we stood and exchanged a look. I gathered he'd had the same fleeting inclination that I had entertained only moments before. But Watari's was stronger. I could actually feel him surging against my grip on his arm.

"A child? In this place?" He wondered aloud. I shook my head.

"It's a trap. Gotta be. Whatever's in charge here is luring us like a siren."

"But there's only one way to go and that's straight ahead… where the cry came from." Watari adjusted his glasses out of habit and then tucked back some stray hair that had fallen free from the curve of his ear. "Playing more games, huh?"

Against our better judgment we continued on. It wasn't as though we had many alternatives at that stage. The hallway eventually terminated and we both groaned simultaneously at what we were confronted with at the very end.

Another door. Only this one was wooden and there was no keypad lodged into the wall beside it. I tried not to get my hopes up, telling myself that we would need to go hunting for a key, or that the door would open up revealing a blank wall beyond with no way out – I went through a million options of how this could all go majestically wrong for us. But when I reached out to turn the handle, it went along uninhibited. I could have wept with joy. As long as I didn't stint too deeply on the aforementioned babies scream, that is.

"Thank God…" I stated, turning on Watari with one of the few genuine smiles I'd had since we'd entered this nightmare world. "If this had turned out to be another damn puzzle, I would have been more than just a little pissed. How about you?"

Watari was staring at the left hand wall and didn't seem to hear me. I reached out and shook his shoulder, not exactly gently either.

"Hey… you alright, man?"

He looked over at me, shocked, as though I'd woken him from a light slumber. He gestured to the space of wall he'd been so preoccupied with.

"Look at this."

I leaned forward to see around him and was face to face with more red scripture.

"Katakana and Kanji this time…" I said, curling my lip at the distinctively untidy Japanese characters. "Talk about messy…"

Watari bit his lip, trailing his fingers down from line to line, reading and then from the looks of it, reading it through again. I couldn't see why it demanded his attention such as it did. Then I too read the words:

Before you go, let me bend your ear

For you dear Yutaka, this story's quite near

Consider these words, do they make any sense?

Solve my riddle, before the tale is spent.

"Where would you go,"

"Where would you go,"

What is the answer you wanted to know?

'Where would you go'; what does it mean?

Why would the master, destroy his own Queens?

So, think about this, now you should understand

Where did you go, when you were touched by that man?

Where did you go?

When you had been plundered?

To the depths of the earth

Where the dead are interred?

Solve my riddle, to stay my hand

The answer is simple, the story is sad

Where did you go, once the man had his way?

There's only one place, where sin's washed away

"Playing your mind games again, are you?" I snarled, yanking Watari and his traumatized features away from the wall. "Well we're not getting caught up in that nonsense again, you childish bastard! Let's move it, Watari."

I pulled him along behind me without further protest and pushed open the door before I could lose my nerve. I took a step inside and just as soon came tumbling back from the doorway, hand clasped over my face, swallowing down a meaty gag reflex. The room smelt like death. As though hundreds of bodies had been sealed inside for weeks on end, with all the heaters turned on at full force. My first thought was 'offal pit'. The stench of decomposition. It was without a doubt the worst smell I had ever stumbled across. It made me long for the nose biting mentioned in our gory limerick upstairs.

Watari stumbled back from the open doorway, gasping into his hand and then turning away with violent retching noises. He didn't actually vomit but from the sounds of it came pretty damned close.

"That's… putrid!" He finally said, turning back towards me with a great deal of effort. "I've smelt my fair share of bad smells but that is possibly the very worst. We can't go in there!"

I almost agreed with him. The room smelt so bad… I felt for sure that if I stepped inside I would pass out within minutes. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. Falling asleep in this world may just have been my ticket back to reality.

Watari seemed to realize in just what direction my mind was leaning and he shook his head wildly at me.

"Oh, no, no, no, no… You can't possibly be thinking about going in there?!"

"Well, where else are we supposed to go?" I reasoned, having thus committed myself. "There's no way I'm turning back after all the trouble we went to just getting through that door."

Watari grumbled disgustedly but I could see he knew I was right. "Well, let's at least cover our faces." He said, reaching down and tearing off the hem of his paper dress. He ripped it in two and held out one piece to me. "Put that over your nose and mouth and breathe through it. It might be the only way we'll get there without passing out."

I accepted the strip of fabric and pressed it over the lower half of my face. It insulated my sense of smell to a degree but the foul odor still lingered. The makeshift facemask made it just tolerable.

I gestured with my head toward the door and Watari reluctantly stepped forward. We entered the room, side by side. This time, I didn't mind holding hands. I steeled myself for the certainty that we were about to be confronted with something unspeakable. The internalizations were nothing however, whence compared to the stark reality of what awaited us within that room.

We had not moved three feet into the gloom beyond, when the door slammed shut, sealing us in impenetrable darkness. The nauseating smell grew stronger. It overpowered my senses. I coughed into the material, wincing as Watari's hand tightened and shook convulsively in my grip. I stumbled backwards and felt something wet and solid strike the back of my shirt. It made a 'squish' sound, like uncooked meat.

"Watari… there's something in here!" I pulled away from whatever it was I had hit. I could feel the residual juices running down the inside of my shirt.

"Yeah, my hand just landed on something…" Watari was trying to sound composed but his voice trembled badly. "It… it felt like…"

We both knew what it felt like but we didn't want to say it. I scrambled for the key chain light and held it up in my shaking hand. Before I had the chance to flip it on however, a great flash of light suddenly blasted down from above our heads. We looked up simultaneously at the high ceiling. From what I gathered, we were in some kind of warehouse. There were eight lights total. I counted them as they flashed on, one by one, the last bulb flickering from faulty service connection. I guess it was easier to focus on this then it was to comprehend what was down at our level.

'Corpses!' My mind screamed, though a small gurgling hiccup was the only sound my body was able to produce. 'They're corpses!'

Decomposing human bodies were hanging from the rafters like ties on a rack. Rusted chains had been wrapped around their ankles, the fingers of their lank arms brushing the floor. The most disturbing aspect however was that each individual corpse had been partially skinned from the feet down to their waists. The loose, still clammy skin hung down from the hips of each victim like some obscene skirt. The front of their bodies had been cut open, exposing gaping red organs, intestines trailing down over their naked bloodied chests, eyes milky white in putrefaction. The closet one was barely two feet from my face. It slowly circled beneath the violently harsh white lights, mouth gaping hideously at me from its slimy, glazed face. Part of the jaw had been ripped away. The unnaturally white teeth protruded out from glaringly pink gums.

These bodies… they had been hung up like cow carcasses in a slaughterhouse. There was no blood on the floor. The corpses were being bled into buckets that resided beneath their languidly swaying bodies. The buckets were near overflowing. Chunks of flesh and human hair were floating in the closest container. No wonder it stunk so bad.

Watari and I stood back to back, pulling as close to one another as we were able. The idea that I had run into one of these things in the dark made my mind want to turn over on itself. I could feel a strange swelling pressure creeping up through my chest and realized I was being overcome by the burgeoning urge to giggle. Great. Hysteria. I forced the laughter down, knowing that if I started giggling I would never be able to stop. I'd end up an insane twitching wretch, curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth and drawing on the floor with my own saliva.

"Tsuzuki… stay calm. We can get through this." Watari's voice slightly muffled through the fabric over his mouth. I felt his hand tighten on mine. "It's awful, I know. But they're just bodies… just empty human vessels."

I shut my eyes tight, conjuring up an image of all the corpses disappearing. I focused on that scene with all my might, thinking back to Watari's words upstairs. We had a certain amount of control. I would make these atrocities go away, even if it took a burst blood vessel to do it.

"Let's just… push through. I'll go first. As long as we stick together… it'll be okay."

I opened my eyes, slowly, regretfully. The bodies were still there, still as gruesome as ever. A frustrated moan burst out my throat.

"Watari, look at what's been done to them!" My eyes were starting to brim with tears and at first I thought my empathy for these nameless victims was getting the best of me but then I realized that the smell was making my eyes water. "I don't think I can take much more of this… "

Watari turned around and gently pulled me around to face him. His face was as pale and frightened as I'm sure mine was. His blond hair was stained with blood from where he had come into contact with one of the bodies. With his free hand, since wiped clean on the hospital gown, he covered my eyes, forcing them closed. Then he pulled me in tight against his back, holding me around the waist.

"I'm more used to seeing bodies in this state than you. Just keep close."

I was wrapped in darkness. Coveted. But still I couldn't keep my body from shaking, couldn't push away those images from my mind. I could only trust that Watari would guide me faithfully through the remaining maze of carcasses. The corpses had been positioned so closely together that I couldn't see how we could possibly make it through without coming into contact with them. Before I had time to stint on this too deeply, Watari gently tugged on my hand, instigating our progression into the depths of the corpse forest. I followed along in his wake, pressing myself as close to his body as possible. I knew I was being a coward about this but confirming it was no more persuasive an argument than any other contention I could level against myself. My chest pounded from lack of sufficient oxygen, a sharp pain splintering through my heart with each slow, paranoid step forward. My body and soul were physically damaged by the images I had witnessed. It felt as though the very air sucked out a piece of my strength, with each 'breath' I took. But was this my real body that was being affected? I didn't see how it could possibly be. 'To be,' to exist, versus the non-existence. Was I here, or had my consciousness been somehow separated from my body? Had Ruka stretched out her hands through that mirror and virtually yanked my soul free from the constraints of my physical self? And if I were to accept this inexplicable truth, then how was I intended to ascertain the repercussions that this alternate reality was having on 'me'? If my soul had taken on some physical representation in that 'other place', than any injury, every attack frayed my conscious self, the most delicate and vulnerable part of me. The thought was frightening. This unsubstantiated idea, be it real or imagined, that my spirit might be in actual jeopardy, terrified me as evenly as the presence of these ghastly atrocities, that grazed the sides of my body as Watari attempted to maneuver between them.

And so proceeded our cautious advance; Watari in the lead and I suctioned tightly to his side in the manner of an overly adoring leech. It was unavoidable, the occasional brushes of contact we made with the dead but it was maddening nonetheless. You can't possibly imagine the disgusting feeling of colliding with wet, exposed human tissue, unless it happens to you. But Watari did the best job he was able and I admired him all the more for his ability to cope with this disturbing situation. We had been moving forward for what I estimated had been a little over five minutes when Watari suddenly ground to a halt, causing me to step on the back of his foot. He didn't even voice a complaint, so I knew immediately that something was wrong.

"Watari…?" I asked warily, grasping about with my free hand until I was able to find the back of his jacket. I gave it a tight squeeze between my fingers. "What's going on?"

Watari failed to reply and the silence dragged on to the degree that it became more frightening to me than the bodies that may or may not have still surrounded me. I finally plucked up the courage and opened my eyes, no longer able to tolerate the uncertainty.

We had emerged out from the forest of corpses and entered an open area at the far side of the room. The corpses no longer obstructed my view of the surrounding area and I could now see that the right and left hand walls terminated at least three feet above the floor. The area beneath was veiled in complete darkness, obscuring whatever might have been lurking beneath. My imagination threw up a number of certifiable possibilities but even these unseen, unsubstantiated horrors could only hold my attention for so long. An even more alarming sight drew my eyes toward the front of the room. A shrine had been built into the wall. Candles and incense were burning, though I could smell nothing over the intense stench of the dead. A great circular opening had been cut into the floor before the altar, explaining the purpose of the full out bloodletting of the corpses. The blood was used to fill the pool. There didn't appear to be anything in it at the moment.

Above the altar a white ragged square of cloth hung all the way from the ceiling to the floor. A giant circular sigil had been painted on it, in what I assumed, from the current grisly theme, was blood. It looked very similar to the contract that Saagatanusu had written into Otanashi's cornea.

Someone was perched on the altar, legs crossed, head inclined slightly toward the thick novel they held in one hand. Without so much as glancing up, the figure gestured out toward us, indicating the macabre jungle from which we had just emerged.

"Breathtaking, is it not?" The voice was soft, feminine and more than slightly familiar. "Gentleman… you have entered the Room of Corollary. It is a gift to my most loyal servant… Eurynomous adores the taste of the festering."

The figure closed the book and set it down on the altar top, his eyes finally lifting from their downward trajectory. He tilted his body forwards and the light from above drenched his face in a ghostly white illumination, throwing dark shadows beneath his accentuated cheekbones. There was no mistaking those wide blue eyes, framed by delicate light brown lashes and punctured by the smallest pupil in the very center. The messy head of dirty blond hair. And the clothing… almost ridiculously large hiking boots, tiny denim shorts and a white shirt, left unbuttoned and sanctioned around the upper torso in a hastily tied knot…

All drenched in blood.

The white shirt, never to be clean again… the face stained on the left hand side. But no visible wounds. No bandages, nothing to suggest that any of the blood on his body had been his to begin with. But I had seen the proof of this… well, not so much seen but had been witness to it nonetheless. The attack upon him had been unforgivably brutal and though I had held out hope over the passing week, it seemed more reasonable to accept that death had visited the boy.

This unexpected development caused my very breath to knot in my throat. I lowered my hand, allowing the slip of material to fall free and float down towards the floor. I didn't bother to retrieve it, no longer concerned by the vapid smell of the deceased. That had become almost dim in comparison to this new development.

The last time I had seen that face it had been staring out at me through the closing gap of the cinema doors.

"Pandora?" I asked, scarcely allowing myself to feel any hope. The boy tilted his head to the side, expression amused but not warm.

"Yes… and no." He said, without further explanation. Watari pressed forward, also discarding the makeshift mask so that his voice would carry clearly.

"That voice…" He murmured, his eyebrows furrowing in deep consideration. "You're the one that spoke through my mind in the alleyway, weren't you?"

The boy twisted his face in order to direct his attention toward Watari but his eyes failed to match the movement. His impenetrable gaze was locked on me and I squirmed uncomfortably beneath that stare, as though simple eye contact were sufficient permission for him to invade my thoughts and read my every secret like a book. It's hard to explain the feeling that came upon me when that creature looked me in the eyes; as though I were utterly exposed to him, and whatever powers I possessed were laughable whence compared to this gargantuan presence before me.

There's no word to describe that sensation. It's a fear… but a fear that's beyond rational hope. You looked at this creature before you and realized that it was futile to fear for your life because that was not what was in danger. The perpetual gnawing pain that grew in your heart came from the instinctive, unfathomable knowing that your very mind and soul were threatened. And there are no words that come close to describing it.

He spoke to Watari and I somehow got the impression that the boy creature was somehow… satisfied. There was a smarmy quality to his voice that did not match his expression. The face was utterly inscrutable, which pained me when I thought back to how positively expressive Pandora had been.

"Why yes, I did so happen to witness your ironically appropriate plight, stupid Guardian." The creature drawled, raising a hand to indicate some dramatics were in order for his impending recital. "Surely you haven't forgotten? The particular selective purpose of your body, those forty-two years ago? Does this not bring your mind back to those days? A memory, which aligned you ever more closely to that boy you dare think of as a brother. You know well what he suffered. That vice is yours to bear also." He laughed with genuine pleasure, leaning back on the altar and pulling one leg up to his chest, arms wrapped around his ankle. The posture was so typically childlike, that I was once again reminded of Pandora and his juvenile exuberance. "Ah… I do so enjoy seeing the guilty get what they deserve. Justice is the word that denotes the use of every and any means to which we might perpetuate a fitting retribution for those that are responsible for the harm of others." His evil smile found its mark on Watari, Watari who clasped a hand across his face; eyes wide and glaring as though he couldn't believe the audacity of what had just been leveled at him. I could scarcely believe it myself. This creature had all but accused Watari of being a sinner! I couldn't even imagine Watari doing something so evil that he would deserve the title! His cruelest characteristic was that he held no qualms about testing his potions out on anyone he fancied without so much as a warning before the administration of said concoction. Though it was severely annoying (and more often that not, quite embarrassing and inconvenient), it could hardly be labeled a sin. At least, not a serious sin. Not liked murdering someone.

I could feel the anger radiating through my features. Fear does that to you sometimes, makes you aggressive. Makes you want to fight. I took an antagonistic stance, my fists clenched so tightly that they literally shook from pressure. My nails tore into my palms but I ignored this small, insubstantial pain.

"You don't know anything about Watari, so shut your damn face!" I yelled, directing all the frustration and animosity I had previously felt towards someone deserving of it. Eloquent though it was not, I feel I got the point across. But what surprised me more than anything, was that Watari didn't back me up. He touched my arm gently and shook his head, eyes downcast and expression malign.

"Tsuzuki… I think he knows more about me than you realize."

I stepped away from him, confused more than anything. What the Hell was this?

Watari slowly looked up at the creature on the altar and his expression revealed that instinctive sliver of fear I had felt also. So it wasn't just me. But his face also told another story, a story I couldn't see, nor touch, nor understand. The concept of some darker side to Watari was as foreign to me as English.

His face was stricken but there was a bold sort of defensive aggression there too. "Am I not also a victim?" He held that strength in his voice when he spoke. "What was done to me was monstrous…"

The creatures face was unsympathetic."It is the fate of all victims to eventually become sinners. A mind is always stained by the bleeding of its wounds. And thus, these monstrous deeds create even more monstrous the victim."

He said this as though there we no arguing with it. It sounded all too much like the words Muraki had said to me, the countless of times as we had discussed morality versus the darker anatomical truth of our peculiar lineage. He too had said that I was stained and as such, impossible to further ruin.

The boy narrowed his eyes and this was enough to convert his expression to the degree that he became terrifying to behold. Watari and I actually stepped back as one, startled by this degree of… not so much hatred… but raw, unbridled passion for some cause we had little to no understanding of.

"The only true victims," He said. "Are those that have died for no purpose."

"That could apply to just about any Guardian of Death!" Watari countered, sounding more angry now than anything else. The creature was hitting all the right cords in him, producing a violent melody of retaliation. The creature, on whim it seemed, chose to simply ignore this accusation and he shifted the topic of conversation as though it had been particularly boring to begin with.

"I see you wear the mark of the Shukusatsu." He said, sounding more than just a little delighted by this development. "Then again, it shouldn't surprise me. My Apostles can always be trusted to deliver the righteous sword of justice both swift and accordingly."

It was all so confusing; I was finding it difficult to keep up. My previous question had gone unanswered so I brought it back to light for a second attempt at evaluation. "Who… and what the Hell are you? Why are you speaking to us as though you're in the right to convict us?"

A sly, pleased smile stretched across the lower half of the boys face, as though his lips had split up along his cheeks. The air temperature seemed to decrease as the next few words spilled out of his mouth.

"I speak to you as the righteous to the convicted, because that is the true scenario." He said, sliding down off of the altar with all the sinuousness of a snake. He spoke these words as though a simpleton should have well understood the situation. "I am judge… jury… and executor. I am judgment personified. The deliverer of accordance, the righter of wrongs and the supreme punisher." He came to a stop only ten feet away and spread his arms wide, displaying himself to us. "My one true name… is Mitkiel. I am the Demon-God of Punishment."

- End Part Two-