Baccano!: Bedlam's Sojourn

Chapter 2: Bill Sullivan listens to fairy-tales halfway around the world.

The commotion looms...

January 3rd, 1938.

Location: Lisbon, Portugal.

It was mid-afternoon, with clear skies and a radiant sun, in the city of Lisbon, deep in the heart of Portugal. To many, it was the middle of a typical day, with the denizens of the city going about their respective businesses in the sunlit metropolis.

To a certain other who was currently residing in the city, however, the seemingly normal day- combined with most of the past two months- was not normal. This other had been separated from the world of normality for quite some time, being caught up in dealing with something that, over time, had proven itself to be most surreal, so much so that he had preoccupied himself with this aforementioned something that he had, in terms of his work, become detached from his normal job and what his duty often entailed.

This man was Bill Sullivan, a hardened detective hailing from the United States- New York, specifically. The something that he was so focused on was a case, but not any ordinary one, by any means. Indeed, so bizarre was the happening, and so sudden, that he, the majority of the detectives in the Portuguese police force, and even other investigators elsewhere overseas had been firmly captivated by it.

The case in question, too, was one concerning a luxury airship that, only three months to the present, had come crashing down by Portugal's coastline, a flaming wreck in a state of complete and irreversible disrepair, its outside being practically destroyed on impact. Survivors were found in lifeboats dotted in the water, and when Sullivan had heard about the state of the inside of the ship and looked at photographs detailing that state, he thought that it was miraculous that anyone had managed to survive whatever went on inside the airship at all.

These photos depicted a scene of total destruction and utter carnage, and many Portuguese officers, along with Sullivan, were astounded by there being anyone who lived through the chaos that happened inside the luxury vessel in the first place. They and Bill saw shattered windows, entire rooms and all that they contained torn to shreds, bloodied hallways, lifeless corpses scattered throughout the ship, discarded firearms left throughout the craft along with a handful of blades left lying, coated with blood, and all of this captured in black-and-white imagery.

With all of this, it was evidently clear that what happened inside the ship was nothing short of an unadulterated massacre. However, that was only one half of the case, and the half that was, obviously, instantly understandable.

The other half, the one that, conversely, was decisively not immediately understandable, and the one that Sullivan was immersed in, was how the bloodbath occurred.

For every time Sullivan reviewed the scenes of carnage that he had witnessed through those photographs, he made the same conclusions- namely, that any gunfight, no matter how violent, would have to go to incredibly extreme lengths to even come close to result in something similar to how the state of interior of the airship had become. He also deduced that, even with as many blades as there were left discarded about the vessel, no one swordsman could shed that much blood. What was more, certain bodies that had been rather brutally assaulted showed that they had been subjected to neither sword strikes or bullet salvoes; rather, they had been savaged by raw physical strength.

Taking all of this into consideration, Sullivan consistently found himself running into dead ends in trying to find out who perpetrated this atrocity, and the Portuguese police had no better luck either. With what scant clues there were at the scene of the crime leading Sullivan and his co-operators nowhere, interviewing the survivors of the ordeal had to be carried out. Over the last few months, a handful of passengers had been interviewed about the incident, and they had been asked for their eyewitness accounts. In the beginning, however, even these hadn't gotten Sullivan and his team of co-workers far, with many, the incident still being fresh in their memories, being hesitant or unwilling to answer, and what info they did provide didn't aid the investigators in the slightest.

However, today, that was to change.

Inside where Detective Bill Sullivan was currently residing, this place being a police station in central Lisbon, the American man was presently starting to question another survivor, one of three up for questioning.

As Sullivan sat down on his side of a table in an interrogation room, he couldn't help but think that the first person he was to question, who calmly took his own seat, was a little odd. This person was a smirking, squat, portly man dressed in clothes of an immaculate bleach-white colour, small, plump and unprepossessing, with a head of blond hair that almost fell over his left eye, donning spectacles that seemed to gleam almost maliciously, even in the well-lit interrogation room. Sullivan was instantly wary of this fellow- he gave off an air of malevolence through his very appearance alone, and the detective already had suspicions about the man. Still, Sullivan did not let his suspicions get the better of him, and commenced the questioning with the common question of:

"Your name, please."

The man in white's smirk widened, and he answered, rather suavely, in a distinctive German accent, "Max, detective. And, you?"

"Bill Sullivan", the American man replied. Continuing, and still eyeing this 'Max' warily, he said, "Now, you're here for necessary questioning related to what happened on the Fair Lady, of which you were a passenger according to records. We need information from you and other passengers in order to help us in our endeavour to solve this case. Specifically, me and my colleagues require an eyewitness account from you, so if you could tell me what you witnessed during the event..."

"All too willing to oblige, Mr. Sullivan!", Max uttered, somewhat . "Always nice to aid those in need, isn't it? Your profession and ties to the law demand it...but, just as they demand that, they demand my testimony, yes? Now...I'll start from the beginning."

Sullivan then procured a notebook and a pen, readied himself, and went back to eyeing Max, still warily, stating, "Tell me what you know."

"Of course."

And with his face still bearing a smirk, and clasping his hands, Max began to tell his tale.

"Now, before hell broke loose, detective, the day of boarding and much of the sojourn themselves were...normal, simply put. Despite the fanfare of the former and the luxury of the latter, things were trite, humdrum, uneventful", Max said- with him putting emphasis on his last few words, Sullivan noted. "I was merely interested in returning to Germany."

"For what reasons, may I ask?", Sullivan inquired.

"Reasons, detective, that will forever remain unknown to you", Max answered, in a forward manner. "Orders, you see?"

"Orders...?"

Max gave a small nod, then moved on, not addressing Sullivan's somewhat confused statement any longer. "That was all I was interested in. So I spent the majority of the flight in a state of boredom, you see." He then paused, briefly, as if to remember something, and then continued with, "I wasn't, however, entirely without something to entertain me."

"And what did "entertain" you in your apparent period of apathy, your case of the doldrums?"

"I became acquainted with a Japanese girl. She provided decent company during my mostly prosaic voyage."

At this point, a thought entered Sullivan's mind, one that rather alarmed the man.

A Japanese girl? That fits the description of one of the other two people up for questioning...could she be...?

Following this thought, Sullivan then asked of the German man, "Her name?"

"I called her Cuon."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Oh, just a nickname I used for her. So much so in fact," Max admitted with a brief chuckle, "that, to me, the moniker has become the name, it seems! But, that aside, she was just about my only decent company on my platitudinous journey. However..."

Sullivan arched an eyebrow. "However, yes?"

"The situation", Max stated, his eyes widening slightly along with his smirk, which evolved into a small and strangely eerie grin, and his tone changing into something much more lively in nature, "transformed into something a little more...interesting...as time passed."

Concerned, now, about the abrupt change in both Max's expression and tone, the American detective asked, with a degree of evident cautiousness in his voice, jotting down notes all the while, "Care to further explain?"

"Well, detective," Max said, speaking his words with what Sullivan understood as a degree of distinct pleasure, his tone being suddenly much different from the one he had employed to recall the beginnings of his story, with this second shift in the German's tone, from liveliness to an unnerving sense of delight, managing to disturb even a man as experienced as Sullivan in the process, "it was around halfway into the sojourn when things piqued my interest. It was a truly out of the blue occurrence, and one that made the trip a lot more...eventful in my eyes."

"What exactly happened?"

"A disturbance", Max said, still with the same, pleasured tone. "Caused by a group of people dressed in white, and led by a woman who certainly had fire in her. They started off the chaos- took captives, caused some destruction here and there, had fun with their lead-spewing toys...unfortunately," Max said, his tone changing to one that was melancholic in pitch, but mocking in nature, "some of the passengers died in the initial gunfight."

Trying his best not to refrain from commenting on the complete disregard the man showed for the lives lost in the incident, Sullivan questioned, picking up on what Max said last, already having a hint even from when he examined the photographs that some force more malignant than mere thugs was behind all of this, "The initial gunfight?"

"There was a retaliation by several armed passengers soon after chaos broke out. I'm not sure why they sprung up", Max admitted. "Perhaps they saw the people in white as an obstacle in the way of something they themselves were trying to achieve, maybe they were simply resisting to try to get rid of the danger that the figures in white posed, or..."

As Sullivan himself pondered on why supposed normal civilians would contribute to the fracas, he asked, "Go on?"

The German's tone shifted back into the delightful one that he once spoke in. "They may have just joined in for the fun of it."

Again, repulsed by the man's demeanour, Sullivan once more tried to hold back on addressing the way Max spoke, noticing that the German was showing a distinct and disturbing sense of pleasure- love?- for what transpired aboard the airship, and for what he had described. Jotting down yet more notes and eyeing Max more cautiously than before, he inquired, "In the midst of these events, did anything else occur that you noticed?"

"Well, detective," Max said, "I believe that I shall...answer that question with a question."

Max then unclasped his hands and crossed his arms, stared at the detective, and said, his slight grin evolving into a wider one:

"Have you ever heard of valkyries, Mr. Sullivan?"

Sullivan, certainly not expecting such a ludicrous and off-topic question, could only look at the German man, bemused, and state back, "Pardon?"

"Valkyries, detective!", Max exclaimed, with an almost joyful inflection in his voice, despite the overall tone of his voice remaining unchanged. "Shieldmaidens, servants of Odin, those who determine the victors of battles, of wars, and those who select the most heroic warriors of those who die in battle in preparation for further conflict!" He paused to gather breath, and looked at Sullivan with an almost mad gleam in his spectacle-framed eyes. "Have you ever heard of them, detective?"

Sullivan found himself rather taken aback by how passionate this man sounded when answering his inquiry, and with such an awkward phrase, no less, but he still answered Max's peculiar inquiry. "Well, even with your, er, helpful and flowery description, I do know that they were mythological warrior women- why are you bringing them up in here, of all places, though, and what, if any relation do they have to this case?"

"I am bringing them up, detective," Max stated, still grinning widely, madly, like the Cheshire Cat, "because they are who I eventually saw aboard that ship."

Sullivan now reckoned that, along with having a callous apathy and neglect for the lives lost in the chaos only a few months ago, seeing the whole incident as a sportive and jocular thing from the way he spoke about it, the German man was eccentric, irregular, and quite detached from the real world, if the part-flippant, part-mirthful way he talked about the happening hadn't been already enough to give the American detective an idea that the German was rather curious. Finding it hard to reply back to Max's aberrant statement, Sullivan hesitated for a moment, and then said, in a stringent tone, "You...are aware that this isn't the time or place for spouting nonsense?"

Max looked at Sullivan, quizzically. "You accuse me of telling a falsification, detective?"

"I don't see any possibility as to how valkyries, of all things-"

"I do not lie, detective!", Max said, slightly raising his hands, still with that grin plastered upon his face. "Odin's acolytes made themselves known, and very much so- slightly after halfway through the excursion, in fact...women in white, detective."

Sullivan paused to register what had been said, and then asked, taking notes, for, despite how strange, bluntly, the German man was, what he said offered something new to the case, "And...these were your purported "valkyries"?

Max nodded, slowly. "Yes, detective. Around thirty in number, all angelic, wrapped in robes of a lily-white tint...and all doing their duty."

Sullivan was slightly confused, and asked, whilst being prudent, "'Duty'?"

"It is the charge of any valkyrie, as I have said, detective, to choose who will win or die in any battle, to bring the brave chosen to the hall of the slain. And it seems, here," Max said, letting out a small chuckle, "that many were destined to perish, and that surprisingly few were chosen to come out alive. They tore through the decks, you see!"

Sullivan recalled a few of the photos he had looked at, which pictured entire rooms torn to shreds. He was in no way convinced, however, that these "valkyries", as Max had put them, could rip through whole areas of the vessel and leave behind such carnage as he had seen in the photographs, and asked, still sceptical of Max's incredulous claims, "You are...certain of this?"

"Most certain" said Max, assuredly. "Through their divine act, they swept through the vessel like a raging storm, detective, carrying out the will of their master, brutally felling almost all who stood in their way, leaving few alive...and I, of course, was one of those graced with the gift of survival. Graced, detective!"

"I...see", said Sullivan, after a moment's pause, taking down further notes. "Aside from all you mentioned...did you see anything else? What happened to those 'normal' passengers you mentioned, or the gangsters dressed in white or their leader, or, indeed, these 'valkyries' of yours?"

"No doubt many of the white-suits and their opponents were lost in the havoc, detective; however, I know not of the fate of the red-haired woman, nor of the maidens dressed in white. All I do know in the end, detective, is that I survived- graced, I tell you!"

"Yes, I understand that...now, do you have anything else you can contribute to this case?"

Max shook his head. "I am afraid not, detective. What I have told you," he said, still smirking, "is I all that I can tell you."

"I see...then, if that's all, please-"

"But I will say it again, graced, detective!", said Max, suddenly bursting into a loud and animated fit of zeal that took aback the American inspector, the German's Chesire grin evolving further into a smile, with the American being disturbed by this and further disturbed as Max entered a frenzied tirade. "Through surviving, I am considered a hero...spared for future warfare! And the valkyries, through their appearance, have sent a message, detailing that conflict and carnage looms on the horizon, far more bloodier and grand than what has transpired recently! They have sounded the trumpets of war, Mr. Sullivan- I know this, and am sure of-"

Sullivan roughly coughed, interrupting Max's rant, being too disturbed by the man's frantic bombast to allow him to continue. "If that is all, please take your leave. I do have others to speak with."

"Ah. Well, then, detective," Max said, rising from his seat, "I do hope that what I have given you...aids you. Apologies, too, for that little...outburst, Mr. Sullivan. Too caught up in the moment...!"

Max then broke into yet another fit of chuckling, as Sullivan replied, as sternly as he could, "I, uh...hope the same, too. Thank you."

At this, Max turned, and, waving goodbye to the American detective, exited the room- and Sullivan heaved a sigh of relief. He had been given information, but, overall, he was just glad to no longer be in the presence of a madman.

The second person Sullivan was to question surprised the detective, because of his identity.

Upon the person's entrance into the interrogation room, Sullivan had near-instantly recognized the fellow, a brown-eyed man with neat, raven-black hair, dressed in rather casual clothing, topped off with a long-sleeved coat and a fedora, as renowned journalist Karl Rhodes, a writer in the employ of the famed Daily Days newspaper company. In return, Karl had simply given a normal response- "Pleasure to meet you, despite these circumstances"- for Karl Rhodes was a man who preferred to act in a normal fashion, despite his position in the world of journalism.

Upon taking his seat, Sullivan started the process over, turning to a new page in his notebook, readying his pen, and saying, "Now, about the incident...we need an account from you detailing what happened, in your eyes, aboard the vessel. So, if you would offer what you saw..."

"Gladly", stated the journalist, in a forward and to-the-point manner- he was such by nature, for any journalist had to adopt such a trait to get ahead in the world after all, and this was also a trait of his that was present in the numerous articles that he had written for the Daily Days. He leaned forward, cleared his throat, and said:

"I'd like to start with a little bit of background, as it were, firstly. I was on board the airship because I was on an errand to go to France and meet up with a work partner- we had business to do there, you see. I didn't pay much attention to the hubbub going on inside the ship, or the other passengers. I just wanted, at the time, to have a simple, usual, normal journey to my destination. I got a few glances from others, no doubt they knew me, and I heard one or two hushed whispers, but I maintained a low profile. I didn't want any disruption during my flight. Of course, however," Karl continued, his tone unchanging, "my want wasn't to be granted."

"So, then," Sullivan queried, "in light of your desire for stillness being foiled, what did you see around the time of the happening itself?"

"Near halfway into the journey, I heard noises from the deck below mine- I was on the third deck, you see. There was shouting, followed by reports of gunfire mixed with screams. Some bullets also erupted through the floor of the deck I was in, no doubt a tactic used by some of the mobsters to intimidate the passengers I was with.

Now, around me was an air of total chaos, bedlam and the like. I, however, was intrigued by this, and took it upon myself to venture below to the second deck to have an on-sight look at the unfolding situation. From what I managed to witness, I glanced a group of people in white suits taking control of the second deck, amidst several dead passengers and a general air of turmoil and disarray. One of them was a red-headed woman, wielding a pair of swords, who I pinpointed as the leader of the pack- she was issuing orders to those around her, telling them to secure the other two decks." All the while, Sullivan was following along, noting down the key elements of Karl's concise notes...

...until what Karl said next, however, made his writing and his train of thought suddenly screech to a halt.

"She also said something about Ladd Russo."

This statement alarmed Sullivan, for he, and many of his colleagues, and many, many others serving as the arm of the law, knew this man. He was renowned as a notorious assassin in the employ of the Russo family, and was one of the progenitors of the incident aboard the Flying Pussyfoot several years ago, for which he ended up imprisoned in Alcatraz. He was also considered by many, with valid reason, to be a complete psychopath due to the man's sadistic tendencies- Sullivan often recalled the image of him lying by snow-covered tracks, grinning like a lunatic and brandishing the bloodied stump of his left hand at him, his partner Donald Brown, and other fellow officers, all the while showing no signs of registering any pain, and also whilst saying to the girl by his side- Lua Klein, was it?- that he would kill her on the spot, and that was enough to convince Sullivan that he was deranged, if him planning to cause a killing spree on a crowded train wasn't already convincing enough. Having an inkling through Karl's hint that the red-haired woman was either a member of the man's family or a devoted fanatic of the maniac, Sullivan's mind was instantly cluttered with a variety of thoughts, of questions. What will be the outcome of this investigation now that Russo has been brought into the picture? Where will this statement lead this conversation? What is the role of that red-haired swordswoman...?

He remained silent for a while longer, thinking of all the queries that raced through his head, when he finally selected one of them out of the plethora that crowded his mind.

"What was it that she said about him?"

"I'm afraid that I didn't catch all of what she said," Karl admitted, "but she did mention Ladd's situation- she sounded quite determined to do something about it, I might add."

Another thought clicked inside Sullivan, one that alarmed him even further.

Wanting to 'make amends' to the situation of that Russo man...could that possibly mean...

Internally, Sullivan blanched.

She intended to deal with the situation of that Russo man, purportedly...did she mean to do so through taking the entire vessel hostage and then challenge authorities, pressing for his release? And, reportedly, her group killed passengers...did they intend to further press their demands by slaughtering as many occupants as they pleased...? Twisted...

"That aside, though," Karl said, bringing Sullivan out of his immersion into his thoughts and back into reality, "as mentioned, along with the leader mentioning Ladd, the order went out for them to take control of the two other decks. As a result...I was rather unlucky."

"Unlucky...?", Sullivan asked somewhat hesitantly, as a part of him was still firmly glued to thinking about the involvement of Ladd Russo in the incident.

"Well, I was eavesdropping on their conversation from a nearby staircase- a foolish move on my part, for I was soon spotted by one of the red-head's...fedora-wearing toughs, as it were, and immediately pummelled, apprehended, and brought to the woman in short order. Now, I stress this, she was going to skewer me on the spot...I did repeatedly tell her that I was merely concerned about what was going on, to no avail, and then, well...she laid eyes on a small bag I was carrying."

"Saving grace, was it?"

"I'd say so", said Karl with certainty. "It bore the emblem of the Daily Days company. Convenient...but live-saving nonetheless. However, I was not spared some form of an unpleasant fate, and, with them deeming me to be of some value of them because of my position, they captured me and imprisoned me in the ship's kitchen. I was under armed supervision...and, periodically, I heard gunshots from outside, sporadic in timing."

Acting upon instinct, Sullivan immediately asked, in the face of this revelation, "Were they...?"

"Killing off passengers in scattered instances?", replied Karl, questioning Sullivan's remark. "Most likely, if they indeed were trying to do something about the situation of Ladd."

A detail that that crazy German man didn't mention...

"So, I was in captivity, listening to those shots and under armed guard, when, some time later, a while into the flight, another white-suit acting as a courier told my guard that I was next in line to have a bullet between my eyes, when luck graced me again- I heard a ruckus from outside, more gunshots, in rapid succession instead of at random intervals. I don't know what caused it, but I assume that it was because of resistance. My to-be executor left, and, because of that, I was free to leave my culinary prison. I did remain in there a while longer, however," Karl admitted, "to be safe."

"Quite the ordeal you've been through, then", Sullivan said, pointedly. "Then, in the aftermath of these events you've described, what occurred next?"

"Well, what awaited outside the kitchen was a scene of chaos- a ruined deck, dead bodies, and cowering passengers- and sounds of gunfire still reverberated throughout the ship. It was then that I also caught sight of the resistors- a group of men dressed in rather casual clothing toting Tommy guns. At first, I was held up by them, but...I was eventually taken into the group- and it made for a good experience to write about.

So, I stayed with the group...got to know the leader, an apparent barkeep, his name eludes me, though...participated in little insurgencies against the white-suits...and around half an hour after my escape, the power shut off."

Sullivan stopped scribbling on his notepad briefly, and said, with a look of ever so slight surprise on his face, "A blackout in the middle of the voyage? And that would require someone to elude the crew..."

The detective then recalled the photos he had looked at, and the bloody mess that they had depicted.

If not just cut right through them...

"Well, no doubt some clever sleuth managed to do just that. When it happened, we were back on the third deck...and that was mere moments before they came around."

"They?", Sullivan questioned, probing. "Care to elaborate further?"

"They were a group of people dressed in the same white clothing as the starters of this caper. Because of this, I personally believe that the group was a rival branch of the same gang. Along with this, I did see, on a couple of occasions, members of the first being felled by members of the second..."

"Why is it that you reckon this?", said Sullivan with curiosity and with Max's rant of "valkyries" now hovering about inside his mind.

"Well, my opinion is that the second group of the main gang didn't like the fact that the first group had struck first, and so...they proceeded to mutilate and butcher anyone and anything that stood in their way with such brutality that it's...frankly indescribable. They were really out for blood, simply put. They tore though passengers and members of the resistance band like a hot knife through a slab of butter. I and others only remained alive by concealing ourselves under passenger seats.

After this," Karl uttered, after pausing for a moment, "we essentially fought to stay alive in the midst of this fracas, until an evacuation was performed...with the aid of the red-head, surprisingly enough."

Sullivan, looking as if a curveball had been thrown at him, retorted, "She...aided you?"

"It was certainly unexpected," Karl confessed, and with a perfunctory chuckle, "but she did hold off the majority of the second group, allowing us to escape the ship...and, well...I'm afraid that's all I can tell you, detective."

Sullivan took a short while to answer, still comprehending the possibility of a killer and a gang member helping passengers escape, and then said, "Well you've...certainly told me a lot, nonetheless. There's no doubt that what you've divulged will help us in our investigation."

"It's been a pleasure helping you, then," Karl said. "May I take my leave?"

Sullivan nodded, and Karl promptly departed, leaving Sullivan behind as more thoughts whirled about inside his head. With the possibility of an internal feud on the cards, and the supposed involvement of Ladd Russo in the incident, for Sullivan, the situation only got a whole lot more confusing.

The third and final person Sullivan was to question fidgeted in her seat, nervously looking about the room and rubbing her arms, showing signs of being anxious and distressed.

This person was a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, clad in a red dress, named Kyoko Nokogiri, one of the youngest passengers of the vessel. She was also clearly uncomfortable, as Sullivan himself noted, at being in the situation he was in, and Sullivan took the time to address that issue.

"I know you're not feeling well about being here...but you're still required to tell me what you saw."

"I..." Kyoko's response was a hesitant one, only followed up on after a moderate pause. "I don't feel like talking about this at all, you know..."

"I understand that," replied the American detective, knowingly, "but it is still a necessity that you give an eyewitness account of the event." He paused, and then said, "Or, at least, give me what you can", trying to offer a titbit of advice.

"I really don't want to talk about this, still...", Kyoko responded, ill at ease, "but...I suppose I'll try...ugh...well, boarding was normal...I didn't pay attention to the crowds, or anything like that, outside the ship, nor did I pay attention to the fanciness inside...everything else wasn't out of the ordinary..." She paused, and then backtracked, going back on herself. "Well, except for one thing..."

"And that was?"

"This...German man", she said, saying these words with distinct distaste. "The one that was outside, actually..."

Realizing what she meant, Sullivan then commented, "So you're 'Cuon', are you?"

Kyoko suddenly visibly paled at the mention of this name, and her expression morphed into one of blatant shock. "H-He told you about that moniker...?!"

Sullivan was somewhat astonished by this sudden outburst. "Is it problematic...?"

"It...it's annoying! He came up with that out of the blue, never stopped calling me that...that and 'Fraulein'...it's..."

"Would you like to move on?", Sullivan suggested?

"Y-Yes...", Kyoko said, calming down. "I met with him, that...that war junkie...and we formed a bond, I suppose, or whatever else would be similar to that. We talked for a while, and the most of the flight was rather uneventful...boring, really. Then, around halfway in, a woman in white started causing a riot with some companions of hers. Let off some shots, killed some passengers, and me and the German junkie..." She paused again, hesitating. "We...hid ourselves under a table. The junkie was enjoying what was going on, and I was...trying to remain level-headed and trying to keep him under control as well- he was just itching to go out there...I could tell by the look on his face alone.

So there was gunfire, screams...and then silence. The woman and her companions probably took control of the deck in those few short moments. It was...lucky...that the German junkie and I weren't spotted...they probably didn't think to search under tables for other people to kill..."

A thought passed through Sullivan's head.

Max certainly didn't tell me about this...then again, he's not the type who would tell anyone whether or not he spent any time hiding or cowering somewhere...

"And then, not long after that, some other guys dressed in normal clothes sprung up and tried to fight back...some of the people in white went upstairs, because that was where the problem for them started, and because of less people being on the lookout...the junkie then decided to up and leave, despite my protests...he wanted to join the fun, no doubt...I decided to go after him, and..."

Kyoko then stopped, abruptly, prompting Sullivan, who, once again, had ceased note-taking, to inquire, "And?"

"I..." Kyoko now spoke with difficulty, having trouble putting forward what she wanted to say. "There was an incident that happened that I...really don't wish to talk about", she said, with emphasis on her words- extreme at that.

"Once more," Sullivan reminded her, "you do have to divulge what you know-"

"I can't talk about it!", Kyoko exclaimed, cutting Sullivan off in the process. "It's just...that unpleasant, you know?"

"Does it have anything to do with that German man?"

"I just don't want to talk about it!", Kyoko repeated at this, in a higher voice and with more intensity. Sullivan, seeing that the girl was determined to, indeed, not talk about it, sighed and conceded to her demand, and said, "Very well. Then, after this...incident, that you mentioned...can you recall what happened afterwards?"

Kyoko, now somewhat agitated, said, "It's...really all hazy after that, all right? I'm...I'm not faking, it's the truth! After my search for the junkie, all I can remember...aside from that...and other small details, minor, insignificant ones...is...naked women..."

Sullivan, startled, exclaimed, "Excuse me?"

"Naked women! Running around the ship in robes, and...a-and killing people! And a clown, as well!"

Even more bemused- though intrigued, too, by the fact that no-one had yet mentioned this 'clown- Sullivan said, "A...clown?"

"Walking around in a performer's suit, holding a hammer..."

"Do you...know anything about her?"

"N-No! Why would I?! Other than, for whatever reason, she was fighting those naked people...I don't know why, she just was!"

"I see", Sullivan stated, still being intrigued and somewhat perplexed by Kyoko's statements. "Now, is there anything else-"

"No!", Kyoko suddenly bleated, but she quickly regained her composure and said, in a calmer, less wired tone, "No...that...that's it, really. I know, little info, whatever, but...that's all I can offer." Even with her now calmer tone, Sullivan could tell that she was still anxious, and nodded in understanding.

"What you've given me will still help this investigation, even still", Sullivan said. Kyoko nodded in acknowledgement, then said:

"May I...may I leave, then?"

Sullivan agreed to her request, and Kyoko hurriedly left the room soon after.

With the last of the questioning sessions over, Sullivan had collected crucial information from his interviewees- and had learned of several new things in the process. But even with all of this newly-acquired info, the case was still, ultimately, a confusing one.

And, with this in mind, Bill Sullivan leaned back in his chair and sighed once more, wondering just how long the case would go on for, even with the aid of fresh information, before the curtain finally fell upon it.

White-suits and a fiery leader, a resistance band, Valkyries, a rival branch, and other suggestions pop up- but what is the real truth behind these fairy tales that have been told? The commotion commences...