A/N: MY COMPUTER DIED! I lost nearly all of this fic and had to re-write, which oh-so-seriously sucks. Anyway, this would be teh Hige's chapter, which I had had written for some time until my old laptop went crazy and ate it then died of food poisoning. Just ignore me. Also, welcome to my new reviewer, WiseAbsol, a rather big writer in the Pokemon fandom, especially if you're a fan of mewtwo. Which I am. And I will catch up on all her fics when I finish reconstructing mine. Oh, and cookie for the person who knows what show the quote's the theme song to.

A/N 2: Gods, this sucks. I've been trying to upload this chapter for the last six months and this a-hole site kept going onto a blank page...grrr. Anyway, hope this works this time and apologies for the omg-massive delay. Enjoy!

Chapter Four - Hungry like a...(Daichi)

"That deck of tarot cards
Won't get you very far
There ain't no hand to break your fall -
Well, I know what I've been told
You gotta work to feed the soul,
But I can't do this all on my own
No, I know... I'm no Superman."

- Lazlo Bane, 'Superman'

The gold wolf's stomach was growling.

Trekking through greyness, nothing in front of him, nothing to either sides of him. Crawling charcoal-sketch shadows behind him, shifting unnervingly, like looking at a snowed-out-TV-screen out of the corner of your eye.

They hissed and stuttered like fire on wet logs. The wolf's ears laid flat on his neck, and he picked up his pace, but it was like running in midair, or treading water. He started to try scrabble away, running as though all the hounds in hell were hot on his tail, but it wasn't doing any good at all.

They were gaining, scrawling-thick black lines on the nothing-grey backdrop. Itching, inching up like mummies or ghouls in a bad horror-flick. He stopped trying to move and tail down, ears flat, he started to turn –

"Hige! Hige-san, wake up! Hige!"

He started awake, sitting up and whacking his head on the cupboard door. "Ow! What is it?"

The blonde, upside-down head of his current trainee, Mika – or was it Miska? – smiled brightly, but her large blue eyes were concerned. "You fell asleep, Hige-san. That's the fourth time this week. You've been overworking again."

Yeah, going after that shipment of caviar we lost and getting caught by crooks can make a guy tired, he wanted to say, but despite what most thought of him, he wasn't quite that flippant. Instead, he grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, maybe I have. That raid on Friday…"

She pouted. She was very, very cute when she pouted. "Stuff like that shouldn't happen here. Why can't people just not be bad to other people?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he noticed that it was already dark outside, and frowned. "Hey, what time is it?"

How long was I asleep?

"About seven-thirty, Hige-san. I woke you up because I figured you'd want to take the first few orders at least." She studied his pale face closely. "Are you alright?"

Something rustled in the shrubs outside, most likely a bird or a rat. He twitched, then snapped, "Sure I am! Where's my apron?"

The girl looked scared at his sudden outburst, then recovered, smiling faintly. "It's around your waist, Hige-san."

"It's what- oh right, thanks."

Four hours, fifty or so meals, and around thirty satisfied and suitably impressed customers later, the maitre'd of one of the finest and most exclusive restaurants in the city walked home, alone. He'd sent Miska – or was it Mika? – back to her own place; it wasn't unusual for her to wind up in his bed of a night, but he wanted her safe.

A tree branch shook against the wind, and he shivered, pulling his coat tighter before hurrying on. His apartment was only a few blocks away. Luckily, he reached his door without incident; only the intense feeling that he was been watched.

He closed all his curtains before he even considered getting changed.

After fixing his own meal, he slumped down on his chair and turned on the TV. A sitcom flicked up and a canned audience started to laugh. Hige cupped his chin in one hand and leant on one of the worn arm-rests, staring off into space. They could've killed me yesterday…why aren't I dead by now, again?

He'd seen enough TV shows to know that as far as logical plots went, he should've been dead and lying in a white chalk outline over his own dried blood in some back alley somewhere by now. Normal crooks didn't let you live just because…why?

The phone rang over the TV's noise, breaking his thoughts, and he started like a spooked deer, nearly knocking his chair over. He waited, frozen to the spot as the phone rang twice…thrice…four…five…six…seven times before stopping. After a second or two, he allowed himself to relaxed marginally, sinking back into his seat.

The invisible audience on the TV broke into hysterical laughter once more, and he bit his lip annoyance, changing the channel a few times – a soap, a wildlife documentary on dogs, and a pop music video by some male wannabe rocker – before switching it off and staring at the blank screen in exasperation.

Hige flopped down deeper into the chair, dropping his legs over one armrest and resting his chin against the other, and stared at the clock-timer on the VCR. It read 0:35. Maybe he should think about going to bed…

(wolftreesbetrayerflowerclawfanghowling)

The next time he opened his eyes, and it was 1:08, and there was a pain in his neck. He growled and rose, rolling his head from side to side and wincing as the vertebrae cracked back into place. Great, now he was too awake.

He looked outside. The night was clear, with a couple of clouds scudding across the star-studded backdrop and watching him with the semi-opened eye of the half-moon that hung in the sky. The street lamps glowed sullenly, as if wondering why they were there if no-one else was. Hige sighed and got his coat, stepping out into the cool breeze, a pleasant change from the humid, wet weather of daylight.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, liking the feeling of the silent streets and wondering at the change from the bustling, rain-filled days. After what must have been an hour of seeing almost no-one, something knocked over a dustbin, the clanging clattering noise echoing through the gloom, and he froze.

A girl with long, ragged red hair was sorting through the rubbish, her white robe stained and greying. He blinked a few times, scrubbing at his eyes, then relaxed marginally. Must have been a trick of the light, or something. "Hey!"

The fox leapt up, starting at his voice, stared at him for a second or two, and gave voice to a sharp, coughing bark that sounded almost like surprised yet very mocking laughter. Then she darted away, the white tip of her tail like a dying candle in the shadows. Hige half-heartedly waved a threatening fist in her direction, then slumped against a lamppost, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he really was too tired. He'd be seeing dragons and spirits next.

He took a step, and stumbled on a piece of rubble. Actually looking about him now, he realised what a bad part of town he was in – not to far from where he'd been caught by that gang, now he thought of it.

As if to augment his dawning fear, the angry roars of motorbike-exhausts tore up the night into ragged tatters. They were close, he reckoned – far, far, too close. He turned back and ran a few feet, before stopping again. The engine noises were in front of him – at least it sounded more likely now, but the towering, crumbling apartment blocks threw so many echoes about, it was like trying to pinpoint individual waves in a stormy ocean.

He turned again and bolted down an alley – the same one the fox had gone down, although she was long gone. He nearly made it, then the brilliant buttery glare of headlights forced him back, half-falling, landing on his hand and cutting it on glass or some metal. He yelped in pain, and perhaps, ultimately, that was what gave him away. The shadows closed in both ends of the alleyway, laughing and yipping to each other like a pack of hungry jackals.

"Hey, Kuro, we've got a rat!"

"That's not just any rat; that's the lamb-chop Tsume sent crying yesterday, ain't it?"

"He to your taste, then, Kris?"

"Yeah - with a bit of barbeque sauce over an open fire!"

"But I reckon tall dark and leathers let him off a bit too lightly, wouldn't you say, boys?" Grinned the nearest shadow, over the ensuring hyena-laughter, and Hige felt the icy tip of a knife-blade under his chin, forcing him to look up into crazed eyes, slightly bloodshot even in the faint light. "And since he's not gonna be around for a while," continued Kuro, hissing the words into the other's face, causing him to gag at the unappealing scent of the gangster's breath, "I say we teach you how to really howl."

"Heh, no thanks, I'm already pretty good at it." Hige scrambled back a little further, shoulderblades digging into the grimy wall as well as they could. Great. I'm gonna die in an alley in the middle of the night. With that thought in mind, he proceeded illustrate his spoken point by screaming for help at the top of his lungs, until a sharp kick to the stomach cut him off.

"Shut it, piggy! Did I give you permission to squeal?" The knifepoint pressed harder into neck, breaking skin, and he was hit hard enough across the face – for good measure, he supposed - to taste his own blood and for his head to bounce back against the brickwall. He lolled, stunned, barely hearing the command of, "Go check if that drew any attention, now!"

He heard the sound of running, then engines roaring into the near distance. After a second or two, he tried to move, only to be dragged up by his hair, against the wall, and Kuro's horribly grinning face was pressed into his own.

"Now," he smirked, "What, I wonder, is the most painful possible way for you to die? Breaking bones is slow, but I'll probably get too bored by the time the others get back. Hmmm…bleeding? But from where?" The knife shifted to his stomach, the unarmed hand taking its place holding his neck. "Ripping out your guts could be fun. If you don't have a heart-attack and die before you can watch, that is. Or maybe…" The knife moved lower, and Hige made a small noise that he would later testify as definitely not being a squeak.

At any rate, both of them were far too occupied to notice any peripheral movement or noise, so they were equally surprised when someone behind Kuro said, "Hey."

The gangster relaxed his grip on Hige enough to turn, his mouth open in shock. The rather stupid expression didn't leave his face a moment later when he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Tsume wrinkled his nose, kicking the body and snorting in disgust. "Always leave some security, dumb bastard."

Hige felt at least ninety-per-cent certain that the other guy wasn't addressing him, and so kept quiet in the vague hope that he wouldn't be noticed. Naturally, this hope was in vain. A moment later, the white-haired gang leader looked up, eyes widening, before a small smirk graced his lips. "And I thought Kuro was stupid – you got yourself a deathwish or something?"

Hige heard himself reply, but it was as though from a long way away. His head was spinning. Tsume coughed a small bark of laughter. "This is well known gang turf, porky. If you didn't know that then you're even more dense than I thought."

Then he shrugged – had the other been in full control of his senses he might have noticed that the movement caused him some pain and that the blood on his leathers wasn't Kuro's – then he shifted his grip on the knife, subtly.

He raised the weapon to deliver a blow, just as blinding white light flooded the alley and an authoritive female voice barked, "Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head!"

Through wavering vision, Hige saw a Tsume comply and a figure that seemed to ring dim bells of déjà vu in his head stepped forward. Then what was left of his nerves finally gave and he fainted, falling to the ground through a well of black ooze.

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