Chie and Adachi. I'm not even sure where this one came from. Be warned.

This is also somewhat of an elaboration on the "Dreams" chapter. Only more in depth, Adachi-centric, and informative of what's going on.

Weak

Adachi sometimes thought that out of all Souji's little friends, Chie is the weakest. Not in the physical sense (he still has some rough bruises where she'd landed some ferocious kicks during the battle in Magatsu Inaba) but in the way she acted socially. Adachi's lip quirked at the thought as he heard a click at the door of his locked apartment, swept clean and free of any objects of suspicious nature. Hell, his little bachelor pad was cleaner than a Christmas card right now.

Chie walked in, dressed in her police uniform, her badge flashing in the sunlight before being snuffed out by the dimness of the apartment. "Hey, Satonaka," Adachi drawls form his place at the couch, not even offering her a glance. She ignores him of course, while he continues to look at the empty space where his television used to be.

She was not here to see him. She was here to do her job; weekly visits to ensure his probation under house arrest went smoothly. Of course, she and the other brats would've preferred him in jail, but with a substantial lack of evidence, despite his own confession, they did what they could outside of court legislation. Not that he really minded though; he didn't have to deal with dumbass people anymore, and he certainly didn't have to get Dojima his damn coffee every five minutes. That was now Satonaka's job.

He didn't think the uniform suited her, really. Girls rarely look good in suits in his opinion. He watched her check all his drawers, check the fridge, then walk past him across the living room space to where he slept. She was checking for weapons, dangerous objects of any kind, or something like that. He wanted to shout out, "Why bother?" but he kept his mouth shut.

She came back out, before gesturing for him to get up from the couch. He did so, straightening his tie as he stood, back hunched in its usual fashion. She overturned the cushions, making sure nothing was hiding down under his couch. God forbid there be some dangerous coins or pieces of fluff…

He smirked as the sadist in him stepped forward. "How's Souji been doing?"

Her hand from for a millisecond, but she continued on, not bothering to give him an answer.

"What?" Adachi asked, bring forth his casual, innocent façade, "No calls? Not even a small text message? No letters with endearing content?" She continued to remain silent, now separating the couch from the wall so she might check there was nothing behind it.

"Hmm," Adachi muttered to himself, though he made sure it was loud enough for her to hear. He leaned forward toward her crouched form, taking a pondering stance, but clearly meaning to taunt her. "The other day while heading for Junes, I swore I heard that Yosuke guy and the Amagi girl chattering about something funny he'd sent them. Did he just forget to send anything to you or something?" She stood abruptly, pulling out her gun and cocking it, aiming it at Adachi's face. "You don't know a damn thing, Adachi. Don't you dare speak of Souji Seta. Ever." He stared at her face, how contorted and angered and ugly it was. She didn't have that exotic charm like the Amagi girl, or the naturally cute features like Risette. She didn't even have Shirogane's rumored bustline. She was plain, if not muscular, but still not pretty.

He stared at her through half-lidded eyes as he spoke. "Cut the crap, Satonaka. I know damn well that Souji would much prefer a classical beauty like Yukiko than some wannabe tomboy-" She quickly shot at the floor less than a centimeter by his foot. She'd obviously been spending some hours at target practice.

She was so weak.

From what he could tell, she was the only one who hadn't really moved on from their little internal battles in the television. Shirogane's gender had been known for quite some time now. Risette had gone back to showbiz with her bullshit "new image". The Amagi girl had obviously decided to inherit the inn. That Tatsumi punk wannabe was selling dolls at the textile shop. Even Yosuke had gotten over Konishi it seemed. But jealousy was a demon that ate at you forever. Perhaps it had been her constant presence around Yukiko that never let the wound heal, or maybe the fact that she still hadn't been asked out yet (or maybe she had, but it was only losers who can't "top" their girls). Or maybe it was just because she had probably tried so hard, and yet Yukiko still had won Seta. Who knew?

Her esteem was easily the frailest out of all those damn kids. And thus, she was the weakest link, and the one tiny crack in a door that he could use to his advantage to escape this damn town and these dumbass people. Adachi considered himself a magnificent liar with an impeccable ability to read people accurately. If he played his cards right…

She was turning to leave. He let his pleasant expression drop as she made a grab for the door handle.

"How many calls have you gotten, Satonaka?" She turned the handle. "Is he really worth it, waiting all this time for a call that isn't coming? Is he really that much of a saint to put all your faith in him when he obviously doesn't care as much about as you he does your other friends. If he were really as nice a guy as you say, wouldn't you have gotten some sort of contact by now? I wonder what more sleazy, desperate bitches he's got back in the city-"

Damn! She'd lunged at him, and now they were struggling and rolling around on his hardwood floor. She was landing some decent punches, but he was blocking an unusual amount of them. She wasn't focused. Things were clouding he mind. He attempted to gain control, rolled over so that he was on top, looking down at her ugly, ugly face. But as soon as he was there, she immediately knew where to aim, and made a swift jerk of the knee to his solar plexus, making him loosen his grip on her.

He should have known he couldn't overpower her here, in reality, without a gun. She stood up frantically, adjusting her tie as she made a grab for her gun, only to find it wasn't there. Adachi chuckled as she gawked at him; he was dangling her gun on his pinky. Dumb bitch.

But he didn't duck fast enough as she whipped her leg in an explosive roundhouse kick, which subsequently made him loose his grip on his preferred bargaining chip. He fell to the floor, cradling the side of his face. He could feel the imprints of her shoelaces. She grabbed her gun, and keeping it steady with both hands as she aimed it at him, her foot on his back. "YOU WILL NOT TALK!" He almost snorted at how desperate and angry she was, when she was just running away from the truth. He wanted to be malicious to this naïve, dumb, arrogant, ugly girl. Knock her upside the head and give her a mental breakdown. He felt the rapid urge to confirm all her worst fears and crush her until she would have gladly asked him to throw her into a television.

And so he spoke the killing strike.

"I'd forgotten that you like to be on top," It was a hit way far down below the belt. She really froze, eyes wide in shock and horror and shame.

Back in the day, while those dumbshit kids who watch the midnight channel wanted so badly to see Yukiko's "search for a hot stud", Adachi had known all along that what he really wanted to see was the rescue team's futile effort. And the TV had gladly switched for him, and he had seen Chie's feelings in all its glory (he had wished he had realized this trick before so he could have witnessed Hanamura's whiny, little pity-fest too). She had almost died laughing in his living room at the creature that had formed on his television screen; it was too ironic that the most modest and inexperienced brat had the dominatrix creep forth from their ego.

And even now, as she pressed him into the floor with the tremendous force of her left foot alone, he could see it in her, that other self, cackling and enjoying being the one with power and control. Now if only he could utilize it properly to severe the unbreakable bond of trust that Souji had instilled in his stupid little brat pack.

"You know, Chie," he said, using her name for perhaps the first time in all he could remember, "Why settle for a chump like Seta when you could have someone so much better, who isn't a douche." She did not speak. She was glaring at him, but not moving. "Maybe go for someone that actually notices you? I don't know who the hell that would be, but it'd definitely not Souji Seta." Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, suspicion evident in her tone of voice, "What are you playing at?"

"All I'm saying is that you're obviously just working for the sake of keeping your mind off him, when he's chilling in the city, not even stopping to wonder if he's remembered your name yet." She made a sound of disgust as she shoved him away with her foot. He balanced himself as he put himself in a seated position on the floor. Had his jumble of lies and truth worked? Had he confused her? He'd probably just shaken her resolution a bit. He couldn't really tell right now. She turned to leave, wrenching open the door a little too hard.

"By the way, Satonaka," Adachi called after her, nonchalant grin adorning his features, "You've got some great abs. Hard as a rock under there, huh." She slammed the door with such ferocity that he felt his floor boards squeak in the silence of his apartment. Sighing, he stood, stretched his back muscles a bit, before repositioning the couch against the wall (Chie had forgotten to). He sat back on the hard cushions, just like he had been before, staring blankly where his television used to be.

He sneered.

She'd be back again next week.