Disclaimer and Belated Note: I don't own Love Hina and yadda yadda yadda…forgot to mention that the last chapter's title is an almost direct quote from Halo 3. Sorry about that; it's one of my favorite quotes from that game. And it does!
Anyway, let's get it on…er, rather, let's get on with it!
Chapter 11: Tell Him about the Twinkie…
About ten minutes after his driver had suddenly howled with a scream no man should ever make, one of Garhem Essade's many henchman finally came to, feeling like an outdoor China shop in the streets of Barcelona.
'Fuck, this job doesn't pay enough for this shit,' he thought to himself. It felt like several things had been broken in the crash, mostly on his left hand side. His right leg was trapped in the mangled wreck of the truck's dash, and he was bleeding in several places.
All this, just to catch some prick in an old armored suit for their boss.
He spat. Like they had a chance. Whoever that bastard was, he kicked their asses to Okinawa and back, and blew the nuts off his partner (who was now writhing and babbling incoherently next to him). Why he didn't just kill them all outright was beyond him; their biggest guns weren't even putting a dent in him! He'd blown Merv off the damn highway into the ocean with one shot and kicked his bike into Group 4's ride, and picked the rest of them off like clockwork standing on the roof of the van of the worst fucking driver he'd ever seen like he was attached to it!
Essade was gonna be pissed, he knew. He wasn't the type to piss off like that. And that meant either the little shit in armor was gonna have a small army of cutthroats on his hands real soon, or else the leader of their little patrol was going to lose more than his manlihood when Essade found out they'd gotten their asses kicked.
Or both.
Suddenly, he heard a noise like an approaching car. He tried looking out the window to see it coming. A large, armored car that looked like it had already been through ten war zones of its own creation was stopping nearby. Custom job for sure, and a nasty sonuvabitch by the looks of it. 'Bit late for the fucking cavalry to get here,' he thought ruefully. 'Coulda used something like that twenty minutes ago!'
Unfortunately, he found out when the door opened, it wasn't one of theirs to begin with.
His blood ran cold as ice, and with a sudden surge of fresh adrenaline he began fighting desperately to get himself free. 'No…aw, HELL no…it can't be…!!!'
His struggles were in vain. A hand burst though the remains of his side window, its fingers thick and covered in sharp, embedded metal tips. There was as much metal and man-made composites in that hand as there was flesh and bone; in places, it even replaced the skin entirely. It was monstrous, and like every other member of Essade's crew and half the underworld they belonged to besides, it was a sight no one wanted to see. He didn't have long to look at that hand, for in a matter of seconds it had grabbed him by the neck, claws embedding painfully in his flesh.
He didn't have time or air to properly scream, either. With inhuman force, the half-human arm connected to that hand tore him from the vehicle in one motion, nearly ripping his leg completely off in the process.
His mind screaming with pain and terror, his face was brought to bear with the owner of that hand. Dead looking eyes in a skull-like visage looked at him without emotion, without pity, eyes rimmed with bands of metal and flesh and hardened ceramic plate. Eyes that might once have been almost black, but whose color had faded and become rimmed with faint yellow.
The mouth opened, half the teeth turned into long, sharpened metal fangs. It did not smile, or frown, or twist in any recognizable way, but rather spoke in a deep, demanding monotone.
"You will tell me what you were after, or be torn apart. You have ten seconds to choose, and no other options. Obey."
Barely able to breathe, about to piss in his pants, the goon told him all he knew, pleading for mercy.
And the thing crushed his throat when he'd finished.
The man once known as Villerchek Dubate dropped the bleeding corpse in a twisted heap in the middle of the road, not even giving it a second glance. Mercy and pity were not his stock and trade; he had none, felt none, and gave none. They were meaningless and irrelevant to him, a weakness of the weak.
The key to the advance of his own power had been found, possibly by a powerful and capable user. Essade and his men were after it, and had not succeeded thus far in obtaining it.
Dubate did not need the armor itself, only the organism it had been made from. Its study would tell him all he needed to finish his own transformation, to recreate more like himself to build an invincible base of power greater than all on this world. They would replace the weak entirely, working like a unified whole under his will to control and expand across the whole of this world.
All else was irrelevant and expendable. All that got in the way was an obstacle to be leveled, or an enemy to be killed.
It mattered little who bore the ancient device. He needed only wait for Essade's weak fools to lead him to it, or else to find this new enemy himself and eliminate him. Either way, he would be taking the suit by force.
All that stood in the way would be exterminated or destroyed, sooner or later.
The man known as Atrocity left as quickly as he had come, his vehicle's iron-treaded tires and deadly serrated-edged armor shredding all that stood in the way.
**********
A shadow watched the hellish car leave, heedless of the debris in its path, before detaching itself from a hidden perch in a stony cliff high above the road.
It disgusted and angered him to see Dubate again. Atrocity was exactly as he was commonly called: an inhuman, emotionless abomination. A man driven entirely by the desire for power and control. A bastard made of flesh and metal and who knew what else, devoid of pity, of honor, of all sense of good and evil in the normal sense. What men he had under him, he used and disposed of like cheap tools, and never for very long.
A man that had once been his friend, his ally, his teacher, years ago.
But that man gave up his humanity, hadn't he? Villerchek Dubate no longer existed. Maybe he never truly had, in the end.
Merten Dripe was a trained killer. Ninjutsu was in his blood; he was a leader among the ruthless, a man drenched in the blood of others as much as any other under him, perhaps even more. As they had for generations, they answered to no one but themselves, worked for those of their own choosing for their own benefit, cared little for any but their own, if at all.
They were not necessarily evil, as someone like that crimelord Essade could be easily described; nor were they necessarily good, though they often left those that were good alone for lack of reason to treat them otherwise. Their business was secrecy and death, and strictly their own; matters of assassination, espionage, and their own codes of honor and grim justice were part and parcel of their stock and trade.
Dubate had been one of their own, once. Had been their best, their leader. Subtle and wise, and incredibly powerful.
He had also killed over a third of them himself, after he'd changed as he had, wiping them out as he had wiped out so many others in his path ever since.
And then he'd all but disappeared; the rumor of his rare appearances were all that remained, always heard long after the fact. He became known as Atrocity, an unstoppable force wit his own agenda, known to exist by the indiscriminate trails of bodies he left in his wake. He was alive, certainly, but even Dripe couldn't find him or stop him.
Until now, that is.
Dripe quickly reached the remains of the body in the road and examined it. This one had been lucky not to have suffered much; his end had been relatively quick, for someone that crossed paths with Atrocity.
Nine of his colleagues had not been so lucky. What little remained of them was scattered further back along the highway.
His partner, however still whimpered from within the remains of the truck.
Dripe quickly got what information he could out of the man. He'd been the leader of this group, and the only one to even land a shot on anyone in the vehicle that had been their target. Apparently, it had been a mistake for him to do so; he had paid very dearly for it, courtesy of a high-caliber bullet that he swore was aimed specifically for him and him only.
Dripe could have killed the man after he'd told him all he needed to know about what had happened there; but he'd made sure the man didn't find out who he was, and instead only had to tranquilize him with a powerful sedative. Nobody else around was currently conscious or alive; those that had been after crashing had met with Atrocity, and he'd left this one alive only because he hadn't been in his way.
He let the man be. He didn't care much for Essade or the all-too-often vile goons he hired, but there was little point in killing them for no. By leaving him blissfully unconscious until a medic came to patch him up, he'd have all the chance to live through this mess he probably deserved or needed.
The man called the Wraith by friend and foe alike slipped away like a shadow the way he'd come. There was much for him to think about now and discuss with what remained of his clan, and very little time to do it in.
**********
In the middle of the night, Keitaro awoke from a sound, peaceful sleep to the sensation of distant but approaching danger.
The room was pitch-black. Not just dark, but devoid of light entirely. The seal on the door was all but airtight, the only other opening in the room was a heavy ventilation duct welded into the ceiling, and there were, of course, no windows underground.
Senses alert, however, he found he didn't need his sight to know there was only one other person in the room.
She was fast asleep, her naked body very closely entwined with his own.
He carefully felt with his ki, stretching it out like an eye and a hand, to get a better idea of where the danger was. He felt the approach of a presence, somewhat concealed but powerful nonetheless, and its intent on finding him.
It seemed to be confused, or else unsure, about something as well.
Whatever the case, he couldn't ignore it lightly.
"Pssst…Mitsune…Mitsune, wake up!" he urged his sleeping companion.
She groaned and mumbled. "W-what is it? Is it morning already?"
"Something's coming, and it's after me," he whispered. "I need to find out what."
His words roused her more fully. "What? Are you sure?"
"Positive. Wait here, I'll be back."
"Be careful! Don't get yourself killed!"
He dressed quickly. He could feel the approach of the threat getting nearer, and he had no time to don the armor. Clad in the shorts he'd worn that day and the discarded t-shirt he had worn to bed, he took the only weapon he had kept with him: his sword. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but if whatever was coming was here for blood, he would at least be prepared.
Keitaro slipped quietly into the hallway, noting immediately that the lights had been dimmed for the night. He left the door shut, and found a dark corner nearby to wait in.
A few seconds went by before he saw the source of the danger approach. Masked and wearing black, the figure moved down the hallway slowly, a sword drawn and ready. It searched the corridor silently, seemingly unsure and searching for the right room. Step by silent step, it made its way to his doorway, and stiffened when it was only a few feet away from it. Its gloved hand reached for the door handle.
Just as silently, he stepped out behind it, sword sheathed but ready to be drawn. "Looking for me?" he said in a very low but quiet voice. The figure froze, spun to face him with sword ready. "What!?" it said, also quietly, but with clear surprise.
"Drop the sword. I have no desire to hurt you," he said, evenly and quietly, stance relaxed and ready. The figure seemed briefly confused, but ready to attack. Something was wrong here…
The figure moved into an overhead strike. Fast as lightning, it moved with deadly precision to strike its target, only to find said target was even faster. The slice hit nothing, but the assailant had no time to ponder the sudden disappearance; two hands had joined its own, one resting atop the back of the sword's handle, the other just below its left wrist. Suddenly, the figure felt a sensation like going over the top of a roller coaster, its movement into the downward cut exaggerated well beyond its original extent. The hand on its wrist guided the wide circular pull, drawing it off balance and off its feet. Startled, the assailant lost it's grip on the weapon, trying to catch its balance again. But Keitaro kept the motion going, drawing it even further forward and up, and finally downward again, the momentum alone tossing the figure partway down the hall.
Rolling after landing, the assailant immediately noticed something missing, namely the sword it had been using. Dumbfounded by this turn of events, its dark eyes looked in sudden horror at Keitaro, who now held the blade himself! Yet he did not move to attack, as it might have expected.
Instead, he was examining the blade. The figures eyes went wide; what if he realized…
Before the assailant could rush to try and reclaim its weapon, the damage was already done. "This is…!" Keitaro looked at the figure again, recognition setting in.
The figure halted mid-dash. Too late.
Keitaro only sighed and shook his head. "I'd ask you what for…but I'd rather like to find out, Motoko, why do it now and not in the morning?"
Promptly, Keitaro felt the aggression and danger diminish to nothing as the figure hesitantly, embarrassedly, removed her mask. "I…had to know something for sure," the swordmaiden replied in an unsteady monotone, eyes cast on the floor.
"Know what?" he asked.
She sank to her knees, a look of defeat in her face. "Haruka-san explained to us that you had great skill in the martial arts, and claimed you were more powerful than we realized. I knew already that you had some strength you had not yet revealed, as I have seen a security tape of your deeds this past Sunday afternoon. Yet I still found it hard to believe that you could easily have defeated us at any time if you so wished. I could not believe it, not unless I saw the proof myself. I learned that you had arrived tonight; by tomorrow, I would not have the opportunity to test the claim."
"Why not?" he inquired.
"The key factor in support of the claim was that you were unwilling to attack or defend against one of your tenents, Urashima-san. Therefore, the only way I could see available to validify or disprove the claim…"
"…was to disguise yourself as an unknown attacker, an assassin in the night, and force my hand." He nodded in realization.
"Precisely. If my original analysis of your capabilities had been correct, I would have taken you by surprise, and met little resistance. However…" she glanced at her sword, which still lay in his hands, "that has proven not to be the case. I have been defeated in all regards: instead of you, I was the one taken by surprise, and defeated soundly in straight confrontation. I have even failed in keeping secret my identity, and have lost the weapon entrusted to me for my use."
Her expression became all but dead with defeat. "Now I am at the mercy of one I have openly loathed the existence of at worst and barely tolerated at best. You have defeated me, Urashima-san, and you now have full justification and opportunity to repay me for the wrongs I have committed against you; I have no justifiable defense. My honor dictates that my life is forfeit; now finish me!"
For a moment, Keitaro stood still, looking at her with a hard stare. "There is no honor in death, Motoko Aoyama," he said, "only more pain for those that yet live."
Surprised, she looked up at him. "W-what!?"
"Listen to me, Motoko," he said, taking a half-step closer before kneeling in a posture too closely akin to her own to be mere mimicry, but rather a result of his own training. Her sword lay across his lap; his own extended behind him naturally. "Did Haruka explain the reason I have been unwilling to act in my own defense thus far?"
Motoko thought about it for a moment. "She claimed…that you did not wish to injure those you consider to be…friends. That you would rather receive injury yourself."
"Then, can you understand the reason why I am now angry?" he demanded. "It is not because you have attacked me, now or at any time in the past; it is because you have risked undermining the very purpose for enduring a tremendous level of pain and suffering by taking the risk you have taken tonight."
She looked at him in sudden fear. To her eyes, his presence suddenly seemed to dominate the room, filled with a power beyond her comprehension. There was anger in him, yes, and it was directed toward her. But even now, she sensed, he was holding it back with a force of will beyond any she herself possessed.
He was also holding her sword, respectfully and in reverse, handle pointing toward her.
She blinked, looking at him as he offered her the sword, registering his appearance for the first time. He was fairly disheveled, wearing little else besides shorts and an insubstantial t-shirt. His own weapon hung at his side, its oddly organic-looking handle and sheath concealing an unusually long curved blade with curved prongs replacing the hilt. He had brought it, she realized, but hadn't even needed to use it. In fact, he had purposefully not used it, or he would have drawn it immediately. At the speed he'd moved, with the skill and form he clearly possessed, he could easily have killed her with it or without it, but hadn't—and wasn't—doing so. The idea was almost foreign to her; she'd expected to come away either vindicated or dead from the encounter, not alive and proven wrong. She wanted to be angry, but was instead stunned and ashamed of her actions. She looked down and away. "I do not deserve to live, Urashima-san. Why do you not strike me down?"
"Motoko, you wished to learn the truth in coming here like this, or you would not be here. Now you know a part of it beyond your own doubts, do you not?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Yes. I did. And…I know more now, for certain, than before."
"Why?" he asked simply.
She looked away, trying to think. She had been so sure, before she'd come; now that she had, everything seemed less certain to her. "To…find out if my actions toward you have been unjust. If you had been as I had believed before, practically nothing would be different, apart from…from the fact that my actions were causing more harm than I had believed them to. However, if what Haruka-san told us was true, I have not only wronged you numerous times, but I have also blinded myself to the truth. Without truth, I can have no honor, Urashima-san; yet in truth, my pride has already stripped me of that which I felt most proud."
Keitaro looked her in the eye with a penetrating, but oddly gentle, glare. "There is no honor in throwing your life away, either, Motoko. You, by your own actions tonight, have proven that to me."
"What…do you mean?" she asked, confused.
"For a long time, Motoko," he said, laying the sword in front of her and sitting down himself, "I believed in honor as you do, in my own way. Still do, in fact, though lately I've been seeing it a little differently. You see, whenever someone in the Hina-Sou attacked me, deserved or not, I always chose not to defend myself or fight back. As kanrinin, it wouldn't be honorable for me to attack my tenants, even in self-defense, regardless of the circumstances. If nothing else, it would be gross negligence of my responsibility to them, and to you, to do so. To my way of thinking, it was better that I take the hits willingly, as I could recover from the damage quickly and go on. It meant that I would suffer, but it also meant my tenants would not. The longer I stayed, the better I got to know everyone as well, to the point that I could count you all as friends in my book as well."
That surprised Motoko more than anything else that night. "You…consider us…me, even…as friends? But…we have not treated you as a friend most of the time."
He smiled. "I know! Often quite the opposite, in fact, I'm sure. But for all the times you have attacked me, Motoko, you have never truly sought to take my life, or my head would no longer be attached to my shoulders, am I correct?"
She looked like she was going to object, but thought better of it. When she really thought about it, she'd attacked him a hundred ways that might have killed him, yet in the end… "That may be true, Urashima-san, but then no normal human being could survive the attacks I have used on you, either."
"But for a long time, you've known that I can, and that I have. Yet in spite of that, you haven't attempted anything more serious than what you already have tried. Even, it would seem, right now."
She considered this idea for a moment, and realized that indeed he was right. Even now, she could potentially kill him, knowing he wouldn't resist her knowingly; he sat now, her sword still offered to her in a manner that could easily be his own undoing, the blade already within his defenses and her control. Yet Shisui hadn't moved; she continued to let it lay in his hands in front of her, unused. She now took the weapon in her hands, trembling.
He sat unmoving, hands in his lap, the tip still facing his heart.
She could kill him now, if she wanted. And yet…
Slowly, the blade lowered, and fell away at her side.
"If only because you have spared my life time and again, Motoko," he continued, "I would have chosen to spare you the harm you have caused me. Now that you finally seek the truth, I will not withhold it from you." In one motion, Keitaro stood and removed his shirt. Startled, a half-second from believing he was attempting something perverted, her hand went for her sword. It stopped, however, an inch away from the handle, when she saw his chest. "This, Motoko, is the truth I know every time your blade meets its mark. This is the price I have paid for such honor, and it has been heavy indeed."
Though the light was dim, she could see now what had for long been hidden to her, and the sight shocked her to her very core. It was like a human record of every angle, every attack, every blow she had ever dealt him, and more that she hadn't. The newest, she knew, matched the angle of her last attack exactly, the same angle of the cut on his ruined shirt. It was one of a hundred like it, some almost completely faded, others more prominent. "This is what I did not want you, or any of the others, to have to go through. I can cause harm far worse than this, Motoko, and have paid dearly to ensure that I have not done so to my friends. Do you understand that, now?"
She backed away from him, stumbling back over her knees. "W-why would you hide that?"
He sighed, putting his shirt back on. "Because, Motoko, I was foolish enough to believe they didn't matter to anyone but me. I, too, have been blinded by honor. I thought that it would not matter, that doing what I believed to be honorable was more important than whether or not I stayed alive in the process. So long as I kept myself from hurting others intentionally, it didn't matter to me whether I lived or not." He paused, looking away. "But I was wrong."
Leaving her with that thought, he returned toward his room. Before he went in, he paused, looked at her. "Do not be so quick to equate your honor with your life. Without life, honor means nothing; the dead do not need it, and the living no longer have the dead. Don't ever forget that, Motoko." He opened the door to his room and went in, quietly shutting and locking it behind him.
Ten minutes later, Motoko finally arose from where she sat, her normal poise and steady calm long gone and her head still reeling in thought. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to take her own life and be done with it, and yet…she knew he was right. It was horrible and strange to her, but she could not deny that what he said had been true. Unbidden, she thought of her sister, of her friends. What would they do, if she died? Would they care that it had been an "honorable" demise, as she did? Would she care, after she was dead? No, none of them would. Strict though her sister was, Motoko knew she wanted what was best for her, always had. She would want her to live, not to die. What, indeed, would happen if she had lost her life where she now was, in this hall deep in a hidden corner in the middle of nowhere? She had long felt angry with Tsuruko for leaving the Shinmei-ryu school to get married, and angry with men in general for being the root cause of her departure. Now, she realized, it wasn't because of the dishonor of abandoning her birthright in the process that she had been angry, but rather the mere fact that it meant she was all but separated from her sister, her only living family, in the process. It had been almost like she had died to her, and yet still lived.
Could she bring herself to put her own friends through that pain? Could she give up her own life, knowing they would be hurt so deeply? What honor was there in such a deed!?
Her body felt suddenly weak; in need of sleep, she began moving on automatic pilot back to her own room.
Her mind, however, was in no mood to rest.
**********
When Mitsune next awoke, she wondered what time it was. It was still dark, but oddly enough it wasn't entirely so. The overhead lights, she realized, were glowing ever so slightly, enough to actually see the dark gray shapes in the room around her. She couldn't read the clock very clearly; it looked like it said 6:44 or 8:44, she wasn't sure which. She guessed it was morning, but had no way of knowing. They were, after all, deep underground, and there were no windows to let the early morning sun shine in, whatever the lights were doing otherwise.
Keitaro was, very fortunately, still with her, sleeping comfortably and nestled closely to her own body. Unlike the last time they'd awoken, they were both back in their nightwear. She had put hers back on when he'd left, in case something dire happened; when he'd returned, she'd learned it nearly had.
'Damn, doesn't she ever lay off?' she wondered ruefully. Had it been anyone other than Keitaro, Motoko could have been killed doing something that stupid! She was damned lucky Keitaro had recognized her Shisui so quickly.
Maybe now, though, she'd have enough sense to point that thing in a different direction than her Kei-kun all the time.
For now, she was quite content to lay where she was, warm and comfortable and safe in his arms, knowing she would rather be there than anywhere else at this point.
Well, almost anywhere else; after all, there was more to Keitaro than just his arms. A lot more, she now knew.
A few minutes later, the lighting in the room increased slowly like a simulated sunrise, until she could see things more clearly in the partial illumination. A moment later, the clock's alarm function performed its duty faithfully.
It was odd, because she was certain neither of them had set it the night before.
She saw Keitaro's face scrunch slightly at the offensive noise, his free arm automatically reaching out to hit the off button. Unfortunately, being on the outside edge of a raised bed with the alarm at the foot of it was not the same as being nearer to the ground with the clock close to your head, the way he was used to. His finger pressed where the button shoul have been, met with empty air, and kept going. He, meanwhile, had been laying on his side almost at the bed's limit, and so his shoulder, too, overshot the edge completely, bringing him with it.
Suddenly, Mitsune realized the one problem with holding onto him at that particular moment: if he fell, so did she.
Awakening a little more than halfway after bumping the back of his head, Keitaro instantly became aware of several things. First, he was now flat on his back on fairly cold, hard concrete; second, his girlfriend was half-lying on, half-straddling him, in full and heavy contact with a very significant section of his already-awake lower anatomy; third, by some odd coincidence of fate both of her shoulder straps had dropped sideways from their normal positions, allowing the front of her nightgown to fall away once more directly in front of his face.
Aside from the bump on the back of his head, he found himself thinking, it had to be the best wakeup call of all time.
"Ummm…" he said, not sure what to do and not awake enough to register how he had ended up in this position yet.
Seeing the startled but hardly afraid look in his eyes, Mitsune wasn't sure whether to laugh at their unexpectedly compromising positions or make the most of them immediately. Meanwhile, the alarm continued to blare at their feet. A delightfully evil thought crossed her mind, and she grinned widely. Leaning forward into him and lifting a leg, she used her big toe to hit the button and turn off the alarm. She missed several times (on purpose, of course) before hitting her mark, then settled the rest of the way down on top of him. In the process, she'd managed not only to wiggle and roll her hips up along his lower abdomen (causing his eyes to bulge and cross in pleasure, as there was more between his abdomen and her pelvis than just their clothing) but also to reposition her chest a little higher, such that his nose and a large portion of his face was surrounded on all sides in the midst of her soft, bare flesh.. Leaning her head down, she kissed him on the top of his forehead. "Good morning, Keitaro!" she said to him in a very sultry way.
"Grrd mrrnrng Krrtshnnr," she heard, and felt, him say underneath her.
'Oooh, wow! Hmmm...' she thought, reveling in the combined effects of his breath and the vibration of his voice running across and through her chest. 'I wonder if I can get him to do that again?'
"What'd you say?" she said teasingly, her fingertips tickling across the back of his neck underneath her. "You'll have to…speak up a bit."
Keitaro blinked, then smiled. Bump or no bump, this was definitely the best wakeup call of all time.
Speaking slowly, deeply, an loudly this time, he said, "Groood morrrninng, Khriittssu-chhhaaannn!" Her flesh vibrated in time with his voice, tickling against the sides of his cheeks. He felt her begin to squirm and tremble even more against him as he spoke. 'Is she…actually enjoying this as much as I think she is?' he wondered to himself. If she was, he was happy to oblige!
In truth, she wasn't enjoying it as much as he dared to believe she was; she was enjoying it even more than that. Though she was only just now beginning to realize it, her ability to enjoy all the physical aspects of a relationship to their fullest had always been limited by her own belief system. In truth, she had already openly enjoyed her hot-and-heavy side far more than the other girls at the inn had ever been willing to admit was even possible; in practice, she'd either turned down or cut short many opportunities to exercise it to the fullest by following her greedy nature rather than her own heart. She'd lived up to her nickname as a wily, flirtatious, and cleverly conniving Fox, using her assets like a sword and a shield to get what she believed she wanted out of guys, especially Keitaro. Yet because of her ulterior motives, her ability to enjoy being so close and intimate to someone never experienced the pure, unhindered freedom they'd both given it the previous night.
In her heart, as it had in his, love had given her joy like nothing else could.
A short moment later, she felt Keitaro underneath her beginning to squirm in distress. Suddenly realizing she had his face very thoroughly trapped underneath her, she sat up quickly to allow him to breathe. "Sorry!" she said as he gasped for air.
"I-its okay, just…needed to breathe, that's all," he said, catching his breath with a chuckle.
Giggling, she helped him back up to sit on the bed with her again. They nuzzled and kissed, and teased and played, until a knock at the door interrupted their swiftly mounting efforts.
Reluctantly, they disengaged from one another, straightening out their clothing for the sake of decency, to allow Keitaro to answer the knock. "Who is it?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible.
"Just me, Keitaro," said a voice he recognized to be Haruka's from the other side, "come to tell you two that breakfast is in half an hour."
"Oh, right," he said, suddenly remembering that he was hungry. He had, after all, been quite busy the night before. "Umm, where do they…where is breakfast, anyway?" he asked through the door.
"Head right down the hall to the end, make a left, and follow the next hallway down 'till the next juction," he heard her say. "There's a mess hall through the double doors you'll find there. Oh, and Kei?"
"Yeah?"
"Make sure you both have all your gear with you before you go; you probably won't need it before you can get back, but I wouldn't guarantee anything at this point."
"Oh…right. Thank you, Haruka." He distinctly did not like the sound of that, but then, there was little to be done about it.
"One more thing, Kei: I have something for you from Seta."
"Huh?" Keitaro unlatched and opened the door a crack. He saw Haruka standing there, wearing a slightly more formal version of what she'd worn the night before. It resembled a dark-colored gi crossed with an officer's uniform, without the extra riot gear from the night before. In her hand was a folded piece of heavy dark cloth. Its color was an almost black dark blue, but the fabric seemed to reflect a hazy, dark purplish red sheen along the surface. "What's that?" he asked, curious.
"This is something to go over your armor, at least for this morning. It will make you a little less conspicuous in a crowd, maybe give you some time to finish breakfast in peace as well," she said, handing it to him. He unfolded the thing and discovered it was something similar to a heavy, hooded cloak, but not quite. The hood, neck, and shoulders were all one piece, the bottom edge extending approximately down where his armpit began, maybe slightly less with the armor, with the neck ending in front of and slightly above his chin. This part had several large clasps in the front, such that he could loosely clip it together or seal it past his neck. The remainder of the garment was like an oversized cape sewn in beneath the inner edge of the neck, adjustable enough to tuck behind the shoulders or wrap fully around the front.
"Wow…this is kinda cool, actually," he said, looking it over. "Tell him I said thanks, if you see him before I do."
Had he looked up at that point, he might have caught the small smirk that flashed across her lips just then.
"Eh, don't worry, you'll probably see him yourself soon enough. Anyway, you'll need to be wearing that armor, and it will behoove you to have something over it…unless, of course, you don't mind missing breakfast for having to talk to everyone all at once." With that, she left.
He sighed in relief, shutting the door. Now that he thought of it, the problem actually had been bugging him a bit; the armor was so conspicuous looking, even in an odd place like this, he could easily see having trouble getting around. If he went out in it as it was now, he'd stick out like a sore thumb, and doubly so if people knew what the thing was already; the cloak, on the other hand, would at least make him a little less immediately recognizable.
"Wow, what is that?" Mitsune asked, getting up to get a closer look once he'd closed the door.
"Looks like some sort of cloak," he replied. Experimentally, he put it on. It was a little large on him, but then he wasn't wearing much of anything at the moment. The edges were worn and a little ratty near the bottom, but it easily wrapped around his front and almost down to the ground. Even with the armor on, he thought, he'd have no trouble hiding himself completely within the old garment.
Mitsune looked at him appraisingly. "Pretty cool, Kei. Makes you look kind of mysterious in a way," she said, giggling to herself. Sliding up next to him and slipping an arm underneath, she asked slyly, "Got enough room for two in there?"
He chuckled, a little embarrassed, but embraced her anyway, allowing the edges to slip around her shoulders as he kissed her. A minute later, he pulled away, saying, "If we keep this up, we're going to miss breakfast."
Mitsune heard her stomach grumble at her, and realized he had a point. She sighed dramatically. "Oh, well…I guess we can't keep this up on an empty stomach, huh?"
He chuckled. "No, but we can do plenty on a full one."
She smiled. "Anyway, let's at least make ourselves presentable, shall we?"
**********
About fifteen minutes later, Keitaro had donned his armor and the new cloak, which fit rather well together. The hood even went over his helmet completely. He adjusted his sword at his waist such that it would rest a little more vertically than before, and it, too, fit well under the folds. Emptying his own bag (which was slightly longer and more portable than Mitsune's, and had less in it from the outset), he left with the locker key while Mitsune changed into fresh clothes to reclaim their other weapon and supplies.
There were many more people up and about now that it was morning, he noticed; some looked to be wearing something similar to the odd uniforms Haruka and Tsuruko had been wearing, both with and without the heavier gear, while others wore everything from street clothes to heavy robes to business suits, even the occasional cloak or two like himself. A few wore outlandish clothing that, like their wearers, appeared to have come from completely different countries altogether. None seemed to pay him any particular mind, at least at the moment; though he wore a very unusual suit of armor under his cloak and carried a sword, the cloak was just enough to make him not stand out in this oddball crowd, as so many were similarly armed and adorned in their own fasions.
The locker itself, it turned out, was narrow but deep, about a foot and a half wide and two and a half tall but extending inward about five feet with a somewhat wider curved back. Three hundred and sixty such lockers lined a half-circular wall in double-high stacks that started at the ground and opened inward, arranged exactly like the degree markers of a large compass. Number 42 was on the upper row, almost a quarter of the way in on the left side and right above Number 222.
'Well, that's convenient,' he thought to himself. Examining everything, he quickly spotted his Desert Eagle and Mitsune's pair of Glocks, the Remington, and her vest. He took the time to refill the weapons and clips while he was there, and to slip an extra shell in his shotgun. He strapped his handgun back in place on his hip, but put the shotgun in his bag; he wouldn't have room for both over his shoulder. Stashing the vest, Mitsune's guns, and plenty of extra clips and shells, he checked all the safeties and closed up the bag, strapping it over his head and allowing it to rest over his right arm instead of under it (since he was wearing the cloak's cape fully around his front).
He returned to their room a minute later to find Kitsune fully dressed and ready. Shutting the door, he helped her get her own gear on; as she strapped on her holsters and filled them, Keitaro figured out a way to stash the shotgun under his cloak by hooking the strap vertically over one shoulder. Since the bag was less weighty and bulky than before, Mitsune carried what remained in it for him (saying he looked silly with one arm pinned to his side like he had) and they left together to find the mess hall.
The hall itself, they found, was somewhat similar to a loosely organized cafeteria and about twice as busy. Buffets and food lines were scattered everywhere; along one wall, several cooks were preparing food on flat counter griddles, whipping up omelets and pancakes at an alarmingly fast rate to meet an equally fast demand. Cereal bars, drink stands, sausage pans, muffin tins, waffle irons, syrup vats, industrial-sized coffee machines with large condiment trays, bowls of every variety of fruit, plates and trays, and several hundred people filled the hall in the great madness that was an organized breakfast.
The only thing for certain in the great mass chaos of heavily armed and hungry men and women was that a food fight was not recommended.
It took them a while to gather together their meals, as the lines were long and numerous and they themselves were unusually ravenous, but eventually they brought two heavily laden trays to an empty side-wall table that reminded Keitaro of the one they'd sat in at the diner only days earlier. As had been the case then, no one really noticed them there, all minding their own meals and conversations. They sat together on the right-hand side of the four-person table. Keitaro opened the topmost clips on his cloak to make it easier to eat, but left the hood in place. For a while, they ate together in silence, both tearing through their food at a great rate. Keitaro hadn't felt this hungry in a while; whether because of the suit or because of his time with Mitsune (or both), his body now demanded large quantities of high-octane fuel, and he wasn't about to deny it a single drop.
Mitsune scanned the faces around them as they ate, looking to see if she saw anyone familiar. A few she recognized in passing, but didn't know well enough to identify by name.
"Do you think anyone else we know is here?" she asked Keitaro as quietly as she could manage over the din.
He thought about it for a moment. "I'm not sure…I don't recognize anybody I've seen yet," he replied in a low voice, "but then again, this place is pretty crowded. I haven't even seen anyone that we do know is here, either…wait, listen! I think…" Underneath his cloak, Keitaro began to grin.
"What?" Mitsune asked, but he held a finger to his lips. He whispered in her ear, "I think I just heard two of them. Listen carefully, they're coming this way."
She listened, and sure enough there were two voices she recognized, and they were arguing back and forth at a great rate.
"Well, I can't argue over the food," said one, "but how are we supposed to find Keitaro if we can't even find a seat?"
"I thought he'd be with those girls he lives with," said the other. "If he isn't, we should be!"
"Maybe they kicked him out?"
"Nah, he owns the place. Besides, they do that to him every day anyway."
"Can you imagine that? Man's surrounded by gorgeous women and can't get with any of 'em."
"And not for lack of trying, either. I keep telling him he'd better get his act together quick or we're gonna do it for him."
"Perhaps we should. There's like—what—three of 'em that are old enough anyway. Four, counting Haruka. And that chick with the watermelons that comes around, too."
Giggling, Mitsune said aloud, "I think you'll need to redo that count a bit, boys."
"Huh!?" both voices said in unison. Grinning she turned to see the startled faces of Keitaro's two best friends: Kimiaki Shirai and Masayuki Haitani.
Shirai recognized her first. "Hey, isn't that—"
"Wait a sec…don't we know you?" Haitani asked.
The Fox just smiled, one eye almost shut. "I think it's possible."
"You're Mitsune Konno, aren't you? From the Hinata-Sou?"
"Yes, I am, and it's Kitsune to you both," she stated with a grin. "Looking for somebody?"
"Um…yes, we are, actually. We're looking for our friend and your landlord," said Shirai. "I don't know what he did this time, but whatever it was got us yanked off the street and whisked away to…wherever this is."
"Why, whatever for? Please, have a seat," she asked, beckoning them to sit across from them with a gesture of her hand. Keitaro casually closed the top clasp on his cloak as his pals scrambled for the inside seat.
Haitani got there first. "Well, you see…they were pretty tight-lipped about it, but they told us it was about Keitaro. Said he'd need us here 'for our protection' or some such line. Mind you, we told them we didn't need protecting, but…wait a sec, why are you wearing a bulletproof vest?"
"This? Oh, this is for my protection, thank you," she said. "Didn't they give you one?"
"Uhh…no, not yet," Shirai admitted. "Anyway, have you seen Keitaro lately, and if not can either of us interest you in dinner when they let us out of this place?"
Mitsune pretended like she was thinking, and Keitaro remained silent and seemingly uninterested. It was hard not to laugh, watching them act like they knew what they were doing.
"You know…I miiight have seen him around here somewhere. He was hanging around a very pretty girl I know. I think they were together, too," she said, as though recalling a half-forgotten memory.
"What!?" they both said, open-mouthed. Shirai looked at Haitani, then back at her. "Together? That doesn't sound like Keitaro much. Are you sure she wasn't there by accident or something, or maybe trying to punch him out?"
She smirked and shrugged. "Nope, she was definitely with him. Pretty close, too, by the looks of it," she added slyly. Keitaro again fought the urge to laugh when he saw their slackening expressions."
"D-do you know who it was?" Haitani asked in disbelief.
"Oh, I…think we've met," she said flippantly. "After all, she does live where I do."
That surprised the two even more than the fact that their seemingly hopelessly cursed best friend even had a girlfriend. "You mean…he's…"
"Going out with one of us? I'd think so," she said confidently.
Haitani looked at Shirai. "I think you were right the first time: the world really is coming to an end, and we're here to hide while natural order falls apart!"
Mitsune laughed. "No, no…I don't think that's what's happening, boys, not yet at least. Though I do hear your friend might have a hand in saving it soon enough."
Now it was their turn to laugh. "Save it? More likely survive it. That's harder to believe than him getting a girlfriend!" Shirai proclaimed. "By the way, where do you get an arsenal around here, anyway?"
She chuckled. "Not sure, really. Besides, I got this before I got here. These, too." She lifted her arms, revealing the two pistols strapped to her sides. "I guess you could say I got them because of my boyfriend here," she nodded toward the cloaked figure sitting next to her, "but to be honest with you, he's a much better shot than I." She grinned evilly. "You wouldn't believe the size of his guns."
Though she couldn't see his face any more than they could, she could damn near feel Keitaro blushing like mad under there. Oh, how she loved the double entendre!
Noticing the cloaked form in front of them almost for the first time, Shirai and Haitani suddenly recoiled slightly in shock. Indeed, they couldn't see who he was, but the combination of his cloak, the tip of a sword poking out the bottom, and the extra bulk of his armor beneath the fabric suggested he was not someone to be messed with lightly. "Oh, sorry man! I, uh, didn't realize you two were…ahem! Anyway, uh, I'm Masayuki Haitani, and this is Kimiaki Shirai. Uh…who might you be, that has captured the heart of yonder lovely lass, eh?"
Smiling to himself, he extended his gauntleted hand. In the process, his cloak opened slightly to one side, revealing the barrel of his shotgun, a portion of his armor, and the Desert Eagle at his side. Taking and shaking Hitani's hand in greeting, he said, "I believe, Haitani, that we've already met."
They both did a fast double-take. "Huh!?"
He pulled the hood back slightly and unbuckled the top clasp on his cloak's collar, so they could see his grinning face. "How've you guys been?"
"But…she said you were with one of—!" Shirai said in disbelief.
"I am, both literally and figuratively speaking," Keitaro replied. "And I'll have to agree with her: she is very beautiful indeed." He put his arm around her, and to their utter astonishment, her arm did the same around him.
They looked at him, then at her, then at him again, fingers extended and jaws slack. "How…why…is that even…dude!!!" Haitani stammered.
"You serious?" Shirai uttered in disbelief. "What the heck!? Why didn't you tell us?"
"When did it happen?"
"Is this why we're all here?"
"What about the others? Are they available?"
Keitaro chuckled. "Slow down, one at a time!" He scratched the back of his head under his cloak and helmet. "It's a pretty long story, and I can't tell you all of it anyway."
"Never mind that, man! Spill it! What universe have we fallen into that this could happen?" Shirai persisted.
"You can't just drop bombshells like this and expect us to eat it with eggs and sausage without telling us all the dirt! Come on, we're your friends, you owe us!" Haitani demanded.
Mitsune laughed. "Looks like we're gonna be here a while, Kei-kun."
Laughing himself, Keitaro began stuffing their ears as they stuffed their faces.
"Alright, alright, back up. Let me get this straight," Haitani said about twenty minutes later. "We're here because our seemingly hopeless friend has secretly been a kick-ass kung-fu master this entire time with supped-up powers and a super suit?"
"Pretty basically, yeah," Mitsune confirmed. "Though he just got the suit yesterday."
"And these evil dudes are looking for you 'cause you can kick their asses and they want that suit?"
"As far as I know," Keitaro responded. "Whoever they are, they've got lots of people working for them. Trust me, they're not very friendly at all from what I've seen so far."
"And this involves us because we're friends of yours, and they'd come after us to get to you?"
"Wouldn't doubt it."
"And you two are together because she found out about it?" Shirai added.
"Sort of…we kinda got together on our own in the process of all this happening," he replied. "Actually, I guess it started just before it all went to hell like it has now."
"Dude, that is seriously messed up in about ten different ways." Hitani said, shaking his head.
"Here we were, thinking you were just unlucky as hell, and you've been holding back all this time!?" Shirai moaned.
"No...I've been holding back, and my luck still generally sucks," Keitaro responded, before giving Mitsune a meaningful look, "but it just isn't always bad."
She grinned, squeezing him even tighter. "You better believe it!"
"Like bull-hell you've got bad luck!" Haitani argued. "Don't give me that! Look at you: not only are you five levels of overpowered badass higher than ever, you've got a total hottie gunning for you on all fronts and secret fortress covering your back, and you've already played the hero three times this week alone! You call that unlucky!?"
"Think about it carefully, guys: I'm still me, the same as I ever was or ever will be. As we speak, the Hinata is more likely than not being torn to shreds by an army of villains that want me, specifically, dead, and will be here sooner or later to try and do just that. I hate fighting, and now I'm going to be fighting like hell. I don't know if any of us is going to get out of this alive, and I really don't know what I'm going to do about whatever happens afterward. In a week's time, I've gone from worrying about running a girls' dorm—badly—to worrying about whether or not I can save the world."
"Alright, alright, point taken," Haitani conceded. "Still, that leaves just one more question to ask."
Shirai nodded in agreement. "Yep. One very important question."
Keitaro looked at them in confusion. "What question?"
Hitani asked first. "Does this mean we can try our luck with the others now?"
Keitaro slapped his forehead in frustration. "They'd kill you both and you know it."
"Aw, come on, Keitaro! Unlike you, we have our systems down pat," Haitani boasted.
"We have the moves, man. We've been holding back, thinking we were doing you a favor, but if you're already settled then it's our turn to test the waters." Shirai said confidently.
'Like lambs to the slaughter,' Keitaro thought to himself. Mitsune simply shook her head and chuckled. Their lack of confidence, however, did nothing to deter the deranged dynamic duo across the table, so Keitaro said to them quietly, "Look: don't try anything stupid, alright? I don't want to be going to your funerals."
"Duly noted…" Shirai answered.
"…but not really needed," Haitani finished with a smirk.
Keitaro shook his head 'Well, you've been warned, my friends,' he thought to himself with resignation. "Anyway," he said aloud, redoing his cloak's collar and shifting the hood back in place, "There's one thing I need to ask of you two, as a friend."
"What can we do for you, and what can we call you now that you've become our group's resident super-dude?" Haitani asked smoothly.
"Huh?" Keitaro looked at them, confused.
"It's like a Hero's Code or something, man," Shirai continued, and started counting off on his fingers, "You've got the powers, your own suit, sweet weapons, and a cape, but you still need a new name, a new identity. Something cool, you know?"
Keitaro raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with Keitaro?"
Haitani slapped his forehead. "Man, where has this guy been all these years? Haven't you ever read a comic book? Watched the Matrix? Anything like that? You need a codename, man! Something catchy." They both looked at him expectantly.
Keitaro paused. "Hmmm…I'd really have to think about that one, guys." Their heads dropped in abject frustration. "But I need you two to do me a big favor still: if you see any of my other tenants, do not tell them about…us…yet," he said, indicating himself and Kitsune. "It's going to be tricky enough to tell them myself, and I want to keep the collateral damage from the fallout to a minimum if at all possible, okay?"
His friends looked at one another, then at him. Haitani said, "On one condition: we get to come up with a codename for you." Shirai nodded in quick agreement.
Keitaro sighed. "Alright, fine. But I still get to pick and choose from what you come up with."
"And I get final approval, too," Mitsune chimed in, drawing a surprised look from Keitaro.
"Not a problem!" Shirai said. "Leave the thinking to the professionals!"
"Alright, then," Keitaro said, getting up.
"Hey! Where ya goin?" Haitani asked him.
"To drop off my tray and plates to get washed, and to find someone that knows what the heck I'm supposed to be doing next," Keitaro said as Mitsune joined him. "I honestly can't tell you what that's going to be."
"Whoa, now, hold on a minute," Shirai said, stopping them. "You aren't going anywhere without us."
Keitaro looked at them in mild surprise. "Guys, I wouldn't really advise that, it could be really dangerous—"
"Of course it is," Haitani replied, "But that doesn't mean we're just backing out into some quiet corner to let you have all the fun."
"Yeah! Besides which, we want our own gear!"
"And guns! I'm not sitting around like a duck; if someone's gonna be shooting at us, I at least oughtta be able to shoot back."
"You owe us that much, you know. They yanked us off the street because of you."
"You know you'd be hopeless without some backup."
"Alright, okay, I get it," Keitaro conceded, but didn't back down. "You're both nuts, you know that?"
"Why, 'cause we're crazy enough to help out a friend, or 'cause we think we've got a better chance at getting with one of your other tenants?"
"Or Haruka!"
Keitaro slapped his forehead. "Both, and then some. C'mon guys, this is serious. I don't know all that we're up against yet, but I assure you it's going to be incredibly dangerous. I'd rather you two not get hurt or killed on my account, alright?"
"Then we won't!" Shirai insisted. "And we won't take no for an answer, either."
Mitsune looked at her boyfriend. "I don't think they're gonna leave you alone any more than I am, Kei-kun," she said with a smirk. "Better get used to it."
Sighing with defeat, Keitaro relented. "Alright, fine. Let's get going, then."
As they brought the remains of their breakfast to the washing area (which turned out to be a wet conveyor belt leading into a back kitchen) and left the mess hall, Mitsune asked Keitaro in a quiet voice, "You think letting those two come up with a name for you is a good idea, Kei?"
He shook his head. "Not any more than letting them come along is, but it will give them something to do and make them happy," he said soberly. "Besides which, they're far better at the geek stuff than I am anyway. Not that that's saying very much, granted, but they're more into it than I am."
She giggled to herself. "Well, you've still gotta admit that being heroic has its perks sometimes."
He shook his head. "I just want to be me."
She smiled warmly. "Then don't worry: you're doing great so far, Keitaro."
A.N.: Right, then. Points of interest: the other two villains are in: Villerchek Dubate, a.k.a. Atrocity, and Merten Dripe, a.k.a. the Wraith. Of these, I'll tell you right off the bat that Atrocity is the worst and most powerful, while Wraith is more of a wildcard. Also (like anyone actually gives a smeg one way or another) these are the other two anagrammatic OCs; first one is three words of different lengths, second one is just one.
Title comes from a line in Ghostbusters; anyone that has seen that movie will get why.
Next time: new toys and revelations, reunions and confrontations galore. Plus, we learn the identity of the leader behind all this. Cheers.