Chapter 5

No Time

Six men cornered her. Kirika aimed at the glass case of a fire alarm and shot it. With the shards, she charged at two men. They froze in their tracks at the aggressive advance. She jumped high, and struck them both in the throats just before landing between them. They crumbled, dead. Two more men charged, firing blindly. Kirika threw herself onto the first's shoulders as if receiving a shoulder ride, then tightened her legs around his neck and flung him backwards to the ground. She rolled backwards to dodge the other's fires, then flicked back up onto her feet, landing onto his chest. Her weight toppled him backwards. Before they hit the floor, Kirika stomped his face into the floor for extra damage.

He did not give up. Although his face was mangled and bloodied, he got up and threw a punch. But Kirika ducked, flipped backwards—her feet met the ceiling for a second, as if she was standing upside-down, before she launched back down. On her way down, she lodged her gun into his mouth, and fired. Then she grabbed more guns and continued on.

There was more gunfire behind her, but she didn't look back.

Mireille.

Kirika ran up a flight of stairs.

"Just fucking brilliant!" roared Rhain.

Guests fled their rooms, bumping into her or others. Rhain ordered them to escape down the flight of stairs. Some were stupid enough to enter elevators, but she reprimanded them, throwing them out toward the staircases. One of them rambled about how a blonde jeopardized his family, demanding she call the police.

Rhain passed the second and third floor, where men were bathed in blood, glass, and vase shards. Hallways were scarred by bullets; furniture broken and slumped against walls.

Now it was just a matter of whether or not Noir escaped alive, and if they succeeded in killing Varrichione. Rhain joined the panic toward outside. As she jogged along crying guests, she looked around in search of Tsuki, Mireille, or Kirika.

Sirens whined in the distance. Murmurs in the streets rose to panic and confusion. Mireille dodged people running toward the scene. She now wore an overcoat from a fallen gunman. With everyone around her distracted, no one noticed the bit of blood seeping through her sleeve. She calmly turned a corner and casually took a brown leather jacket from its racket outside a store putting on a sale.

A police car drove by. After much experience, she knew to watch it drive by rather than keep her eye straight ahead. Any normal person would naturally act confused and curious, not keep a steady yet suspicious walk away from the scene.

The car drove on without stopping. Mireille took a big breath and tightened the heavy man's jacket over the overcoat.

"Miss, are you okay?" shouted someone from behind. She had walked by an outdoor restaurant, railed in by a fence. However, a customer randomly watching her walk by pointed out a trail of blood behind her.

He vaulted the fence and rushed over to her. Mireille stumbled backwards, shocked at such keen attention.

"Miss, you're bleeding!" he said, inspecting her layers of clothing.

"Stop it, before you—!" began Mireille, when there were shouts. From the opposite direction were cops running by, asking about a blonde. They saw her trail of blood and pointed at her.

Mireille whipped around, ramming her elbow into the guy's face. He howled, stepping away. She winced at the fact that she had used her injured arm. When the police ran toward her, she dashed across the street. She ran into the heart of town, where she hoped Saturday evening would offer plenty of cover in its bustling shoppers.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted a familiar brunette head up ahead.

Kirika—wait! She couldn't afford to call out to her. It would endanger her. Mireille switched directions, desperately searching the crowds for any means of cover. As she ran, she threw off her layers of clothing. There were shouts behind her, the sound of startled cries as people were being pushed aside.

She needed new clothes. Fast.

Mireille tried to slow down in the crowd. It was Saturday. The flea market. Enough people. She slowed her breathing, wearing a calmer expression. She turned another sharp left, heading towards a long set of tables under a tent. They wrapped around an empty rectangular space in the middle.

To her relief, another rack of clothes stood nearby. When no one looked, she grabbed a silky red scarf and wrapped it around her arm to cover the existing bandage and to stop the bloodflow. She quickly picked out a short-sleeved leather jacket with a woolen hood sticking out, pretending she was looking at herself in the mirror—just in time as police and volunteering citizens rushed by.

Next to her, a young woman glared at her. Mireille didn't need to ask if she knew. She casually tucked her hands into the pockets of her new jacket, staring sideways at the woman.

The woman looked down at the gun peeking from Mireille's pocket.

"Please. I don't want to hurt you," murmured Mireille. "I'm just trying to save a friend—."

"Mireille!" Someone grabbed Mireille's arm from behind, making her wince.

Tsuki.

"Are you ok?" she whispered, eyeing her worriedly.

"I'm fine—what the hell you doing—?" panicked Mireille, looking around them.

"COPS! OVER HERE!" shouted the woman next to her. Mireille and Tsuki gasped, while she glared them down. "You're the ones they're looking for, aren't you?"

Mireille gritted her teeth, pointing her gun at the woman.

"No, Mireille!" hissed Tsuki, pulling her away.

From behind, they heard the woman shout, "Over here! There are two of them! Cops, over here! Someone call 911!"

They fled downhill toward the more remote streets. Finally, in an alley by an abandoned park, Tsuki paused when she saw Mireille's bleeding arm. "Mireille, your arm—!"

Mireille whirled around, gripping Tsuki by the collar. "What the hell do you think you're doing—?"

Sirens.

Then, voices.

The two looked up, as two men looked down at them from the rooftops. They shouted, then fired down at them. Mireille and Tsuki retreated back out the alley; they'd rather risk the public than being trapped.

"He has them everywhere!" roared Mireille, hearing Tsuki's footsteps behind her. She's gonna slow me down. I can't involve her either . . .

"Here!" shouted Mireille, throwing her gun back to Tsuki.

"What—?"

They were crossing a bridge. A risk, even Tsuki knew that. But it was too late. Suddenly, cars swarmed in from either side of the bridge. Cops halted, pulling out their guns—at the same time, V's guards, wanting to claim the title of Noir in his name.

"Mireille!" screamed Tsuki, ducking at the crossfire.

"C'mon!" shouted Mireille, charging toward the side of the bridge. Luckily, Tsuki was right on her tail. Just before they jumped, Mireille ordered, "Climb!" She nearly pushed Tsuki over, who finally got the message.

Tsuki swooped her legs over the giant, intricately carved railings. She hung there, hands gripping the edge. Then turned around, dropped, and caught hold of an angel statue supporting the bridge. She swooped in and wedged herself into the gap between the angel's head and its trumpet. She peeked out, waiting for Mireille.

There were gunfires. A body fell by her.

"MIREILLE!" screamed Tsuki.

There was a splash. Water bloomed and bubbled from the impact. Tsuki leaned over from her perch, searching down below. A vague shadow slithered tighter under the bridge. Then, Mireille resurfaced through a cold burst, gasping quietly.

"Mireille," whispered Tsuki, relieved—but there was more gunfire.

The woman submerged again, then clung to the cement wall underneath the bridge. She gasped at her open wound. She fumbled to reload her gun. Within minutes, Varrichione's henchmen, who must have left their comrades to handle the police above, ran down the hills alongside the bridge. When they saw Mireille, they shouted.

Mireille looked at Tsuki and shrieked, "Tsuki, your GUN!"

Without hesitation, Tsuki flashed out her gun, and fired down all guards. Some fell into the water, others fell backwards on their knees, mouths agape. In the distance, witnesses along the river fled.

Mireille lost her breath at the accurate body count falling under Tsuki's fires. She stared up at the Asian, who held the gun professionally. Straight expression, alert eyes—even her concerned expression didn't seem so worried.

SplashSplashSplash! A hidden man from the other side of the bridge joined Mireille under the bridge. He pulled out his gun and fired.

"MIREILLE!"

Kirika rammed sideways into him. Both disappeared underwater. Mireille didn't care about her pain anymore—as the man resurfaced, she fired. At the same time, Kirika sat up, and out of panic, shot him again.

His body was a lump floating along the water. Noir exchanged weary, yet relieved expressions. Kirika saw the bleeding bicep. Mireille saw her wounded shins. Both dragged through the water toward each other.

Kirika panted, "Mireille!" But then she staggered and tripped into Mireille. Her partner slumped forward to catch her, but Kirika caught herself. She smiled breathlessly at Mireille.

There was the sound of a thunderclap.

They turned their attention back to Tsuki, who fell from her perch.

Blood fogged the water. Noir splashed over to where she fell, but Tsuki stood up, coughing, wiping water and hair from her face. She clutched her side.

Before they could reach Tsuki, more enemies appeared at shore. From behind, they aimed at the Asian, whose back faced them.

"Tsuki—!" screamed Kirika.

However, before the enemy fired, they were lit on fire.

The gunmen stopped, dropped, and rolled. They were replaced by Rhain, who stood there, palm flat out.

"What the hell?" whispered Mireille.

Behind Rhain were more gunshots. She dodge-rolld out of harm's way, and joined the other three under the bridge, momentarily out of range. Rhain looked at Tsuki, and nodded. Noir looked over to Tsuki, who returned the gesture.

Tsuki pointed Mireille's gun upward. Such a bold stance.

"They . . . can fight . . ." stated Kirika, nearly speechless.

Tsuki looked over her shoulders at them. "We're so sorry."

As the men advanced, Rhain charged forward, while Tsuki covered her from behind. Their enemy attempted punches, but Rhain dodged, flicking them in the face with her elbows. With a simple slap to his chest, she knocked him down.

Noir squinted. The man ripped a sticky note from his chest, with Japanese dialect painted on. The paint was clearly fresh, sticking to his hand like goo as he looked at it confusingly.

Suddenly, Tsuki slid into him and punched him right where the sticky pad was. When he got up a few feet away, Noir's eyes reflected hell:

He burst into flames. The rotten stench of burning flesh, and something stronger, thickened the air.

Mireille pinched her nose. "Is that . . . oil?"

"That's right," said Rhain, her calm demeanor paralyzing Noir and even the enemy. She pulled out a pad of sticky note, leafing through it. Most of it was already covered in black paint. In her other hand, was a paintbrush.

And between the fingers of Tsuki's clenched fist, was a lighter.

"No way . . ." gasped Mireille.

Rhain caught two nearby men off guard still in shock, slapping her sticky notes against their chests, foreheads, legs, or backs. Tsuki followed up with her own series of punches. Their enemy writhed in the flames.

Tsuki fiddled with her lighter, looking at Noir. "Rhain marks them, I ignite them with a single punch and press of a button."

"But why . . . fire?" asked Kirika.

"It's quick and quite frankly, unexpected," boasted Rhain. From behind, a man locked her into a bear hug, arms cushioning underneath her armpits and fists pressed against the back of her head. She busted her arms open like wings, while at the same time crouching and stepping on one of his feet. Then, she heeled him in the groin, picked up a stick on the ground, and stabbed him through his sunglasses.

"And, it burns the bodies," said Rhain, who pasted a sticky note to him. It dripped with thin oil, but enough to ignite to Tsuki's follow up.

"And the aroma of death?" retorted Mireille.

"In time, washed away by the river next to us—and the smell of a barbeque," said Rhain. Noir flinched at the dark humor. She dropped her stabbing stick. "Death by flame. Seems more natural than . . . by human hands."

"Your fire tortured them," whispered Kirika.

"Why not a quick bullet to end their misery?" agreed Mireille, almost pitying their enemy.

They heard shouts, more sirens and vehicles screeching to a halt above them. In the distance, on the sides of the river, more police cars pulled up.

Rhain glared at Noir. "Go! Through the sewer right there!"

A small pipe jutted from underneath the bridge. It was big enough, though, for humans to slip through.

Rhain strategically tossed her pad of sticky notes along the river. Tsuki traced from both sides of the bridge with her lighter, catching the grass on fire in a beautiful straight, defensive line.

"Heat rises," sang Rhain as fire scrambled up the rolling hills. Men yelled, their voices retreating back to the top of the bridge.

Rhain turned and roared, "NOW!"

Mireille and Kirika hesistated, eyes honoring Tsuki and Rhain. Then, Mireille supported Kirika as they bent on all fours and crawled into the sewer pipe.

Mireille managed to get them deep into the heart of the sewer passages. There, Kirika's strength waned. She dropped to the cold stone floor, weighing Mireille along with her. They laid there for about a few seconds, until Kirika remembered her promise to Odette Bouquet: to be Mireille's strength, to care for Mireille. What a funny thing to ask a child with a gun in her hands . . .

Kirika whispered, "Forgive me . . . Odette."

Mireille was clenching her teeth until she heard that. She looked over to Kirika. "Hey, now," she panted, with a quivering smile.

"I was selfish," continued Kirika. She pulled herself up to sit up, then leaned against the filthy wall. "I was obsessed with that cat . . . who was so much like me."

"Kirika . . ."

"She was all that was left of me . . . and you're all I have left," whimpered Kirika.

"Don't go talking like that. We're not dead. Now c'mon, Tsuki and Rhain gave us time, but not enough, so I need you to keep going. I'll hold them—."

"No!" burst Kirika, grabbing Mireille's arm gently in case it was the bleeding one. "We do this together."

"Your shins look horrible. You go, I will catch up, I promise—."

"No, Mireille. I promised your mother."

"Well, sorry, looks like you're gonna have break that promise!" snapped Mireille, pulling away from Kirika. "I don't plan on losing you after losing her, now do I—?"

Shouts.

"I heard something!"

The men were still a good distance away, but Noir could make out flashlights stabbing the darkness in all directions.

"Shit," hissed Mireille as she picked up her gun. She winced at her dominant bicep, even though she wasn't using it. "Go, Kirika."

Kirika did not want to leave behind that voice, the one that said her name with meaning, with these other voices. She refused to. Kirika reached for the barrel of the gun and clasped her hands around it, locking it in place. That way, Mireille wouldn't attempt to distract the enemy with her gunfire.

"Kirika, let go!" demanded Mireille, hissing through her teeth.

How she said her name was so much meaning, as if it was sacramental.

"Let GO!" hissed Mireille.

"Mireille," said Kirika sternly. "Listen to me."

They lowered their voices as the footsteps echoed closer.

And Mireille listened.

"There's no one here," said one of the gunmen.

"Shhh," ordered their leader. He listened to the whisper of running sewer water. The faint sound of traffic above was a dreamlike sound in the distance. He listened for panicked, quiet breathing in a shadowy corner somewhere.

BANG.

Darkness took one man at a time until the leader remained. He cursed, his flashlight spearing the darkness. Before he could pin the enemy's location, a gun went off. He felt a stinging, breath-taking pain in his liver. As he staggered, grunting, his flashlight cornered down a silhouette emerging from the water. It was a small girl on the shoulders of an older woman.

Mireille panted, not caring how loud she was. Kirika remained perched on her shoulders—just like they had planned.

"Like that time with the popcorn in the darkness," chuckled Mireille, looking up at Kirika.

More running footsteps and shouts. Their gunshots had only lured more down.

Kirika smiled, however. "We've escaped darkness before. We can do it again . . ."

After another good run giving Kirika a shoulder-ride, Mireillle stopped, gasping for breath. They stood a few feet from a halo of light from a slightly open manhole above. She boosted Kirika up to check for oncoming traffic and if it was a public area. Kirika declared the place clear, and Noir clambered out. Hoping their staggering and their bloody wounds didn't catch anyone's eye, the two slipped into an alley. They sat behind a giant blue dumpster. It was the most unpleasant thing to hide behind it, but it beat being stuck down in the darkness.

Mireille's chest heaved. "Our clothes . . ." She bit her lip as she attempted to unwrap her bandages, but her wounded arm made it unbearable. She had to keep from crying out.

Kirika stopped her. "My arms are fine, let me do it." She ripped shreds of their clothing to wrap themselves up. And yet, nothing could keep the blood from flowing, the pain to stop.

"So. It's kinda funny . . ." Mireille slouched, closing her eyes. "Just before all of this, I was actually thinking about moving to the countryside." She smiled a bit.

"Mireille."

"Hm?"

"What about Tsuki and Rhain?"

Mireille had forgotten about their saviors. She lowered her eyes, and ran her hand through her sweat-matted hair. "How could we have been so blind?"

She remembered the accurate gunshots, the mid-air stunts, the tactical bursts of flames. Flawless. Sneaky. Casual. Awing. Yet terrifying.

"We should have known better," said Mireille, glaring into thought. "Nothing like that—like those two—ever swept over our heads. We could sense the enemy with their guns, but not these girls with their expertise—?"

"Apparently they're not the enemy," said Kirika, leaning her head back against the dumpster. "We had nothing to worry about."

"I felt something. I just didn't realize it was from them, what it was. They couldn't be candidates of Noir. I mean, we're Noir, right? The trials are long past—."

"Are they?" challenged Kirika, eyeing Mireille's arm.

Her partner ignored her. "And where'd they come from . . .?"

Kirika perked up to the sound of running. "Mireille. They're here . . ."

Mireille looked at a fire escape above them. It was out of their reach, unless she boosted Kirika up. But then she hesitated. Neither was in the condition to apply pressure to her feet or her arms, and climbing up that fire escape required just that. Was it worth it, only to be stuck up on the rooftops? Was it better than being down here, though?

"We go up," ordered Mireille, standing up. She put her two fists together, even if it meant using her wounded arm.

"We'll both be slow on that ladder—if they see us, we're dead," said Kirika.

"We don't have a choice—."

"I found them!" shouted someone.

"C'MON, we've been through worse!" snapped Mireille.

Kirika whimpered as she stepped onto Mirelle's fists, which catapulted her. She grabbed the ladder hanging from the side of the first veranda of the fire escape. Kirika grunted, pulling herself up. She whimpered through the unbearable, straining pain in her shins. She was a sloth moving upward, trying to hold on.

It was pointless. Kirika being up on the ladder only made them more visible targets. Bullets banged against the metal, miraculously missing her. Without hesitation, Mireille whipped around and fired. At the other end of the alley by the street were three men. They ducked behind the corners of the alley; the third advanced, dive-rolling behind a thick pile of trash bags—it didn't save him from Mireille's relentless gunfire.

Above her, Kirika dangled, with only her upper body strength to rely on. She barely applied pressure to her less wounded leg. Their enemy found her an easier target with Mireille hidden, and opened fire. Kirika screamed, more at her pain than the bullets.

Mireille charged. They were distracted in that split second for her to gun them down. She got one right in the forehead who had just peeked around his corner. His comrade stayed behind the opposite corner.

However, this made Mireille vulnerable in her attempt to stand from her roll. He pulled out, and fired.

"MIREILLE!" shouted Kirika, killing him from her perch.

He staggered from the gunshot in his shoulder. Mireille remained crouched from her roll; she looked over her shoulders at Kirika. The Japanese's balance was crippled, but she had made it to the first flight of stairs. The latter sighed with relief, and ran back toward the fire escape. She didn't have time to think, so she stuffed her last gun in the back of her jeans, and winged it: she stepped up the wall and reached for the ladder. She caught its rungs in a dangerous swing, grunting and wincing. She started her ascent.

Kirika, who had already made it to the rooftop, shouted down to her. "Mireille!"

More gunshots.

Mireille looked up, only to watch Kirika disappear from the edge. More battlecries. She ran up the stairs faster, but someone shot down at her, forcing her to kick through someone's window. She landed in a living room, which was thankfully empty at the moment. She heard from outside, "She's inside one of the rooms!"

Kirika, she thought, taking a breather. She was hot and sweaty, mouth dry. She looked for a bathroom and drank ravenously from the sink. But she thought about how every gasp for breath meant Kirika's impending death, whether she'd been shot already or not. Mireille ran to find a flight of stairs up to the roof.

Kirika scrambled up to her feet, tripping behind a cluster of air conditioners. She landed on that healing wound from their last battle with Altena, which surprisingly hadn't been hit yet till now. She cried out in agony, and lay there trembling, letting go of her gun, holding her side. She felt her wound, but gasped when she barely touched it. Her hand fell to her belt, something to squeeze, to distract from the pain . . .

She shuddered, to keep them from hearing her breathing.

But they found her.

About five men approached her.

"A puny girl?" exclaimed one of them.

"You couldn't tell from all that shitload of shooting earlier?" grumbled another.

"Clever," said another. "Short hair to impersonate a man's figure; a petite, benign figure to disguise age; and an innocent personality to only blind."

"It's not that clever."

"Well, did you expect a child in the underworld business?"

"Well, no . . ."

"She's clearly not a child. Maybe seventeen—."

"What about her friend down there?"

"Humph, she's somewhere inside." A foot pressed lightly against Kirika's skull, exploring soft spots. "Such little time. Which do you prefer? We kill you before she gets here, or we go all the way down there and kill her, just before we kill you?"

Someone snapped their fingers. Then, footsteps fading as they galloped down what sounded like stairs—stairs that led to Mireille.

A kick to her ribs. The pain was intolerable. No sound escaped Kirika, although she squeezed into a ball. She sweated from how much her arms tightened around herself, just to endure it all. She rolled onto her other hip to keep her wound out reach, but he smashed his foot upon her shin. Finally, Kirika screamed, jerking.

"Is that a bullet in your leg?" chuckled her tormentor. He reached down, pressing his finger slowly into her wound.

It was like burning in flames; Kirika wailed, trying to crawl away. He enjoyed the idea of easily removing Noir from its title, especially in this fashion. He towered over her then followed her patiently. He watched her drag herself around the corner of the vents, propping herself up against its cool metal.

Kirika heard the sound of a click.

"So, what are those epic last words squirms like you say before they become a nobody in the pages of history?" he mused cynically. "Oh, lemme guess. 'Noir, it is the name of an ancient fate'. Something like, 'I'm Noir, you can't kill me'? Well I think I CAN—!" He smashed down on her shin again. "BECAUSE I'M DOING IT RIGHT NOW—!" He gutted her in the side wound from the Manor. "Huh? HUH? You're nothing but low meat—!"

"Noir," corrected Kirika, gasping. "It's Noir!"

He paused, then chuckled. "I was hoping for a more heroic last line—."

Kirika whipped out her belt from her jeans. She turned around, and without looking, slashed. She didn't think she'd be able to hit him, but she hadn't been aware he was leaning down to press his gun against her head. The timing couldn't have been anymore convenient, as she felt the blows of the buckle. It banged against his skull, then violently brushed his torso, and whipped his limbs. He backed away, face marred in bloody scratches.

While he was blinded, he aimed his gun, as if hoping to hit Kirika. However, a bloody hand grabbed his wrist, keeping his gun pointing upwards. He panicked, shooting into the sky.

"She's more meat than your dust and bones," growled Mireille, who took his gun and reversed it at him.

He managed to catch a glimpse of her through his swollen eye. "How could you be THE Noir—?" he shrieked.

"Noir's a name for two," said both women.

Mireille shot him point-blank, then gently pushed him backwards over the edge.

No sooner than she did, she turned around and aimed her gun at three men standing at the entrance to the stairs.

"Noir, huh?"

Two guards flanked Grey Varrichione, loading their guns, itching to shoot on command. The scumbag himself pulled out his own gun. This time, he wore a black pinstripe suit with a shiny red tie, and red rims tracing along the collar folds or cuffs. There was a gold Soldats pin on his left breast. His blondish hair was slicked back as usual, but up close, Noir saw neat facial hair growing along his jawline.

V snapped his fingers. One of his guards held something black. It mewed. He gave the cat to his boss, who stroked her back. V even tickled under her chin, a familiar gesture that lodged a thorny feeling in Kirika's throat.

"Mireille!" she whispered, looking at the cat.

"Actually, her name is Noir," said V. "She was mine to begin with. Just a snare that led you to me. I knew, one day, Noir would be sent after me. I studied everything about you two, your hobbies, your schedule—so I could kill you."

"Says the man with guards," said Mireille with a straight face. "Always having everyone else do things for him. Typical."

"No one needs to know how I killed Noir. No one cares," said V, shrugging. "I always admired the title of Noir, the deadly weight it put on every tongue. So in honor of your upcoming death and my inheritance of the title, I named this cat after you."

"It's just a name," said Mireille, who aimed her gun at him and pulled the trigger. But it was empty.

The men looked at her and grinned. V shrugged. He snapped his fingers, the sound replaced by explosions as his guards opened fire. Mireille and Kirika ducked, throwing themselves behind the vents Kirika hid behind earlier. The sound of crunching, clanging metal. The deafening boom of bullets. The whooping enemy.

And somewhere in all that smoke and confusion, Kirika saw the cat jump out of V's arms. What a selfish fool for bringing his cat to a battle. The sound frightened her, as she flew into the range of fire.

"MIREILLE!" screamed Kirika, about to get up, but her partner pushed her back down.

There was a startled cry from the other side. The gunfire had stopped. Noir peeked over their cover, as two people flipped over V's men. They landed in front of the enemy, kneed them in the groins, and—as the guards keeled forward—grabbed them by the shoulders; they rolled backwards, throwing the guards over them. A classic move, but that's what made it brilliant.

"What the?" shouted V, dive-rolling away from the fray. He hid behind the small, separate roof that covered the stairs. His guards landed on their backs but managed to get up to counterattack Tsuki and Rhain, who had no weapons. Noir anticipated flames but—

But nothing happened.

Tsuki and Rhain still fought a good minute without releasing hell. There was only so much combat they could maintain against men with weapons.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" boomed Rhain, who flipped backwards, clipping a bodyguard in the jaw at the same time. "Finish him off!"

"Where are your flames of hell?" roared Mireille.

"Lost them when you last saw us!" yelled Rhain, as if offended and annoyed that they said such things at this time.

"YOU WHAT?"

A horrible reminder that they were mere humans.

Tsuki's long braid served well in temporarily blinding her foe, twirling around her almost like a defensive shield. She spun to dodge a few punches. However, her opponent grabbed her braid and pulled hard. Tsuki cried out, trying to pull back on her braid. He aimed his gun. She realized she wasn't as strong as him, so she used the momentum of his strength to her advantage, twirling, her braid growing smaller as she roped herself in closer to him. She flew past his gun that was still outstretched, leaving him open to Tsuki's fist.

"Kill them all!" shouted Tsuki, tornado-kicking the gun out of his hand.

Mireille peeked over just to see it slide across the roof gravel. At the same time, V, from his cover, saw it too. They saw each other, then raced for it. Mireille lunged. Varrichione panicked at his delay—but when Mireille reached the gun, V pulled out a spare gun hidden from the back of his jeans. He aimed at Mireille, who had just grabbed the fallen gun.

"It was the only way to lure you closer," he panted, pulling the trigger.

BANG.

Mireille fell, but so did he.

Tsuki and Rhain looked over to where Kirika had picked up another fallen gun and shot V. Then she flung the weapon aside and dragged her dead weight to Mireille; she'd just suffer another gun wound on the side of her thigh. Tsuki and Rhain rushed to the woman as well, Tsuki making sure V was dead, and Rhain inspecting Mireille's wound. However, there was too much blood to pinpoint bullet entry.

"Mireille!" cried Kirika, feeling dizzy from blood loss.

Mireille was flat on her back, arms limp at her sides; she gazed up at the sun, now eclipsed by Kirika's face.

"Mireille!" repeated Kirika. Tsuki tried to stop her from straining herself.

"Stay away from her for now," snapped Rhain, checking Mireille's pulse.

"Idiot . . ." gasped Mireille.

Rhain paused, not sure whether to grin as she looked into Mireille's dimming eyes. "No bantering, not just yet," she said weakly, tending to the wound.

"No . . . V . . ." murmured Mireille. "I ran to lure him, too."

"Rhain," said Tsuki hurriedly. "Varrichione was shot twice."

She pointed out the gunshot in V's head from Kirika, and another in his stomach. They stared back at the gun next to Mireille, the one she had dove for. It was steaming.

"That's Noir for ya, even in the face of death."