Part Six: The Waiting
- - O - -
Harsh neon light fell across the cold floor as the mechanized steel door slid aside into the wall. Through it strode men's good black shoes, polished beneath the crisp hem of tailored pants, and behind them a pair of tall boots plated on the toe and shin with molded steel, like armor. The narrowness of the ankle and slight heel were the only exceptions to the boots' masculinity. The shoes clapped an echo through the room while the automated door slid shut with an airtight thud behind them and electric lights flashed on in the room.
A slim figure was now illuminated, lying still on a table in the center of the floor with shirt removed and pants replaced by a ghostly medical smock that matched the quality of his pale complexion. The rest of the room had all the clamminess and cold impersonality of a hospital, or a laboratory, or both; it was vacant of other furniture save for the locked cabinets waiting sternly beneath counters that lined the periphery of the room.
The two figures walked directly to the smocked body, boots stopping respectfully beside their polished companions.
"This is the boy?" said a voice that held all the impatience of a CEO and all the subversive brutality of a mob boss. "Well done, Shira. What's his condition?"
"His wounds were treated the moment he arrived, sir. He should be awake in a few hours, and fit for analysis within a few days." A woman's voice, calm and clear.
"A good deal of research can be accomplished in a 'few days'. I need him awake, not fit for a marathon. Notify me when he regains consciousness, and Trap will begin his study."
"Yes sir." The faintest hesitation, contradicted by the fervor of real loyalty.
The man turned on his heel and left the room without comment, steps echoing on the metallic walls. When he was gone, the woman named Shira turned back to the redhead on the table and eyed him thoughtfully. Compared to his pale skin, his hair almost appeared to be on fire. The boy's breath was shallow but steady, no longer the feverish rush it had been when she arrived with him. Her straight brown hair hung just past her chin, held back off her forehead by a practical black elastic cord. Her eyes were deep brown, small and sharp like those of a ferret.
Her gaze flashed behind her as the door hissed open and another man entered the room, his stance measured and passive. He was tall, wearing a buttoned black shirt and grey business slacks fastened with a textureless black belt. He moved with the air of a man who was fundamentally disinterested by the concept of footwear, much less the selection he'd pulled on that morning. It wasn't that he appeared scruffy; quite the opposite. He was exactly presentable, no more and no less.
"Mr. Gorudo says he's not to be touched until he wakes. Not even by you, Trap," the woman warned him. She seemed displeased by his presence.
"I am well aware. I came to look," he returned flatly, walking up beside her but leaving several feet between them. Trap radiated an invisible barrier of almost sacred personal space. There was no warning posted, but one knew instinctively not to cross inside it. His long, very straight tan hair lay in a sleek tail down his upper back. His profile was handsome, she had noted many times, though his cold expression was unattractive to her more intense personality. They were almost opposites, a serpent and a ferret standing beside each other.
He looked down at Daisuke in calm analysis as if he could see the chemical makeup of the redhead's entire body with his clear gray eyes, hands still at his sides. Only looking. Shira sighed silently. If there was one thing she felt she could judge about Trap, it was that he tended to do exactly what he said. That, and he was a pathetic conversationalist.
"Satisfied?" she demanded.
"Yes," he returned, crossing his arms.
"No matter how brilliant you are, you can't learn anything else by looking at him," she finally said impatiently. "Or are you that eager to evaluate him?" There was real curiosity in her voice. Trap rarely showed personal interest in any of his projects. Others in Gorudo's employ found it intriguing; she saw it as obnoxious.
"Not particularly. Well, then," he excused himself indifferently, turning from her and the boy to pass back through the door. Shira refrained from rolling her eyes, but the sentiment was there. She took a seat at a desk at the edge of the room where Daisuke's vital sensors were feeding graphs across a computer screen. She rested her cheek on a calloused hand and followed the charts dully. Everything was about to happen, but first she would have to wait.
- - O - -
The night was sullen and tired, too late to hold the energy of dusk and too far from dawn for the hope of a new day to rise. Time passed tediously. Cruelly. The effort of walking in the still night air was like swimming through glue. The one thing Dark had to be grateful for was that the hour meant no one was outside on the streets. The rest of the city had logically gone to sleep. Dark's wings dragged slightly on the ground behind him, the muscles sore enough that he preferred this to holding them up.
He'd made it just outside of the park before his energy began to ooze from his body. He had to find Daisuke, but was suddenly all too aware that he had no idea where to look first. He should have asked Riku more questions. He stopped walking and looked behind him. He might still be able to find the girls, but running wasn't an option at the moment. It was only by force of will that he was standing up at all.
Still looking back half-heartedly, he began pushing forward again when a hard force bowled him sideways. Dark braced himself as he and his attacker tumbled onto the sidewalk. Cringing, he grabbed his opponent's shirt collar and threw him sideways, pinning the stranger's weight beneath him, and punched him soundly in the face. His pain-blurred vision barely caught the fist flying at him in return. He drew on his magic to build a shield to block the strike. A shower of purple sparks blew around the angel as the surprisingly weak punch still made it through the shield and caught him in the chest. Dark drew back off his opponent, coughing like he'd been hit with a hammer and not a fist.
But the attacker had stopped, gasping quietly for breath like he'd been running for some time. Dark had been too alarmed to notice that before. "What are you?" said a breathless voice in confusion.
Dark pulled himself together enough to stop choking. It wasn't the stranger's punch that winded him; it was his own attempt to summon magical power he simply didn't have available right now. It felt like he'd squeezed his heart with a vice. He squinted his eyes to see his opponent better, but even if his vision weren't blurred, it was too dark to make out much. "I'm an unsuspecting pedestrian who you just tackled to the sidewalk in the middle of the night; I think I'd like to know what the hell you are first," the angel hissed, adding venom to his voice to hide how thin it had become.
The shadow in front of him shifted slightly and stood. "Look, I don't want trouble. There's no time," the voice demanded impatiently. Dark blinked; he thought he recognized that voice. "What was that light around you just now?" it demanded warily.
Dark frowned; he didn't want to deal with this right now. And why did he know that person's voice? He stepped forward into the dim glow of a lamplight and let the stranger see his winged silhouette. That ought to scare the nosy fool off.
The dark shadow where he knew the stranger was standing was silent enough to make Dark wonder if he was still there at all. And then, tensely, "Dark?...How?" The shadow faltered toward him, light falling onto his face. Blue hair, glasses, grim blue eyes. It was Satoshi Hiwatari. Great. "I-…Is Daisuke with you?" he struggled through his shock.
Dark shook his head dizzily. He was getting tired of being asked that question, and with the exception of Krad, Satoshi was frankly the last person he wanted to deal with at the moment. He pondered how much he'd have to tell the kid about what had happened to get him off his back. Well, he'd figure out the situation one way or the other eventually. "Daisuke's not in the park. He was taken," the angel strained.
Surprisingly, Satoshi did not follow up his question with the expected "Who?" or "Where?" or even the inevitable "How did you get here?" He took a step closer to Dark and stared at him hard, like he was searching to understand something.
"What now?" Dark snapped.
"You smell like blood," Hiwatari said flatly, frowning up at the angel as if there wasn't a half foot's difference in their height.
"Did I punch you that hard?" Dark smirked.
"Shut up. Or do you think making wise cracks will help find Daisuke?"
"I can find the kid myself, without your strategic assistance," Dark countered seriously, exhaustion drowning out any harshness the words could have held.
"How far do you anticipate you can get the way you are now?" Satoshi demanded, "Or do you truly plan to rush in without any plan?"
"Will you write me a pass to the nurse's office, then, former wing host?" the angel prompted sourly with narrowed eyes.
Satoshi reached up and pinched at the bridge of his nose, as if contemplating something he really didn't want to do. But if Dark was available as a potential ally, he needed all the power he could get. "Come with me. I can write you something better than that, if you can bear to incorporate foresight into your strategy," Hiwatari said flatly.
"Oh, can you? Do tell," Dark challenged with a raised eyebrow.
"I can write you a map to Daisuke."
- - O - -
Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! The feedback helps me a lot. People seem to be interested in Krad, so expect more of him next. Akizumi, your review holds a …special place in my heart coughgrincough. -Kat