Author's note: Warning! Serious angst coming up ahead (doesn't all my fanfics end up like that! :(

To askani16: I am so so so so happy to hear from you! To evci: Thanks loads! You're the first reader! Appreciate the support!

Now, read on ahead; you've been warned!

Chapter 5:

As an assassin, failures were not tolerated. They were a sign of lack of discipline, of pathetic preemption, of hasty preparation. It added up to being an unsuccessful and completely fucked-up assassin.

Kira fingered the large purple bruise that had risen at the corner of his lips. He bared his teeth at the mirror and slid a finger over his teeth. His gums were bleeding and the inside of his right cheek felt sore from a cut against his teeth. But nothing that would cause severe damage.

He turned on the faucet and filled a glass with cold water to rinse out the taste of blood in his mouth. Then he checked his teeth again before he took in his entire reflection.

Shit, he was a mess. His brown hair was disheveled and slicked with sweat and there was a lump at the back of his head when he had been thrown bodily against the wall. There were bruises blossoming all over his face and a cut on his left cheekbone, split by a ring worn by one of his attackers. His left eye was swollen. Blood vessels stood out in stark relief against the white.

Then he laughed. He wasn't all that pathetic. He remembered the feel of sinking his own fist into the face of one of his tormentors. His pretty face hadn't been so pretty after that, with the blood gushing from his broken nose. But it was four against one, and all trained assassins. It hadn't been an easy fight. Besides, Rau wouldn't be happy if he knew that his prized team, the one who had returned with success, had been crippled by its 'source of entertainment'. So yeah, he had taken most of the blows, some of which, under normal circumstances, he would have been able to block. He was going to hurt so bad when all that adrenalin drained off.

He shed his clothes, peeling off the garments slowly. His arms and shoulders ached when he pulled the stained T-shirt over his head and his back protested in agony when he bent over to tug his jeans and socks off. He left his clothes in a puddle on the tiled floor and stepped into the shower cubicle. Turned the shower on and allowed the hot water to stream over his battered body and soothe the ache and throbbing.

Contusions had begun to form all over his lean frame, darkening at his ribs and spreading all over his stomach.

He closed his eyes. Felt the shower beating down on him. Felt exhaustion and pain combining to take their toll on him.

That was the price of failure.

He raked both hands through his hair and turned his face up towards the shower.

He felt a familiar surge of hate erupt in him. Like a silent, dormant volcano that spewed lava when no one expected it. Hot. Deadly. Fatal. Anger directed at everybody and anybody who dared to stand in his way. Failure, that was something Rau never accepted. And he, he had learnt the hard way that failure spelled adversity. That failure was totally and completely not accepted or tolerated. When you failed a mission, you put your unit members at risk, you put your life on the line, and you could put your boss right in the firing line of the police. So, you couldn't fail. Not once, not ever.

Not unless you wanted to be punished. To be presented to other people like a sacrifice. A human punching bag.

Kira threw his fist at the wall. Saw blood flow through his fingers from his split knuckles. The blood streamed down the white tiles and merged with the water pooling at his feet. And he kept watching, watching as the water slowly turned red.

There was a girl. Chubby and round, with golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Hazel eyes.

She was running. Towards him. Arms outstretched. Babbling. Laughing. The girl dove straight towards him and threw her plump little arms around his right thigh, squeezing tight. He wanted to pick up this strange child and shake her, ask her who in the world she was.

But suddenly hands emerged from the shadows and tore the girl out of his arms. The child began to scream, and instantly transformed into a spitting, struggling feral animal fighting for her life. But he couldn't do anything, couldn't move, and couldn't call out. So he stood, watching as the girl was dragged away by the unknown strangers lurking in the shade, watching as the darkness closed in on him, until his vision faded into pitch black…

Kira jolted awake.

There was a ringing in his ears and his heart was thudding painfully against his breast. He lay motionless, panting, staring up at the dark ceiling, contemplating. But once more, just like always, he couldn't understand it. He couldn't grasp the meaning behind this recurring nightmare.

He dragged a hand over his face shakily, trying to brush it off. He realized he was shaking, his hand clammy and his movements uncoordinated and retarded. Drenched in sweat, the soaked sheets clung to his limbs like rope tying him down. He gulped. Took a deep shuddering breath and didn't move. Just stayed lying on the bed, breathing deep, trying to control the muscle spasms. Slowly, wearily, he sat up, a still, huddled figure in the dim darkness. The blinds were drawn down tight over the window, blocking out all form of light. The silence was deafening, like being sucked down the air vent.

He glanced back at the digital clock set on the bedside table. Saw the pulsing red numbers blinking at him in the semi-darkness.

06:12.

He took a shallow breath and pushed the sheets away, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. His bare feet felt ice cold on the smooth parquet flooring. He shook himself, stretching his arms out, turning his head right and left and twisting his back, trying to unknot his muscles. Then he padded over to the adjoining bathroom and stepped into the shower, turning it on full blast, as hot as he could stand it. He angled his face towards the steaming stream of water and allowed it to flow down his face in rivulets, washing away the sweat and primal fear still lingering from his recent dream.

He stepped out of the shower when he was clean and scoured himself with a towel. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped up to the mirror at the sink and wiped away the steam that had condensed on the cool glass surface with his palm. Carefully, he brushed and shaved and was out of the bathroom within minutes. Efficiency. It was the key to his success in missions and it was a lesson he had learnt the hard way.

He grabbed one of the neatly folded T-shirts from the drawer, clean underwear and a pair of worn-out jeans hanging in the closet and slipped them on, discarding the towel on the bed. Then he shrugged on his leather jacket and pushed open the door to step out into the cold morning. The sun hadn't quite risen and the quiet street was dimly lit. The grey sky looked overcast. Like it was going to rain.

Kira's apartment faced out onto a quiet, narrow little one-way street. He descended the steps in two strides, skipping the last and hopping down. He was the only street pedestrian at six-thirty in the morning and he strode down the silent neighborhood with his hands deep in his pockets and his collar turned up against the bitterly cold wind.

As he rounded the bend, he saw his destination. A diner, sitting quietly in a vacant carpark. When he entered the diner, he found that he was the only customer in it.

"Morning, Kira. You're up early today. The usual?"

He turned to face the speaker. She was a petite woman, with scarlet hair that spilled over her shoulders in voluptuous curls. She smiled affectionately at him and cocked her head in his direction, leaning a hand against the counter.

"Morning, Flay," He nodded politely, "I'll take the usual, thank you." "Right away," She grinned and swiped at the countertop with a rag. She gestured towards the booth at the farthest end of the diner. "Your usual seat. Be right back." She pushed herself off the counter and turned in the direction of the kitchen, hollering "Sai! Kira's usual!" and collecting several empty glasses of the nearby table.

Kira sauntered past the booths, heading for the last one where he slipped into the seat facing the door. Instincts. Never have your back to the door.

It didn't take long before a plate clattered against the table top. "Here you go."

He glanced up at Flay who slid into the seat opposite him and propped her elbows on the red glossy table. She watched as Kira picked at the ice cream with his spoon. He took a large dollop of cream, carefully sliced a square of waffle and balanced it on top of the heap on his spoon. He eyed it warily and satisfied, he took the spoon into his mouth.

"Thanks," He murmured.

Flay just smiled. Then her blue-grey eyes softened. "Trouble at work?" She asked, fingering the bruises on the knuckles of his right hand. Kira winced. He hadn't quite remembered how bad he looked.

"Yeah," He replied quickly, then gave a dismissing wave with his hand. "But don't worry. I'll heal," He grinned, "Fast."