Yohji started to open up
the door to the house, juggling the grocery bags in hand while
still smoking, trying to get three things done at once without dropping a single
thing. It wasn't
working, and an orange fell out of one of the bags and hit the cement with a
strange plop before
rolling away.
"Fuck," Yohji cursed, still struggling to open the door and balance a bag on
his arm at the
same time. Finally the door gave way and Yohji pushed through, staggering a
bit until he reached
the kitchen table and dropped all the groceries heavily on top.
It had been three days now since they had first started giving drugs to Aya.
There wasn't
really much to do, except stare at him as he laid in Yohji's bed like the dead.
So, they all had
started to go out and do the chores that needed to be done. Omi was taking care
of the flowers in
the store even though they hadn't opened up since Aya had first been found on
the back step. Ken
had to attend a community soccer tournament and had been gone most of the day.
As long as
there was someone at home to make sure Aya was all right, they had been free
to go outside.
Yohji had gone grocery shopping, but before that he had stopped by the target's
main
office building. He had been surveying it, checking it out, despite the fact
he would have much
rather rushed in blind and killed everyone. The building was located in the
red light district and
was rather impressive. It had been several dozen stories tall and full of either
business or sex.
Yohji had just taken the address down from the file and driven to the red light
district. He
was familiar with the streets from his many nights out clubbing and dating.
Yohji drove several
blocks until he found a place to park before he walked to the building. He just
wore light, causal
clothes, mainly a tight, shiny muscle tee and jeans that he shouldn't have been
able to fit into. It
was almost sad, how easily Yohji was able to blend right into the crowd of drunks
and lovers. He
walked right up to the address, a professional grade skyscraper.
He managed to infiltrate the building by just strolling past the guards with
a smirk and a
wink. Either they had thought him a patron or an employee, for he got past them
with little more
then an appreciative glance. Once inside, he had talked to the cute, remarkably
bouncy and full-
figured receptionist before being directed to the elevators. There, Yohji had
gone up the floors,
one by one, checking out the entire place. There were no security cameras, not
even hidden bugs.
The place was practically dry except for hired help. Then again, with a building
running a business
like this, there really wasn't a reason to watch out for crime. It was all illegal.
Though it looked professional on the outside, on the inside there was an ill-managed
and
wild brothel. The floors had hour rates and you could get a plastic band around
the wrist to flash
to the guards. It was run more like an amusement park. The floors had color
schemes, working all
the variances of color such as white, black and blue, so forth. The top room
was the red room.
That was the most expensive room, and frankly Yohji didn't have the cash to
get up there if it was
just for a check-out of the security.
Yohji couldn't help but wonder where Aya had been located in the building. Whatever
floor he had been on, Yohji was certain that it wouldn't make a difference.
They all were just
these constant sex rooms, people falling over each other and beating each other
up in the passion
that flooded the whole building. It made Yohji sick to think about it.
Yohji had gotten up to the top floor before he was turned back gently, like
people would
turn back a gambler who had no money. It was easy to turn around and go back
down in the
elevator. The place impressed Yohji with its amount of pure sexual energy, if
nothing else. These
people were living in a sick parody of love, everyone just humping their brains
out. Not that yohji
had been able to resist at all. When a lovely blonde woman who wasn't wearing
a single damn
thing offered a blow job for a twenty, Yohji's eyes had bugged out and his pants
were already
undone.
Yohji had to admit to being a sex fiend. It was bizarre, to get sucked off in
a hallway with
other naked people running around him, some being nailed on the wall. While
Yohji petted the top
of the girl's head, those soft curls like silk under his hand, he couldn't help
but picture Aya in the
hallway as well. It didn't really work. Aya, so calm and certain, wouldn't ever
allow himself to be
carried away in this maelstrom of sex. Aya was so fucking beautiful that people
would probably
make room to stare at him if he had sex openly. Yohji kept glancing down at
the woman's head as
she sat back on her knees in front of his groin. He couldn't help but envision
Aya right there,
those red hairs being under Yohji's hand instead of this woman. It wasn't a
turn off at all. In fact,
Yohji yelled out Aya's name when the woman finished off the job. Yohji had given
her a fifty in
the end, feeling pity for the poor woman as she smiled and turned back to the
people running
around in the hall, screaming out her deal.
"Yohji-kun, please, you could always make more then one trip," Omi admonished,
straightening out the grocery bags. Yohji blinked. He hadn't even noticed the
kid was in the
room, wrapped up in his thoughts like he had been. Omi was already looking through
the bags,
digging out items and putting them in the refrigerator and cabinets.
"I didn't feel like it, kid," Yohji drawled, taking one empty paper bag and
folding it up,
dropping it back on the table. Omi huffed as he put a six-pack of soda into
the refrigerator. As he
walked back to the kitchen, Yohji could see a very faint limp in the boy's steps.
Made sense. Omi
and Ken had been at it in a near solid block since they had first had sex. It
would be a miracle if
Omi could see straight, much less walk with how much Ken must be pounding into
him.
"So, Omi, how are you feeling?" Yohji drawled. He always seemed to drop into
asking
Omi about his sex life without mentioning a word pertaining to sex.
"Fine, thank you! Yohji-kun, why did you get more vodka?" Omi asked, digging
around in
the bags. He didn't get it that Yohji had been hinting at something else. That
was just as well. Omi
was holding up the cheap, large bottles of vodka and a cardboard carton of beer.
Yohji shrugged
nonchalantly.
"We're out," he explained. Aya and he had taken care of the house's liquor stash
quite
easily, and Yohji wasn't about to live in a house that didn't have alcohol.
Omi frowned, dropping
the spirits on the table.
"Yohji-kun, remember exactly what happened the last time somebody drank? I'm
keeping
these, you can ask for them if you want a drink," Omi suggested as he put the
bottles in an empty
bag. Omi gathered it up and walked up the stairs, no doubt going in search to
find a place to hide
it from Yohji. He waited patiently, until he heard the door to Omi's room slam
shut and the little
thuds of his feet as he walked around in his room to hide the bottles.
"Don't think I'd let him separate us," Yohji murmured as he pulled out the two
bottles of
wine from underneath a head of lettuce, smiling down at the dark green glass
and label. Yohji
went into the living room and hid the bottles underneath the couch cushions.
He was already back
in front of the cabinets, putting away a loaf of bread, before Omi even started
to go down the
stairs.
"Hmpf! It's bad enough you started smoking again!" Omi snapped, very disappointed
in
Yohji's relapse. It wasn't like he could blame him, though. Yohji had been through
some very
extreme situations in the past days and was being allowed a bit of room to be
bad.
They continued to put away the groceries in an uncomfortable silence. Omi knew
that
Yohji had been preparing for a mission, taking out his old assassin outfit and
making sure that it
still had all those accessories, like a gun and a silencer, hand grenades, extra
wire and hooks,
flares and smoke bombs along with more bullets and another gun. Yohji had been
gathering up
their old gear on the top of his dresser like he was going to try and defeat
an army. Yohji
supposed he was. He had numbered the bullets, even the extra ones, up to fifty.
He doubted he
would use that many bullets, but he wanted to be able to keep track of how many
of the bastards
he killed. He had seen the way the lower employees had entered the business
tower. They had
been harassed by every single guard on the way to the main door. Some even had
to start working
early as the guards forced them into corners. It was doubtless that these men
had done the same
to Aya. Yohji wanted to keep track, wanted to know how many people he had killed
because they
had laid their hands on Aya like that.
"Yohji-kun!" Omi barked sharply, suddenly breaking into Yohji's thoughts. He
jumped,
startled. He hadn't expected Omi to be there. Omi had doubtlessly been yelling
a long time by the
way his fists were shaking.
"What?! What do you want?" Yohji asked irritably, scratching his head.
"I said 'I'm going to go out for some plant food because the peonies are wilting,'"
Omi
said very slowly and clearly, like Yohji was slow. "Ken's still at the community
tournament
awards. so watch Aya!"
"All right, all right, I got it," Yohji grumbled, crossing his arms. It always
got on his
nerves that this kid could lecture him about being responsible. He messed up
only once and now
was in Omi's distrustful favors. Omi made a few more let down sighs, as if regretting
even
thinking about having Yohji take care of Aya. As if Yohji didn't already spend
every night
watching over his body. It was starting to become a boring job with Aya near
comatose.
"Okay, then I'm leaving now," Omi warned, grabbing the keys to his motorbike.
Omi
didn't drive a car because he hated trying to find a parking spot. It just wasn't
worth it to drive a
car to Omi, who preferred to used the more accessible bike parking spots around
the city. Yohji
nodded as he walked toward the stairs and began to climb them step by step.
Omi slammed the
door shut and by the time Yohji was in the hallway he heard the motor start
up weakly before
Omi revved the small bike and sped off into the city traffic.
Yohji walked through the open door of his bedroom and over to the desk chair
pulled up
to the side of the bed. Aya was still perfectly motionless, the light breathing
the only sign he was
alive. It was weak at best, the inhalation of air so small that Yohji didn't
think that Aya could
possibly be getting enough oxygen. The breathing was too far apart to be healthy.
His chest barely
lifted the covers that were tucked around his shoulders.
Yohji crossed his legs, watching Aya sleep. Since they had been ordered to drug
Aya, he
hadn't been moving nor waking. Yohji and Omi had managed to get Aya up long
enough for him
to take his first small, painful piss. Omi had helped pull back the covers for
Yohji when they
decided to try and lift Aya to the toilet. Aya had fought like hell at first,
saying a bunch of things
that made Yohji want to strangle him. Thankfully, Omi interrupted Aya and talked
circles around
him, keeping Aya occupied enough for Yohji to get his arms under his back and
legs and carry
him to the bathroom.
Yohji let Aya stand up in front toilet, using his own body to hold him upright.
Yohji put
one arm around Aya's waist to keep him from falling to the ground as Aya's body
swayed, despite
his protesting that he could stand by himself. Aya fell back against Yohji's
chest, his head
slumping forward as he suddenly went limp. Yohji had to put a leg underneath
Aya's groin as he
slid down, the drugs taking effect.
"Wake up, sleepy head," Yohji reprimanded Aya, shaking him awake. Aya groaned,
his
head lolling against Yohji's shoulder. Omi bent down a bit and untied the pajama's
drawstring,
pulling the pants low on Aya's legs. Aya sleepily put a hand to his groin, trying
to steady himself,
but with the three broken fingers was unable to do much good.
A painful, small trickle hit the bowl, a light brown color. Aya had screamed
a lot, choking
on his own breath, too weak to struggle against Yohji, Omi helping to support
Aya's body as the
man painfully squeezed out urine with blood mixed in it in small little spurts,
making the bowl turn
a reddish brown with it.
They had called Doctor Nomura after getting Aya back into bed. The doctor had
determined that the blood was not from internal bleeding as Yohji had feared,
but instead was
blood from split vessels that had already dried up, explaining the brown color.
The good doctor
determined the blood to be due to internal vessels being broken by overstimulation
and a misused
cock ring. Yohji ran a hand through his hair, remembering. His fingers and wrist
were trembling.
There had been evidence to it, but still, the thought of a device like that
being used to hurt Aya
like that . . . It made Yohji sick, it made him mad. Yohji was shaking with
rage and at the same
time disgust that those bastards had 'misused' Aya like that. Aya couldn't even
take a piss
without tears coming out at the pain.
Yohji opened the drawer of his bed stand to pull out the picture again. He kept
on
comparing it to Aya's sleeping face, hoping to find some sort of evidence that
it wasn't him. Yohji
just couldn't accept the fact that Aya was cross-dressing, prostituting, and
looked like a fucking
real live wet dream. It just wasn't finding a place in his brain.
Yohji held the picture up, letting Aya's profile come into view to contrast
with the picture.
They had replaced the medical gauze on Aya's left check. Now a large, square
band-aid covered
the top of Aya's protruding cheekbone, the skin tone bandage dark against Aya's
wan face. They
had taken off the medical tape at the corners of his mouth, letting them harden
into scabs and
begin to heal. A split in his lip still had stitches, the dark threads poking
out of the scab crusting
with dried blood. A little bit of facial hair was startling to grow, light and
thin on his complexion,
the hairs a dark brown.
Yohji looked down at the picture, then to Aya's sleeping form. There was no
mistaking
that cheekbone or the curve of his lashes from the picture. Aya's bruised and
swelling face
matched the woman's perfectly, the make-up in the picture only enhancing his
natural beauty.
Aya's pale, white skin glimmered in this picture, looking very soft and smooth.
Now that glow
was a sickly gray, but it still was recognizable as Aya's perfect skin.
The woman's neck was covered by the stiff collar with the huge circular hook
to the
zipper was just as skinny as Aya's was now, the large string of muscles relaxed
in Aya's drugged
world. The dress was so tight that it flattened at the hollow of his throat
muscle before the
collarbones jutted out. The unnatural skinniness that Aya had on his small frame
only seemed to
enhance the effect of the sleeveless tight black dress he wore under the target's
arm, making his
shoulders seem trim and his ribs taper down to the waist like a woman's curves
would.
Aya was still sleeping without a noise, save the sound of the air being pressed
out of his
lungs. Yohji wondered if he should thank some God that Aya had drawn another
breath. The
swelling in his eyes was starting to go down a bit, making them not bulge out
so unnaturally. The
bruising had gotten smaller but deeper, blood vessels still burst and unhealed.
A few of the
swelling lumps around his sides and hips had gone down as well, slowly, but
at least it showed
that Aya was starting to heal. His body was beginning to repair itself against
all odds, though by
all medical textbooks Aya should be dead.
Yohji looked down at the picture again. It couldn't be him. Maybe Kritiker had
mistaken
themselves and weren't really surveying Aya but a female prostitute that looked
a hell of a lot like
him. Excuses and explanations flirted around in Yohji's brain as he tried to
find a way to answer
how this picture could possibly be real.
Yohji slowly remembered the mess in Aya's room. That's right. Aya, the anal
neat freak
with a popsicle up his ass, had been throwing his clothes on the floor lately.
If Yohji dug through
the mess, he would be going through all the outfits Aya had worn for his . .
. work. And the dress
might not be in the mess. So, Yohji could laugh and continue on with life. Or
at least whatever life
was left for him now.
He could leave Aya alone for an hour or so. It wasn't like Aya was going to
be moving
anytime soon. Whatever was in those shots likely had enough power to knock out
a whale if they
were making Aya stay unconscious when he could be spitting out smart comments
at everyone.
Yohji stood up and walked across the hall, leaving Aya to continue to rest.
Yohji put his hand on the knob of Aya's room, right across the hallway from
his room. He
couldn't believe that he had let this door keep him from checking up on Aya,
to make sure
everything was all right as a roommate should, hell, as a friend should have
done months ago.
Yohji opened the door, amazed as it opened easily, half expecting it to make
a rusty, scary creak
like doors did when one opened up a haunted house in a movie.
The room was dark, the vertical blinds letting in small slits of weak light,
the sun not
hitting the window this early in the day. Yohji flicked on the light, almost
not expecting them to
work. It just seemed so nightmarish, to enter Aya's room looking for a dress
that shouldn't be in
the room. The clothes were piled about randomly, like rolling hills in the desert
of Aya's
hardwood floor. Beyond the clothes, everything else was organized onto the point
of it being like
a museum.
The bookshelves were still perfectly straight and full, the books in an obvious
sort of
alphabetical order that Aya had arranged himself. The small study desk had a
copy of this month's
revenue with lines highlighted in different colors. The pens were all neatly
stored in a desk
organizer with a basket for other files. Aya was always the businessman. His
glass case was closed
and resting on top of the budget, the chair pushed under the desk. His dresser
had nothing on top
of it expect for a stand that held his sword. It was like a grotesque trophy.
Aya kept it there to
remind himself of what he had done, so that he could always have something to
angst about.
Yohji didn't know why Aya kept it in sight unless it was to torture himself
with it. And Aya was
the depressed kind of guy who did just that.
Yohji bent down, picking up a shirt from one of the piles. It was a skin-tight
muscle shirt
that was made out of some kind of clingy silver material. It looked more like
something Yohji
would wear to go clubbing then Aya would ever even think of owning. Yohji opened
up the closet
to find it nearly bare, only hangers swinging inside. A few outfits hung inside,
a pair of leather
pants and a webbed, long-sleeved shirt that still had a price tag on the sleeve.
Yohji hung up the
shirt and turned back to the room.
He began to pick up the clothes and hang them back in the closet or fold them
and put
them on the bed covers until he was ready to put those away all at once. Yohji
had to force
himself not to tear some of the outfits in half. There was no way Aya, the original
anti-social,
would ever wear these things. They were revealing. They were definitely something
a whore
would wear, all flashy and gaudy and not really practical for any kind of normal
day wear.
Yohji would find special items in between the tight, low cut pants and jeans
and the short
cut tops. He had found a leather red tube dress and had to find a hanger with
clips in order to get
it in the closet. Yohji found a pair of sturdy thigh stockings, one spider-webbed,
the other of a
thick, embroidered black netting. He found a very small plastic like black garter
with the clips
dangling. Yohji pulled a thin, flower designed thong out of a pair of pants.
Yohji found two lacy
white underwear, very thin and bikini cut, too small to be comfortable in anyway.
Yohji had to stop half way through the mess when he found a knee-high stiletto
heeled
boot. He just had to stop and go downstairs. It was too much to take all at
once. The fact that
Aya had worn those outfits at some point didn't fit with Yohji's image of Aya.
It just wasn't who
he was. Aya would never wear anything like the outfits that Yohji had seen tossed
around in his
room. Aya was a man who stayed covered at all times, preferring clothing that
would hide his
arms and legs. Yohji had never seen Aya in a pair of shorts. To see a mini skit
on Aya's floor was
more then he could take.
Yohji dug out the just hidden wine bottles, taking out the merlot and going
into the
kitchen, grabbing one of the water glasses before setting it on the counter.
He dug through the
drawers until he found a corkscrew. Tearing off the label around the neck of
the bottle, Yohji
opened it up in record time, taking a few healthy swigs from the bottle before
pouring himself a
glass.
Yohji sat at the kitchen table, studying the label of the bottle, taking long,
slow drinks in
between. It was just so surreal. Aya a cross dressing whore? Yohji would have
laughed himself to
tears if anyone had suggested that a week earlier. It was so solidly opposite
of Aya. Like Aya
would ever let someone touch him without his consent. Like he would ever just
give away his
body because someone gave him money. It wasn't in Aya to just roll over and
do what someone
else ordered him to do.
"This just isn't happening," Yohji said out loud. His voice echoed in the empty
kitchen.
The whole world didn't fade like it had been a dream. The sunlight still filtered
in through the
window, hitting the half-full sink of dirty dishes. It was all real. Fuck. Yohji
had been hoping that
perhaps one of the drugs he had taken in his youth was finally making him hallucinate.
That way
he could just laugh and say that this whole thing was a figment of his imagination.
But it wasn't. It was still right there in front of him. Aya was a prostitute.
Well, had been
up to a couple of days ago. Yohji just couldn't even picture Aya wearing one
of those leather mini
skirts, propositioning in those colored hallways like he had seen others do.
Aya just didn't need to
do that sort of thing. Aya could snap his fingers and bat his eyes and every
single fat, rich bastard
in the city would be offering him thousands of dollars. So, why had he chosen
to go along with
that sleazy shit of a business man and his little office tower?
There weren't any questions that Yohji could answer himself. He needed Aya to
tell him.
Yohji drew a pattern with his finger on the table top. Life sucked. It outright
sucked more then
anything had ever sucked before. They couldn't crawl away from their lives,
so full of disgrace
and blood. Aya had managed to leave the professional field of assassin to go
into being a
professional prostitute. This wasn't one of those situations where Aya would
emerge a better
person for it. Aya couldn't even walk right now.
Yohji just glared at his hands for a good long time, becoming fascinated with
the wrinkles
and callouses on his skin. He had done a lot of things with his hands, from
touching bed partners
to killing people. He just thought for that whole time in one big circle, always
ending up
wondering 'Why?' Why Aya? Aya was special. He had the social skills of a rock,
he was a fucking
dick who was spitting at you in less then five seconds, he was beautiful. Despite
Aya's personality
matching up with the friendliness of a wild animal, he still drew people to
him. It was weird.
Yohji heard Omi's bike pull alongside the house. He quickly tossed back the
rest of his
glass and washed it out in the sink, hoping to get rid of the smell. He felt
like he was hiding his
drinking from his mother. Yohji grabbed the bottle and ran up the stairs as
fast as he could. By the
time he was back in his bedroom and in the chair next to Aya, Omi had gotten
inside the house
and was yelling for him, tromping up the stairs.
"Yes, Omi, dear?" Yohji drawled, leaning back in the chair to turn around and
face Omi in
the doorway. The wine was hidden hastily behind the dresser with a shirt thrown
over it. A quick
glance wouldn't give it away, but if Omi was to get into the room, he'd find
the bottle like he had
radar for it.
"Any change?" Omi asked, his face a little bit wistful and hopeful. It always
amazed Yohji
that Omi could still have a bit of hope in him after being let down so many
times. It was so
blindingly obvious that there was no change in Aya's condition in the half hour
he had been gone.
And yet, there Omi was with that smile and twinkle in his eyes, like Yohji would
smile and Aya
would jump out of bed and do a dance, as if they were only playing.
"Nope. Nothing new here, kid," Yohji told him, waving a hand at Aya's still
form.
"Oh. Okay. Well, uh, I've gotta take care of the flowers. Can you watch him
a little bit
longer?" Omi asked, walking out the door before Yohji even agreed. Yohji's mouth
was open to
say something, but he stopped, waiting to hear the bells on the door of the
shop to jingle so he
would know that Omi was in there.
They rang out softly though the house. Yohji stood up, brushing a hair that
had blown into
Aya's eye from the fan out of his face. Aya didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't
even change that
shallow breathing. Yohji picked up his wine bottle before going back into Aya's
room.
The mess was slightly smaller, if nothing else. Half of the floor was now visible.
It was
really just a mess of clothing. Everything else was clinically neat. Yohji was
kind of grateful for
that. He knew if he had to put things back, he'd probably do it out of order
and Aya would kill
him for being anywhere near his room. Yohji put the bottle down on the dresser,
still close to the
closet, and started again, picking up the clothing and shaking it out, folding
the indecent pieces of
fabric or hanging them up.
It was when he found a bra that Yohji had to just start laughing. It hurt too
much. Aya had
worn all of these things. Aya had worn them, had taken them off for some paying
bastard's
attention, then wore them til he made it to the room. It made Yohji's hands
shake. There was
anger, really cold and crazy building up inside him. Just under his awareness
right now. Yohji was
really going to enjoy his mission. He felt it like a needle of thought in his
brain, digging away. He
was going to fucking enjoying killing all those bastards that had touched Aya.
Just fucking kill
them.
Yohji was still laughing, and he realized he was probably going to scare Omi.
He might be
going crazy with this. It just made Aya break apart in his mind, because he
couldn't imagine the
Aya he knew to do anything like this. There was this new Aya, one that had been
broken apart but
still had that same pissy shell so he could ward of anyone finding out. Yohji
looked down at the
bra and couldn't resist to hold it against his own chest, imagining what had
driven Aya to wear it.
It was padded enough that it gave Yohji the impression of little girls' breasts,
barely even
visible mounds. It could work, with his kinky dirty blonde hair. It wasn't like
he hadn't practiced
getting his hair right, so what would it be to do the make up? He watched his
dates put it on
afterwards all the time, so he was pretty sure he wouldn't fuck up too bad if
he tried it.
Yohji threw the bra on the floor and grabbed at his hair with one hand. What
the fuck was
he thinking off? That's just going plain crazy. Yohji just wanted to understand
what Aya had been
through. He tried to imagine the Aya he had known during their active mission
days. And what it
would take to make that man break down to selling his body. It just wasn't in
his personality. Aya
didn't bend for anyone, he'd likely bite his through his tongue and bleed to
death while flipping
someone off.
Yohji was looking down at a dress. It was one of the few items left. It was
this plastic
leather thing. It looked like it would fit on a girl. If she was anorexic. It
might have fit on Aya.
Barely. If it had fit on that body, it would probably be illegal in public.
The collar was stiff and
high and the front was unzipped, the big circle zipper pulled down to the stomach.
Yohji took the wine bottle with him when he walked out of Aya's almost clean
bedroom.
He was very thirsty right now. Strange. His hands didn't usual tremble with
the weight of a bottle
in the morning. He walked into the bedroom and opened up the drawer. He took
out that picture
of Aya and the target again.
It was the same dress. Yohji felt this numbness tighten around his forehead.
His wrists
kind of felt like they were going liquidly. He was going to kill someone. It
was Aya, right there.
Aya had the same fucking dress. Probably still had the shoes too. Yohji was
laughing again, just
laughing at the impossibility of it. Yohji sat down and just stared at Aya's
sleeping face, all
smooth and drugged beyond any kind of pain. He stayed there until he sobered
up enough to walk
straight to the closet and start to change into his mission gear.
"So, Ken-kun, you wanna do something?" Omi asked from behind the couch. They
were
in the living room, Ken finally arriving home from the community tournament
and Omi finished
with the shop work. Ken was still in his soccer clothes, the athletic shorts
stained with mud as
well as his legs until they reached the line where his socks had been, leaving
the rest of his feet
clean. Ken was sitting on the couch, his legs splayed out on the floor in front
of him, flipping
through channels with a bored, tired expression.
Omi was standing behind the couch, leaning over the back of the seat to look
down at
Ken's head. Ken wasn't really paying attention, just flipping through the afternoon
television in
utter exhaustion. Taking care of small children all day long took a lot out
of him. Ken wasn't a
very patient person, so when the kids went the wrong way down the field, Ken
had more then
once ran after them, yelling like an angry father.
"Nah, I'm really tired," Ken sighed, settling on watching a soap opera. Omi
looked up,
watching the woman on the screen slap a man before bursting into tears. Ken
was rolling his eyes
at the woman, stretching his neck. Omi heard the bones pop in his neck and shoulders,
Ken
groaning in relief.
"I think I'm going to bed," Ken murmured, his eyelids already falling down.
Omi leaned
further over the couch, letting his ribs rest against the board inside the cushioning.
Ken glanced
out of the corner of his eye at Omi, who now had his head right next to his
face.
"All dirty like that?" Omi asked. Ken turned his head toward Omi, so close that
their noses
almost touched.
"Yes, all dirty like this, I'm tired," Ken growled, amused with Omi but still
getting
irritated. The woman began to yell at the man on the television, something about
him having
another lover. Omi and Ken both looked back at the screen, their attention drawn
by her insults.
Ken reached up, leaning to his side in order to get his arm around Omi's upper
back. He
only had a chance to squeak before Ken dragged him over the edge of the couch
and into his lap.
Omi's feet flipped over, almost making him fall off the couch, if it hadn't
been for Ken's grip on
the waistline of his pants. Omi landed awkwardly, an elbow trapped underneath
his chest with a
knee digging into Ken's hip as he sprawled across his lap.
Ken adjusted Omi a bit, lifting up his body like he weighed nothing and tossing
Omi onto
his back. Omi tried to sit up only to have Ken pull him against his chest, making
Omi sit between
Ken's legs on the couch. Ken rested a chin on Omi's shoulder, making him relax
into the couch
with Ken.
Omi gave up trying to get into a more comfortable position. Ken had already
maneuvered
him into one, Ken's chest providing a warm, muscled cushion to snuggle back
into. Omi lifted up
one of Ken's arms and draped it over his shoulder, cuddling up in Ken like he
was a blanket. They
stayed like that for a moment, watching the soap opera unfold into a predictable
illegitimate love-
child plot line.
"Maybe I should take a shower," Ken admitted into their comfortable silence.
Omi sniffed,
aware that he had put Ken's sweaty arm over his body. Omi regretted getting
physically close to
Ken, the smell of exercise a little overwhelming. Ken's body was sticky where
it touched Omi's
skin, and Omi's shirt was starting to get moist with Ken's sweat.
"I feel gross now! Go take a shower," Omi ordered, elbowing Ken in the chest
as he tried
to get up from the couch. Omi put a foot down on the floor, only to have the
carpet slip out from
unerdneath his feet on the hardwood floor. Omi fell back heavily onto Ken, making
all his breath
go out in an explosive 'oomph!'
"Why don't we take one together?" Ken asked, suddenly a bit more energetic.
Omi
moaned. He hadn't expected Ken to be such an eager lover. They hadn't even been
together a
week and Ken already wanted him to take a shower with him? Omi glared at Ken,
being pushed a
little too fast in this relationship.
"Please?" Ken whined a bit, kissing Omi on the neck. "Please, please?"
"You hung around the kids too much today," Omi snapped, pushing at Ken to get
up
again. Ken wrapped his arms around Omi's middle, forcing him to stay put. Omi
kicked out,
trying to step on Ken's foot. Ken jerked his defenseless feet away, tightening
his arms against
Omi's sides as he kissed him again, under the jawbone.
"Pretty please?" Ken begged, his voice gone all low and husky. Ken went from
normal,
every day tasks to sex in a matter of seconds. Omi guessed that he just took
longer, because he
couldn't really picture how dirty, sweaty Ken could be at all charming right
now. After a shower,
yes, Omi could definitely picture Ken being appealing. Ken kept working at Omi's
neck, starting
to suck at the arch of his shoulder that was revealed by the collar of his shirt.
"Fine!" Omi gasped out, unable to really think out his answer as Ken made a
small, gentle
love nip on his collar bone. Ken reached down, feeling around on the couch without
taking his
warm lips from Omi's sensitive neck. Finding the remote, Ken turned off the
television before
letting go of Omi, allowing him to stand up.
"All right," Ken hissed out, very pleased and excited. Ken grabbed Omi's hand,
locking his
fingers between Omi's. Omi couldn't believe that he had agreed as Ken tugged
at his wrist,
making him follow doggedly behind to the bathroom.
Yohji tightened the fastening around his right glove. It sucked to have to straighten
his
glove in the middle of wiring out. He pushed the sunglasses up on his nose too,
just in case they
had started to fall down on his nose. Brushing back his hair, he took a deep
breath as he round the
corner in the red light district, whistling.
He blended right in with the trench coat, the white crosses down his arms and
body
making him look like a very smart pimp, or perhaps a different type of whore,
one that didn't have
to show off his body until someone paid him. Or another stupid clubber. The
place was already
busy at four thirty.
Yohji had originally wanted to wait until after midnight, when the place would
be slowing
down and sleep would begin to set it. But he couldn't. That slow rage hadn't
allowed him to wait
that long. So he decided to go when the shift would first be starting, with
a small, weak start of
patrons and employees coming in late. Technically, it should be clear enough
for Yohji to pick out
the employees that he had to kill from the ones who were just like Aya, trapped
inside that
fucking office tower of doom.
His senses were heightened, his eyesight sharpening and picking out the little
details, his
brain working faster as he unconsciously went into a more primal, more powerful
form that would
allow him to rip fucking heads off. He wanted to kill. That desire was sharp
and perfect in his
brain. What he had sworn off for the rest of his life he was going to fucking
enjoy tonight. He
wanted to push to the limit of these professional abilities. Today, Yohji wanted
to see how
spectacularly he could kill. He wanted to make it effortless, to make it a clear
sweep of revenge so
he could rest assured with Aya safe.
"Hey, guys," Yohji greeted the guard jovially, like they were his old drinking
buddies. One
of the guards raised his hand in a small, businesslike greeting, barely lifting
it up from where his
arms were crossed. To Yohji's pumped senses, it seemed to be slower then usual.
Yohji walked
up to him, giving the man a cigarette. He smiled and dug a lighter out. Yohji
walked across the
doorway to where the other guard was lurking. As his friend lit up, looking
into the busy street,
Yohji pulled out the gun that had the silencer on, and shot the guard in the
head.
It was a sharp, strange noise and the man slumped forward, a surprisingly small
amount of
blood coming out from his left temple. This strange little groan came out, his
last breath just
billowing out of the now lax lungs, like it was escaping a cavern. It always
surprised Yohji how
little people bled when they were shot in the head.
"What was that?" the other guard asked, taking a drag. He wasn't concerned.
He didn't
recognize the noise. He hadn't ever heard the professional noise except in movies
that made it
seem much more cooler and louder then it really was. The now dead guard slumped
forward onto
Yohji. Yohji caught him, laughing. The live guard laughed, thinking his friend
was trying to come
onto Yohji.
"Hey, hey, none of that now," Yohji admonished, shoving the man back. His glazed
eyes
caught the sun and the other guard stiffened, noticing that something was up.
He saw the blood
that was dripping down his chin, the mouth opened, the eyes wide with this small,
surprised look
that was forever frozen in those lifeless features. Yohji moved to his right,
catching the guard's
hand before he managed to punch Yohji in the face, and shot him under the jaw.
That wicked, sharp noise of the gun kicking back into Yohji's hand was muffled
by their
bodies. The bullet punched through the body and the man's head jerked back with
the force of the
shot. It didn't go all the way through, the soft 'thump' of the bullet being
buried into the inside
layer of his skull.
More blood came from that then Yohji had expected, spilling down the front of
the
guard's shirt and a little bit hit Yohji on the shoulder. Yohji shoved him forward
into the corner of
the doorway, making him slump over in an artistic drunken manner. He brushed
at the small
splatter of blood, making a gagging face. Other people's blood on his nice jacket?
Shit, not these
guys' blood. Yohji kicked the body that was trying to slump over, trying to
keep it slumped over
like it was drunk so nobody would notice for a while, until someone tried to
wake them up.
Yohji walked through the doors, whistling as he hid the gun in the trench coat
again. He
smiled, winking at the same female receptionist as he breezed by, happy as a
hound. She giggled
and smiled back, mouthing back a time to meet. Yohji nodded as he got into the
elevator, blowing
a kiss. Two down. Two fucking lower creatures that had been able to paw at Aya
because of
some fucked up contract deal. It made him kind of warm inside. Aya was going
to fucking flip.
He'd get up and do a cartwheel when Yohji told him that he had killed all of
these bastards.
Alone in the elevator, Yohji took out the sticks of plastic explosives. Omi
had some stored
in the attic, too dangerous to just throw away, but he couldn't really use them
up. Yohji was more
then willing to make use of the volatile clay. He smashed several sticks together,
smiling and
tapping his foot to the slow, jazzy elevator music. Wadding the explosive up
into a messy, lumpy
ball, Yohji took out the detonation device. He pressed it deep into the plastic
explosives, then
gingerly set the volleyball sized bomb on the floor.
Yohji jumped up, grabbing the maintenance hatch at the top of the elevator and
pulling it
back. He was going up several stories, past the business' section and into the
higher, sleazier
floors that he was looking for. Glancing at the floors to check his time, Yohji
hefted up his crude
bomb and tossed it up, onto the top of the elevator. It thudded, bouncing once
on the roof, before
Yohji heard it found a resting spot.
Jumping up again, Yohji replaced the hatch just in time as the doors dinged
for the floor.
He wrapped up the left over plastics again and hid them back within his trench
coat before the
doors opened. Yohji walked out in the 'Blue Room.' Not very many people here
yet. Yohji
supposed it was a bit early. The walls were a light sky blue, making the place
look much more
welcoming then it really was. The carpet was a dark midnight blue, very old,
fuzzy and shaggy.
Yohji supposed it wasn't good business sense to buy nice carpet for a brothel.
The mostly closed
doors were a navy blue, making the whole hallway look like a theme park. Yohji
felt like he was
going into the marine show. The whole office building was designed like a messed
up game of
Clue. Yohji couldn't wait to kill the sick bastard at the top.
There were only four personnel on this floor, hired just to make sure things
didn't get
really out of hand. He had known that much from his reconnaissance over the
days. Speaking of
the devil, one guard was in the near empty hall, getting jerked off by this
blonde, skinny boy who
was on his knees. The guard only had his fly undone as the completely naked
blonde made this
funny whimpering noise. He was crying. Another guard was watching, leering and
saying
inappropriate shit right over the couple.
Yohji used the wire, tapping the watch to release it. The guard looked up at
him, still
smiling. Stupid dumb fuck didn't recognize his own death as Yohji flung the
wire out easily
around the guard's neck and pulled back sharply. The man who had been making
lewd, childish
cracks only a moment before was gasping around his own spit, his hands clawing
at his neck
blindly.
The guard fell to the ground and flopped like a fish, struggling like an unintelligent
animal.
Yohji hauled him back as he tried to struggle away from the noose wrapped several
times around
his neck. The other guard shoved at the blonde's head, making the prostitute
fall back painfully
onto his side. The man still had a deprived erection as he pulled at his pants,
trying to fight Yohji
but needing to be decent first. The man cursed, aroused to a painful limit,
and his buddy was being
choked to death on the floor. The guard bent down, jerking off once before exploding
against the
wall, leaving this pathetically small amount of goo dripping down the blue paint.
Yohji tapped his right boot foot down on the floor. Underneath the steel toe,
a three inch
blade was hidden, just sharp enough to puncture the skin. The tap made the knife
flip out before
locking in place, straight out from his toes. The guard was still weakly struggling,
his breath
slowly leaving his body as his eyes rolled back in his head. Yohji drew his
foot back and slammed
it into the man's face, punching through the eye and into the head. The man
screamed shrilly
before sagging onto Yohji's foot. Yohji kicked him off, unsnapping the wire
from around his
mutilated neck.
That scream brought another guard hurriedly out of a room, his shirt still undone.
The
new member to Yohji's party was covered in sweat, his pants partly unbuttoned.
Apparently all
the employees got freebies, or the like, if they were all engaging in sex this
much. The guard who
had been enjoying a forced blow job minutes before finally zipped up his pants
and roared his
buddy's name, screaming it at Yohji like the name was some kind of battle call.
Yohji's vision tunneled, that rage focusing in on these people. He could see
that they
forced the prostitutes to do things. He could picture Aya being forced. And
yet, he couldn't evan
imagine Aya ever allowing someone to do that to him. Instead of wondering, instead
of trying to
figure it out, Yohji drew the gun again, sending off two perfect shots into
their foreheads each
time. They both stood still for a moment, shocked out of their small little
heads that they had been
killed.
Yohji got this awesome rush when they fell in sync, lifelessly falling to the
floor. It was
perfect, both of them falling the exact same way, slumping to their left before
the knees went and
they both thudded onto the floor face first. Yohji felt this was some sort of
sign, that something
was trying to tell him to keep on going. Yohji's hands shook with it. He wanted
to kill more
people like this, more scum of the earth that kept getting away with the same
thing.
The blonde thing started whimpering, covering his head with his arms. The blonde's
whimpers got louder, and he started screaming like he was going plain crazy,
shaking and begging
Yohji not to kill him, not to touch him. Nobody stuck their heads out to see
what was happening.
Screaming was very common in places like this. Yohji couldn't believe how lax
and oblivious the
security was to his one-man killing spree.
The sound of a toilet flushing hit Yohji's ears, making him turn around sharply,
his wire
out. The last guard came out of the door at the end of the hall, headphones
in his ears. The man
shook at his still damp hands. The man had his eyes closed, singing along off-tune
to the song
playing in those earphones. The man blinked, noticing the blonde was just screaming
like mad.
Then noticed the three bodies, then noticed Yohji smiling at him like a predator
that just saw the
biggest, stupid sheep ever in its entire life.
Yohji rushed forward, snapping out the wire again and catching the man around
the
throat. He held his arm back, making the wire retract into the watch. The guard
was wrenched off
his feet and fell toward Yohji. Yohji moved around his stumbling victim before
drawing up behind
the guard's back. Yohji twisted the wire so it locked around the man's neck.
The guard screamed
wordlessly, his throat making wet noises as he struggled, all of his air stopped
in his throat.
The man Yohji was choking to death stopped struggling far too early, his legs
going limp,
making his whole over-muscled body weigh down. Yohji knew that it wasn't enough
time for him
to be dead. The bastard thought he was going to be smart and fake death. Yohji
pulled up sharply
on the wire, those little black lines around the man's neck slicing through
the skin like it was a
piece of cheese. The bone held a bit of resistance, the thick spine harder to
cut through, and the
muscle began to slide, no longer attached. The wire finally was wrenched all
the way through and
solid line of blood flicked across Yohji's stomach.
The man stayed on his knees before the his chest slumped forward, the head falling
before
the body. It rolled away from the shoulders, the spine protruding from the neck
in a cracked stub.
Yohji had the wire retract with a sharp, shrill scratching noise, the blood
being scrapped off the
side at the hole where it retracted into the watch. It dripped from his wrist
and Yohji swept the
edges with his fingers, getting some of the thicker collections of flesh off.
The blonde wasn't screaming anymore, but just shaking and covering his head
with his
arms. He was mumbling something, probably begging for Yohji to let him live.
Or die, if this was
his place of occupation. Yohji grabbed the boy's wrist, dragging him up. Huge,
liquid blue eyes
blinked up at him, scared shitless.
"Get out of here before I blow up the place, all right?" Yohji ordered, letting
go of the
kid's wrist. He nodded, shakily. Those big blue eyes were still very, very wide.
He didn't believe
him. Yohji had just killed three people in front of his eyes and the boy didn't
believe that Yohji
was trying to help them. Help him and every person like him. Yohji didn't want
anyone else to do
what Aya had done.
People would eventually see, just walking out from a good lay into a hall of
four dead
bodies. It would probably make them run screaming from the place. Hopefully,
some of the
prostitutes could recognize the mass death and run for it, just get out of this
place and find
somewhere to hide from them, to start their lives again. Get out of this life.
Yohji wasn't a
fucking savior for them. They were just a side quest, like in a video game.
They weren't the main
thing yohji was after. If Yohji had time, maybe he would walk through the rooms
and tell them to
run. But then he might have to fight angry lovers or something. He wasn't going
to kill other
people when he was trying to make those people who had touched Aya die like
pigs.
Yohji got in the elevator again, leaning back against the wall for a moment
as the door
slowly closed, blocking out the blonde from view. The music was a little bit
slower, and Yohji
thought he recognized the song from the radio. It was a lot faster, and a lot
better on the radio
though. Yohji couldn't remember the words, and it kind of nagged him as the
door opened again.
"Hey, buddy, can I see your wrist?" a guard asked as the door opened, turning
around
with his hand extending to Yohji. There were two bouncers right next to the
elevator. Just there
to check for passes and look intimidating. Nobody was in the halls, but the
moans and screams of
ecstasy told Yohji that this hallway was in use. There were two more guards
talking at the end of
the hall, and one just pacing in the middle, playing on a handheld game station,
completely
absorbed in the game.
"Just five gentlemen?" Yohji asked demurely, putting out his lips in a small
kissing motion
and winking. He hadn't expected them to all be out in the hallway. He didn't
think he could take
these two by surprise if the other two at the end were watching. So, he played
a tease as he tried
to figure out his next step. The guard smiled, obviously thinking that he was
worth the praise. The
other guard lazily rolled his head back to look at Yohji, as if he was vaguely
interested in him
now. The other three looked up, glancing over, before going back to their activities.
"Only five right now, baby, but we can call some more," the guard leered, his
hand moving
in closer to Yohji's body. Yohji had the wire out before the man even realized
Yohji had moved.
Yohji let the wire circle around the man's invading hand, then let it whip around
the other guard's
neck so he could have a pulley as the men started to stiffen up, realizing Yohji
was dangerous.
"I don't wanna bother them quite yet," Yohji laughed. The wrist was cut through
and the
hand fell immediately to the floor before the wire retracted, cutting open the
back of the other
guard's neck. They both screamed, one wrapping a hand around the stub of his
arm, the other
clasping both hands to the back of his head to stop the blood.
The guard playing the video game froze, looking up at Yohji and his companions
in shock.
The other two yelled, starting to run down the end of the green hallway, one
reaching into his
jacket. Yohji hadn't expected one to have a gun. It was the first flash of weaponry
that Yohji had
seen since entering.
Yohji used the wire again to wrap around the two wound men's throats. He pulled
it back
quickly, not taking the time to strangle them, but instead slit the necks open.
Blood exploded out,
spraying across the walls as the guards slumped down, struggling with their
new airways. Yohji
glanced down the hallway. The man had the gun out by then, halfway down the
hall and past the
still frozen video game guard.
Yohji reached his right hand into the trench coat and flicked out one of Omi's
old darts.
The needle buried itself perfectly in the man's jugular, the lethal dose in
the dart being released as
if the puncture in the throat wouldn't kill him. The body had a quick seizure,
one hand dropping
the gun, before he fell to the floor, the severe shock of poison making all
the nerves tighten once
before death. Yohji didn't know if it was painless or not. He had never asked
Omi. The guard
dropped the video game, his hands shaking.
The other guard rushed at Yohji, screaming hopelessly. Yohji remembered the
gun tucked
into his belt for an easy draw. He shot the man running at him, blindly trying
to fight him even
though he knew Yohji was a professional and recognized that Yohji was going
to kill him.
The bullet hit the man in the heart and his body jerked backward, falling at
the last guard's
feet, the head hitting the game. The man looked up in absolute terror at Yohji,
taking a shaky step
back from the body as blood began to soak into the dark forest green carpet,
making a brown
stain underneath the body. The other two guards finally fell together and Yohji
gave the wire
slack, letting it withdraw into the watch again as it unwrapped from around
their necks.
The man screamed and turned around on his feet, taking off at a dead run down
the hall.
His footsteps were loud, his hands flying as the man screamed in mindless terror.
Even if he ran,
there was no where to go in this hall. Yohji fired again, taking the man in
the back of the skull.
The man took another step before falling face first, the hair already glistening
with blood in the
dull lighting of the hallway.
Yohji tucked the gun back into his trench coat and pressed the 'open' button
for the door.
The elevator didn't open immediately. Yohji looked up at the floor lights. Someone
had gotten on
at the first floor and was coming back up. Yohji waited impatiently, tapping
his finger on his arm
as the elevator came back up. The elevator door opened again and Yohji walked
in, glaring at the
man in the three-piece suit.
"Going up?" the man asked, his finger hovering over the floor buttons. Yohji
felt his eyes
narrow. The man was definitely a guard. He had a gun in a chest holster, clearly
visible
underneath his jacket. It was just lazy to expose your weapon to such an easy
view, unless he
wanted people to notice he was carrying a firearm. The man looked Yohji up and
down, stiffening
when he noticed the blood on Yohji's stomach and right boot.
It seemed so slow, so easy. Yohji smiled as the man reached for his gun, the
veins on his
hand bulging out. The nostrils flared and the eyes widened, the red veins visible
in the corner of
his eyes. Yohji felt his teeth grit and the cold air was sucked in through his
mouth sharply. He
tried to drop the crazy smile he felt on his face, but failed. This guy touched
Aya too. The music
was the same song that Yohji couldn't place as he lunged forward.
Yohji wrapped the wire several times around the man's left wrist before pulling
the line
around the guard's neck. The captured hand was yanked up by the wire, holding
it tightly against
the man's neck. The guard tried to break the wire with his free hand, starting
to panic. Yohji only
twisted his finger and the wire enclosed around the man's right wrist. He pulled
and the man
dropped to his knees, both hands held tightly against his neck by the wire.
The guard looked up at Yohji helplessly, tears in his eyes, that pleading look
that Yohji
had seen in so many other eyes. Don't kill me, please, I'll do anything you
want, that kind of
thing. They were all empty promises given in the terror of the moment. It sickened
Yohji. This
man had probably enjoyed hurting Aya, making him break down enough that he would
do
anything they asked.
Restrained as he was, the man couldn't do a thing as Yohji took out the explosive
again.
He struggled, making the wire tighten around his neck. Yohji used a whole stick,
much more then
he would probably need. He glanced down as the man as he tucked the rest back
into his trench
coat. The guard was trembling, his eyes fastened to Yohji's hands. He knew he
was as good as
dead. The guard kept struggling though, the wire around his neck being pulled
taunt around the
skin, drawing blood.
"I wouldn't do that. I might give you a chance to live, see?" Yohji suggested,
pulling at
the wire in warning. The man stilled, realizing that Yohji might be giving him
the opportunity to
try and live through this. He didn't move as Yohji placed the rounded lump of
explosive against
his neck and held it there by knotting a bit of the wire around it.
"Do you know a guy named Aya Fujimiya?" Yohji questioned, placing a trigger
in the
explosive, smiling up at the man as he whimpered. The man shook his head 'no,'
unable to speak
around the choking of the wire, trying to look down to see the plastics in absolute
terror.
"Hmm. Probably not. He wouldn't give his name here, would he?" Yohji thought
out
loud, taking out the detonator for his trigger. The man shook his head wildly.
He was just trying
to agree with Yohji in his last moments. The man probably was going to piss
his pants. The
elevator doors opened and Yohji smiled.
"I lied," Yohji whispered as he violently pushed the man out of the slowly opening
doors.
Yohji let the wire release from his wrist as the man was thrown into another
guard. Yohji took off
at a dead sprint through the hallway, past the guards gathered around the elevator
in a gossiping
manner. They yelled at Yohji, one catching the other guard in surprise, looking
down at the wire
and explosive in confusion.
Yohji threw open a door and slammed it locked behind him. He heard the men still
yelling
outside. Yohji hit the trigger for the first bomb. There was a bizarre silence
for a moment, Yohji
glancing around the room he was taking cover in. Empty. God must really want
him to finish
killing all these bastards. Yohji wondered for a moment if he was going crazy
with rage.
There was an explosion that rocked the whole hotel, making Yohji stumble before
falling
to the floor. The yelling turned into screams, terrified and high-pitched. The
elevator hit the
bottom floor, making a second rumble that echoed through the whole building.
Yohji got onto his
knees, turning around. He opened up the door to the hallway, and looked out
on hell.
The explosion had blown off the doors to the elevator. The huge metal slabs
were
blackened and bent, the force of the blast making the doors land a good several
paces away from
the now empty elevator shaft. Some of the carpet was burning, little bundles
of wires still smoking
that had been thrown from the elevator.
One guard had been crushed by a door. He was moving weakly under it, covered
in blood,
the door making his arm and leg bend out at unnatural angles. He couldn't get
out from beneath
it. Yohji could see the damage the metal had caused. The door had landed in
the small of the
back, pinning the man between the floor and the wall. Even if the man managed
to live long
enough for an ambulance, if the door was moved, it was more then likely he would
die. The
weight of the door was pressing down on his nerves, keeping the man from realizing
that he lower
body had nearly been severed from his waist.
Looking up, Yohji saw the three men that had been by the door. His little human
bomb
was rolling on the floor, trying to put out the fire on his back. It wasn't
a lot, and soon the flames
were beaten out. The other two guards were not as lucky. The bodies were completely
covered in
flames, blazing off of the darkened skin and clothing. The men were screaming,
running into the
yellow walls blindly, trying to escape. One rolled on the floor, setting the
carpet on fire as well,
screaming in pain as he tried to extinguish the flames. The screaming was just
crazy, high pitched
and painful. It was scaring Yohji a bit. It wasn't human to scream like that.
One guard began to scream louder, if it was possible, falling against the wall.
The man ran
down the hall blindly, screaming, before running through the empty elevator
shaft. There was a
very long scream before Yohji heard the crunch and thud of the body hitting
bottom. It had been
very faint, almost inaudible over the screaming of the other guards. Yohji felt
like the man had
gotten away. He hadn't personally shoved him down the elevator shaft. The man
had killed
himself. Cheater.
Turning back to the last two victims, Yohji threw out another one of Omi's darts
at the
human torch rolling on the floor in agony. It hit the man in the thigh, his
struggles making the
chest that Yohji had been aiming for move out of the way. It didn't matter however,
for the
poison hit and the body shuddered before going still, the flames still licking
up the body. The scent
of burning hair and flesh stung Yohji's nose.
There was a yell and Yohji looked up, seeing three more guards coming down the
hall.
They were nearly on him, no more then a step away. Shit. He hadn't realized
they had gotten so
close. Yohji rolled back quickly, grabbing the gun out of his belt. He fired
blindly for a moment,
still rolling. He got someone in the leg and he screamed, falling down and clutching
at his knee.
These weren't human noises. These were truly those dark beasts. Yohji shot his
wounded pray
through the heart.
Yohji rolled back, grabbing the last survivor of the explosion. The man still
had his wrists
bound to his neck, shaking as Yohji hauled him up by the elbow. The bomb was
still right under
the man's chin, held in place by the wire. Yohji kicked the guard toward the
other two men. The
guards grabbed at their restrained friend, trying to help him gain his feet
as he was thrust toward
them.
Yohji hit the second trigger. The guards screamed as the man was blown apart
from the
throat, his neck and upper chest exploding in a flash of burned skin and flying
muscle. Blood
sprayed out like it was from a water fountain, covering the remaining two guards.
One shakily
brushed his fingers against a chunk of flesh that had landed on his cheek.
Yohji used the gun again, hitting one in the head. Yohji didn't like to brag
that he was a
good shot, but when one had to work with a wire for a weapon, you learned to
get a excellent
aim. The body hit the floor, landing into the mess that had once been a human
being. The last
guard look at Yohji, the whites of his eyes visible around the small pupil.
Yohji fired again, but surprisingly enough, the last guard dodged the bullet
in the last
moment. It hit him in the stomach, the man not fast enough to avoid getting
shot, but fast enough
to avoid a definite fatal shot. The guard flopped to the ground, putting his
hands to his stomach in
an attempt to staunch the blood. He was gritting his teeth from the pain, trying
not to scream.
Yohji appreciated it.
Yohji pushed the sunglasses up on his face. They had fallen down to the bridge
of his nose
during the last fight. Yohji opened up the face of his watch and put away the
gun, digging in his
trench coat to take out a new wire. He locked it into its little catch for the
watch and snapped the
face closed on it. Taking a few steps, Yohji sat down on his haunches next to
the dying man.
"Hey," Yohji greeted lightly.
"Hey," the man said back, weakly. He was dying from blood loss Yohji noted,
looking
down at the pooling blood adding to the gore on the floor. The guard was definitely
in shock,
blinking at Yohji, his face covered in his friend's blood.
"Is it painful?" Yohji asked, sounding concerned.
"A . . . A bit," the man admitted, wincing with the pain. Yohji smiled ferally
before
reaching out with both hands, catching the man's face between them. The guard's
gaze was
forced to met Yohji's crazed face, his eyes widening in terror.
"Good," Yohji whispered back, letting his hands drop around the man's neck.
He used the
wire to strangle the near-dead man. Yohji felt a distinct sense of accomplishment
when the
guard's legs kicked useless against the floor, screaming as he tried to get
away. More blood
pumped out faster from the man's stomach as his struggles lessened.
The fire alarms went off from the smoke billowing out of the elevator shaft.
The
showerheads popped out of the ceiling and suddenly Yohji was getting drenched
under a cold
stream of water. It was raining inside from the fire defenses. The man went
limp, finally dead
under Yohji's hands.
The flames on the carpet and the body of the burned man slowly died out. The
burning
stench that Yohji had been trying to ignore was dying down. The water coming
from the ceiling
helped make the smoke disappear faster, leaving Yohji cold and wet. A little
bit of water ran
down between his neck and his collar to his back, leaving an icy cold trail.
Yohji let the wire slide back and relaxed his stance, popping his knuckles.
His hands hurt.
He hadn't used the wire in a long time. It was a good kind of pain though. Made
Yohji feel alive.
The water-drenched air smelled clean, beating down the scent of burning flesh
and hair. Yohji
pushed his glasses up on his nose, water beading on the lenses.
"Time for the stairs," he sighed heavily. He hadn't planned on blowing out the
elevator
that soon. But, he didn't want to be bothered for a bit by annoying people coming
up. Yohji
turned, walking down the hallway to the emergency stair exit, his boots making
sloshing noises on
the wet carpet.
Omi wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to do it. Ken was already down to
his briefs,
kicking off his shorts. The bathroom had never seemed this small before. Omi
couldn't imagine
taking off his clothes in front of Ken. It didn't make sense as to why now,
it shouldn't matter.
They had already had sex a number of times, and that was far more intimate then
taking a shower
together.
"What's up?" Ken asked, turning around. He had paused in taking off his underwear,
seeing that Omi was hesitating in getting out of his clothes as quickly as possible.
Omi shook his
head, lifting up his shirt. There was no reason to be scared. No reason for
his knees to feel weak.
He pulled the shirt over his head as Ken turned his back to Omi.
Omi just stared at the body he should have memorized by now. Ken was a lot tanner
then
him, much more active outside then Omi was with all of his school work. His
body was bigger,
stronger and more powerful, the sinews in his shoulders shifting as Ken turned
on the water,
testing out the temperature with his hand.
Ken pulled the lock in the shower, letting the water come out the showerhead.
He stepped
in, not bothering to close the plastic curtain. He was waiting for Omi. Omi
should have been
naked by now. He hooked his thumbs under his pants and underwear, pulling them
both off at the
same time. Omi felt dizzy and hot as he walked toward the bathtub, the white
tiles cool on his
feet.
Ken was standing right under the showerhead, letting the water pound down on
his head.
Omi stepped over the tub, feeling awkward, not sure what he should do with his
hands. Ken blew
out some water that had gone in his nose, scrubbing at his wet face with one
hand. Ken wiped
away the water around one eye, looking at Omi to see if he was in yet or not.
Smiling, Ken stepped forward. Omi was very uncomfortable, standing naked right
next to
Ken. They weren't going to have sex. They were just being close together, like
a serious
relationship. It really scared Omi. He knew it was ridiculous, that Ken would
never hurt him, but
still, that sense of modesty and mortification of being a same-sex relationship
made Omi pause.
"We can save water this way," Ken explained. They both knew it was a lame excuse,
and
Omi almost decided to leave. Ken noticed that Omi was starting to try and pull
back the curtain.
He pulled Omi next to his body, underneath the flow of the water. It was warm,
but not hot.
Ken's hands were wet and slick on his back
"Don't be worried," Ken assured him, running his hands over Omi's body like
he was a
frightened animal. Omi was more then willing to put up with the pawing. It let
him close his eyes
in pleasure, just trying to memorize the path that the tips of Ken's fingers
made against his skin,
making goose bumps pop out after contact. Omi decided to not be such a prude
and began to kiss
Ken, closing his eyes against the force of the water that beat down on his face.
Their lips locked, and Omi opened up his mouth, allowing Ken to slip his tongue
in and
explore like he usually did, as if Ken had forgotten what he tasted like. Water
ran down between
their faces, dripping off Ken's hair and nose and onto Omi's face. Ken put a
hand on top of Omi's
hips, his hard and callused hands uncharacteristically smooth and slippery.
Omi realized Ken had
picked up the bar of soap and was lathering up Omi's body like he was incapable
of doing it
himself.
Omi moved his hand down, letting his tongue play back against Ken's. He got
a hold of
the soap, wrestling it away from Ken's hands as he pushed Ken's tongue back
into his own mouth
with his tongue. He began to run the soap up Ken's ribs, wanting to try and
take the first few
steps this time.
Feeling brave, Omi dropped the soap to the floor of the tub. Ken flinched away,
startled at
the loud noise, then again as Omi put his hands over his crotch. Omi began to
work the soap into
the hair on Ken's groin, his fingernails scraping skin. Ken wasn't so scary
now, much more
familiar and easier to approach. Omi let his fingers wander, massaging Ken's
balls.
He finally had the upper hand when Ken groaned, his hands stilling on Omi's
body as his
hips shuddered, starting to become aroused. Omi decided to play the flirt, taking
his hands away,
letting them rest on Ken's lower stomach. Ken blinked, surprised that Omi had
stopped, before
shoving a knee between Omi's legs and kissing him hard.
Omi was forced to fall back against the tile wall, his hand reaching out and
grabbing the
plastic curtain. Ken was already on him, kissing him passionately, grunting
and muscling his leg
underneath Omi's crotch. Omi's hand tightened around the curtain, making it
squeak and the
water spray up from hitting the bending plastic. His feet slipped on the wet
tiles, falling down onto
Ken, unable to do anything but allow Ken to support him.
Ken was holding him, kissing him, a hand rubbing soap here and there. Little
bubbles of
soap formed on Omi's body, making his body become even more slippery in Ken's
hands. Ken
was determined to cover every inch of Omi's mouth inside and out, pressing his
tongue in. Omi
pulled away, taking Ken's lower lip between his teeth and sucking on it.
He learned that being aggressive was a turn on for Ken, because suddenly the
man was
grunting, leaning over Omi though he was already pressed against the wall. Ken
grinding his leg
against Omi's groin painfully, an erection full and heavy on the indent below
Omi's hip. Ken
didn't waste any time, not even trying to get Omi fully aroused as he slid a
soapy finger into Omi.
Omi didn't even have time to think, the digit joined by a second finger before
he though he
had even accepted the first on. Omi struggled up, trying to get away from the
fingers. They were
painful, burning as the finger stretched him out and soap burned into the sensitive
inner skin. He
grabbed Ken's shoulder, digging his fingers into the bruise left by Omi's teeth.
"Slow down, that hurts, you dumb jerk!" Omi ordered, trying to squirm away from
Ken's
fingers. Ken didn't say anything, too arouse to be coherent, just kept working
his fingers in and
out of Omi. He had slowed down though, giving Omi time to adjust, settling his
weight back
down on his own two feet. It didn't really seem like such a good idea anymore,
Omi's footing
inconsistent in the bathtub.
But then Ken's fingers finally worked themselves into his body, brushing up
lightly against
that warm spot within him. He gasped, grabbing onto Ken's shoulders as his left
foot slipped out
from under him. Somehow, Ken kept him standing, still thrusting his fingers
into Omi, kissing him
on his cheek and ear. Omi pulled himself up, pressing himself against Ken.
Omi's body felt warm, a hot, gaping hole inside him as Ken's fingers left him.
There was
this emptiness inside, a great burning hole where Ken had left him. Omi got
his arms around Ken's
neck, pulling his own body up on Ken in order to give him some leeway. The soap
made his chest
slide against Ken's body, the water still pounding down on them. A little bit
of steam was starting
to rise out over the curtain, filling up the bathroom.
Omi held on, locking his fingers around Ken's back, when Ken first prodded him
with his
erection, not quite finding Omi's hole readily. Omi felt the head press against
his inner thigh. Omi
reached down, taking it in his hand, guiding it back to his own body. Omi didn't
feel like he could
wait for Ken to locate exactly where he should stick it in. Omi was beginning
to feel empty,
hollowing out, becoming painfully aroused with nothing to stimulate him.
Ken was panting between landing passionate kisses on Omi's face, struggling
to keep
them both upright in the shower. He pushed into Omi, shifting his feet a bit,
working hard to
make it painless. It wasn't, but Omi didn't think it ever would be. So, Omi
just gritted his teeth
and kissed Ken hard on his roaming lips, pushed past thinking about comfort.
Ken drove himself into Omi, pushing in as slowly as he could, before he finally
hit that
spot in the center of Omi's body. Omi shuddered, unable to speak or think beyond
concentrating
on the sensations in his body, determined not to get carried away by the pleasure.
But, it was a
losing battle, and Omi let a scream go past his lips. Ken began to pump very
slowly, still trying to
be careful about hurting Omi.
Omi just began to thrash and scream, beyond sanity. He let his grip go from
around Ken's
neck, letting his feet slide forward on the bathtub, forcing Ken to be buried
up to the hilt and cry
out in pleasure. Ken cried out throatily, covering Omi with kisses, his hands
slipping down to
clutch at Omi's bottom. Ken's fingers dug in as he pulled him up, gaining an
angle to pound into
Omi how he wanted to.
He was sure he was dying. He felt so good, that he must be dead. Ken just kept
slamming
up on this trembling, small part of his body that made his vision go and his
toes spread out. Omi
felt his stomach tighten, and he started to scream out Ken's name, not really
sure if he was even
saying it right. It didn't matter, because his whole world was falling down
around him.
Ken was starting to grunt, getting closer to the edge. Omi didn't care, didn't
even look at
Ken, just closed his eyes tossed his head around. He couldn't even think of
doing anything else.
One of Ken's hand left his butt cheeks and circled around Omi's own budding
erection. Ken was a
skilled multitasker, jerking off Omi while still pounding into his body. Omi
felt the muscles below
his bellybutton tighten and his stomach fluttered.
Omi came right into Ken's hand, not needing much stimulus when he already had
Ken up
to the balls in him. The shower water was already washing it away between their
bodies, Ken
shuddering and releasing into Omi, making his body feel like it exploded. His
knees were shaking,
and he just sagged against Ken, kissing him on the lips.
"Now we don't have to take another shower after," Ken laughed, sounding very
tired as
he started to slump down to the bottom of the tub. Omi bent down with him, trying
to still kiss
him but really lacking the energy. Ken put an arm around Omi, pulling him close
as they both sat
down on the tub, the water still running over and underneath their bodies.
Ken leaned against the back of the tub, letting his head fall back. Immediately
loud snores
followed, and Omi poked him in the ribs, knowing Ken wasn't really sleeping.
Ken moaned and
swiped at Omi's hand, lifting his head back up.
"If I wasn't tired before, now I am," Ken whined, nuzzling the back of Omi's
wet head.
"Well, nobody forced you to do it," Omi reminded him, a little offended that
the only thing
Ken could say was that he was tired. Omi wanted to move away from Ken, but he
was also
exhausted now. His muscles were weak and watery, and all he could think about
was crawling
into a bed. Maybe with Ken. No, alone, Omi decided, very irritated that Ken
would blame him for
being tired after sex.
"Yes, yes, you did," Ken argued lazily, still pressing his face into the back
of Omi's neck.
"You were just too cute." Omi was still for a moment, the water starting to
turn cold on them.
"Cute?!" Now Omi was offended. He wasn't cute. He was a guy. Cute wasn't a word
that
Omi wanted used to describe him. Omi pushed away from Ken, turning so that he
could face him,
still stuck between the bathtub and one of Ken's naked legs. "What do you mean,
'cute?!'"
"Cute in an incredibly sexy way?" Ken offered. Omi let his eyes narrow. It was
a good
cover up, but not quite good enough. Ken smiled at him, even though he had to
know that Omi
was mad.
"I think I love you," Ken said out loud. That stopped all the irritation right
there. Ken was
an idiot when it came to words, most of the time, but right now, Omi considered
him to be the
Don Juan of love. It was just the thing Omi needed to hear after being called
cute.
"I think I love you, too," Omi laughed, hugging Ken in the shower.
Yohji was panting by the time he got to the business suite. Climbing up the
stairs had not
been fun. Killing all the employees in between the climb had been. Yohji was
glad he had
numbered the bullets, because he had lost count of how many he killed a long
time ago. His breath
was hot and painful in his throat and there was blood drying on his face. None
of the blood
covering Yohji was his, however. He wasn't going to let scum like this wound
him.
The rest of the employees in the building were either running for their lives
or getting
ready for their last stand. Yohji had taken precious time to open up a door
and shoot a man who
was raping a prostitute on the bed. As soon as he had shoved the body off of
the woman, he told
her to tell the rest of the prostitutes to get out. She had nodded shakily before
pulling on a mini
skirt that was probably illegal in other countries and a silk top, running out
the door and yelling
out someone's name. Yohji felt like he had done a bit of good to balance out
the ruthless killing,
even if it was for Aya.
He was finally at the fire escape for the hallway where he knew Aya's boss would
be.
Yohji leaned against the wall, catching his breath, calming his nerves. His
hands were shaking, but
that was because they were sore from using the wire. He hadn't practiced after
they left Weiss,
and now he was regretting it. His fingers were torn and the palms were one large
ache. Yohji
pushed his sunglasses up on his face. It didn't really matter if his hands hurt.
He could ignore that
pain in the rush of battle.
Yohji had ran out of bullets for his silenced gun a long time ago. Yohji had
tossed the gun
somewhere in the hall, leaving the extra weight behind. He didn't need it anymore.
Yohji wasn't
worried about the police coming in and finding the gun later. As far as their
records showed,
Yohji Kudoh had died of polio in '97.
His breathing was finally smoothing out, becoming regular. He had one last bit
of
dynamite left, and he really wanted to use it to shove down the target's throat.
But, he also
needed it for a distraction after busting through this door. By now, they had
to know that their
business tower was turning into a serial killer's dream.
Yohji wired the last stick of plastic explosives. He put his hand on the door
knob, gingerly
turning it. He opened it very slowly, only far enough to be able to peek in.
The hallway was dimly
lit, the garish red decor a strange blood color in the lighting. Yohji spotted
two men walking
toward the door, looking very alert and on edge. They knew something was up,
and they also
seemed to know that they had no chance against it. Anyone could figure that
out by looking in the
security cameras and seeing the bodies Yohji had left behind.
Yohji tossed the plastics in and closed the door tightly. He heard one guard
saying
something before he hit the trigger. The door on his back suddenly was very
hot as the loud
explosion shook the stairs. Yohji heard the screaming and cries for help after
the loud rumbling of
the explosion had died down. He waited for it, listening carefully as the fire
systems came on, the
red light flashing above his head over the door. Yohji heard frantic yells for
help, getting weaker,
until he couldn't hear the cries anymore.
He kicked open the door, knocking that it would be useless to try to turn the
knob. The
explosion had likely busted the door beyond opening normally. He had the wire
out, ignoring the
sharp pain it caused in his hands. He just pushed the slicing lines of hurt
around his palms and
fingers into another part of his brain. Pain wasn't as important as killing
people right now. The
hallway was blackened and stained, ash and debris streaking the walls and floor.
There was
someone standing, looking burned and shocked, his hands on his chest as the
showerheads put out
the flames.
Yohji had his wire out before he even thought about it, already instinctively
pitching it out,
catching the guard around the neck. The man died quickly, already half dead
from the explosion.
Yohji almost felt like he was a bully, these guards going down far too easily.
For people who had
broken Aya apart, Yohji had expected more.
Two men burst out of a room, one covering the man behind him. Some guard was
trying
to useless shield someone with their own body. Yohji sniffed, taking out the
man who was trying
to be a living wall like it was a game. The guard fell down, revealing the man
he had been trying
to protect.
Yohji saw the target for the first time in person. This wasn't a photograph,
where the man
was smiling off to the side, frozen forever with his arm over Aya's shoulders.
There was the man,
breathing, shaking, knowing that Yohji wanted him dead. Yohji's mind went blank.
He just saw
Aya's face overlap the reality he should be focusing on. He just remembered
Aya's face, covered
in blood, so smooth and relaxed when he fainted on the back door only several
nights ago. Yohji
remembered Aya crying against his chest, trying to beat the shit out of Yohji
for even attempting
to talk to him. The man responsible for it. For that thing that had happened
to Aya. An atrocity,
so brutal and vicious was alive, turning slowly toward Yohji.
The man was large, but in a muscular way. He was half a head taller then Yohji
and had a
hell of a lot more bulk with all that muscle. Yohji half expected him to tear
his shirt off and
berserk into some freak science experiment. But, the target remained human and
somewhat
normal sized, totally mortal and vulnerable, his guards all dead around him,
the escapes burned to
hell. A man, when compared to the grotesque creatures Yohji had killed, didn't
really faze him
despite his size. The neck flashed above the collar and neck tie, a tempting
flash of tanned skin,
moist with sweat. The hair around the target's neck was wet and sticking to
his flesh with the
perspiration. It was so easy, like the target's skin was a beacon in the background
of red that
blurred behind him.
"Too easy," Yohji snarled, letting the wire loose. It was a simple thing to
toss the wire
around the man's body, pinning the target's arms to his sides and continuing
to wrap around the
man's legs. the target flopped over like a bovine, just grunting bestially when
his body impacted
with the carpet. Yohji gathered up the wire in his hands. He could just pull
until those wires finally
gained the pressure to cut through the suit and skin, into the flesh and muscles.
It would take a
while depending on how hard he pulled, and there would be a lot of pain.
It didn't seem like enough. Yohji hesitated, suspending the man's life between
his hands.
Would that really cover Aya's pain? Would it payback with all the fucking interest
the agony that
Aya had been granted? Yohji got a small, sadistic idea. It was simple and barbaric,
but it worked.
He still had the gun, with a few bullets left in it. Yohji licked the inside
of his teeth and gums,
goose bumps rising on his arms. He drew the gun and considered his targets,
weighing out the
places that would hurt like hell, but wouldn't kill anyone one.
Yohji traced the gun's aim up and down the body, his world narrowing in. The
man had
tears in his eyes, pleading that Yohji would let him go, let him live. He was
babbling something
about a wife and kids, about living for a reformed, better life. His body was
crisscrossed with the
tight lines of the wires, pinning clothing and limbs down as the man twisted.
Yohji closed one eye
and aimed, unconsciously putting his tongue between his lips, his teeth pinching
on the middle of
this tongue.
"'Bang!' went the gun!" Yohji mimicked along with the recoil, shooting the target's
right
hand when his struggles made it lift up away from the body like a fin. The bullet
went right
through the palm like shooting the suit of a playing card. The man started screaming
about his
hand like it was his entire life savings. Didn't even think to beg for his life,
just shocked that Yohji
would shot his almighty right hand.
"Wonder how many bullets I got left," Yohji asked out loud, tilting his head
toward his
victim. The man shook his head, begging and offering some amount of money like
it would
impress Yohji. Yohji cracked his neck by stretching his head out, relaxing the
muscles in his
shoulder before aiming again, taking the man in the left knee.
"Two," Yohji counted with the gun, like a kid replying educational television.
The man
screamed, curling his body up into a fetal position, his body twisting like
a rope. The target
reminded Yohji of a worm, the was his body wriggled with the wires making little
separate
sections like the flesh of a worm. Yohji didn't understand why Aya had killed
this bastard? He
was screaming his head off like a woman at a bullet in his leg. He couldn't
take the pain he had so
liberally dished out. Yohji tightened the wires with his hand, pulling some
into the watch so it
would cut in deeper. The suit tore a bit, little strips lifting away as the
wires sawed their way
through. The man wailed, breaking into sobs at the pain.
"You're a real puss, you know?" Yohji asked the man, taking aim at the where
the target's
bellybutton should be. The man sobbed, then stiffened up as he noticed Yohji
take a serious aim.
Yohji bobbed his head, for some reason reminded of the song in the elevator.
He hummed as he
fired dead center into the target's groins, taking out the balls in an impressive
splatter of blood
around the target's thighs.
The target began to scream incoherently, shrieking and sobbing with pain, cursing
Yohji.
Yohji still nodded his head to the song he was hearing, spinning the gun in
his hand flashily. He
was good with gun tricks, swirling the sleek hand gun in his palm like it was
a pencil. The target
bawled with abandon, salvia trailing out his mouth and at times splattering
the targets face when
he gasped particularly loud. Yohji took aim again.
The gun clicked, the metal clanging in an empty chamber. Yohji sighed. He would
have to
reload. The target wasn't struggling much anymore, and it was easier to simply
crouch down and
tie the wire off in a large knot, keeping him restrained like prized game. The
man tossed his head,
begging Yohji to let him go. Yohji rested by settling on his heels, keeping
the balls of his feet on
the floor. He didn't want to sit down or get on his knees on the same surface
as the target.
Yohji reached down with his gloved hand, gripping the right leg above the man's
knee.
Using his other hand, Yohji pushed his finger into the bullet wound, mercilessly
digging into the
man's severed muscles and nerves, the flesh splitting aside like a peach. His
finger brushed against
something harder and stronger then anything else inside the human body, lodged
up in the top of a
bone. Yohji worked his thumb in under his pointer finger and pinched the butt
of the bullet,
ripping it out with a bit of fleshy mass.
The target screeched and hit his head on the floor in his struggles, calling
Yohji a monster.
Yohji shook out the bullet, letting blood splatter on him and the floor without
regard. As soon as
it was clean enough to load, Yohji flipped out the chamber and slid the bullet
in. He scratched
awkwardly under his right eye with his left hand, the only clean digit he had
at the moment. Yohji
used his bloody hand to aim the gun again.
"Didn't anyone tell you to recycle?" Yohji asked, taking aim again.
Yohji gasped, his eyes opening up in shock. He was looking at the open cover
of his car,
the familiar storage slats and boxes over his head. Yohji was in their garage,
his head bent back
over the driver's seat, his hands still on the wheel. He had fallen asleep.
The car was still running,
warm air blowing on his covered hands from the vents. The radio was playing
softly, the green
glow of the control panel lighting the car. The clock was flashing three-twenty
two.
Yohji looked at his hands, loosening his grip around the steering wheel like
he didn't
expect them to respond. He didn't remember driving back. In fact, he didn't
remember getting to
the car. He was still in the mission gear, the blood crusting on his coat and
a few spots on his face,
his glasses down on the bridge of his nose. Had he walked through the downtown
after
massacring an entire building? Yohji couldn't remember.
He put a hand to his forehead, a cold chill breaking out on his upper back despite
the
sweaty heat of the car. He couldn't remember walking to the car, in fact, he
couldn't remember
what had happened beyond seeing the target for the first time. It was a blank,
a big, dull black
void of ignorance in his memory. Yohji blinked at his hand. His right glove
was soaked to a deep,
thick black with blood, all the way up to his wrist. He couldn't shake as he
began to wonder what
the hell he had done. It was just too far away too get panicked about.
Yohji turned off the car by reaching over behind the wheel with his left hand,
struggling to
pull the keys out of the ignition. Yohji managed to get out of the seatbelt
with only one hand and
opened up the door, standing up slowly. His body was sore and tired, muscles
that hadn't really
been strained in a long time aching. It was a dull throb that made his head
pound, and yet Yohji
couldn't feel the sharp pains of injuries. It was just too distant. Yohji didn't
care about it.
He stripped off the gloves as soon as he was standing steady, letting them hit
the cement.
It didn't matter that blood splattered out on impact. Yohji left the gloves
on the ground, staring at
his hands in a hazy disbelief. Red lines of blood and pinched skins ran along
the sides of his fingers
and knuckles. Long rends ran along his life line and palm, cutting through the
callouses that he
had built up. Yohji tried to tighten his fingers into a loose fist and they
merely twitched, to
swollen to respond.
The door was absolute fucking hell to deal with right after getting his boots
off. He had to
use both hands mashed against the knob to primitively turn and pull at until
the bolt finally slipped
back from the door. Yohji stepped over the walkway and into the kitchen. He
stepped on the back
of the heel of his other foot, pulling his foot out of the boot.
Yohji climbed up the stairs, not bothering to wash his hands or anything like
that. There
wasn't a point. Blood was a real bitch to scrub off, and with open wounds on
his hands like these
would make it painful. Besides, shouldn't he be overjoyed that he had blood
on his hands?
Everyone who had been involved with hurting Aya was dead, unless by a stroke
of luck they had
the night off.
Yohji opened up his bedroom door quietly. The lamp by the bed was on, casting
large
shadows across the room. Aya was sleeping with his body propped up against the
pillows, one
hand curled up by Aya's face. He had fallen asleep while sitting up, waiting
for something. Yohji
wondered if it could possibly be him that Aya was waiting for. Unlikely.
Yohji pulled a cigarette out from one of the packs on the bed stand. He put
it between his
lips and almost reached for the lighter. Half way there, his hand froze as he
began to stare at
Aya's face. The large scrapes and bandages were still there. the stitches in
his lip were still there.
The brace around his fingers were still there. the large bandages on his wrist
were still there.
Nothing had changed. Yohji fell heavily into his usual chair. He felt hadn't
done one damn
thing. Yohji had killed everyone in that tower, he was sure of it. As he stared
at Aya's face, he
couldn't summon the energy to feel more shame, more pain, something. It was
as if they were
sealed off from him. They didn't matter anymore. Nothing really did.
Aya's head moved a bit and one swollen, bruised eye opened up in a slit. Aya
saw Yohji's
face and started to rouse himself, sitting up a bit on the pillows. Yohji easily
put a hand out and
stopped Aya, pushing him back down. Aya saw the bloody lines on Yohji's hands
and looked
back at Yohji's face, splattered with blood.
"Aya?" Yohji asked tentatively. Aya was gazing at Yohji with something that
could have
been shock in the small light from the lamp. Yohji couldn't be sure as Aya forced
emotion away
from his features.
"Yohji, what?" Aya asked softly, gesturing at blood on Yohji's face. Yohji shrugged,
finally lighting up the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips. He felt
empty. Really used,
dirty and empty. The deaths had left him kind of numb now that the sense of
revenge had worn
off.
Yohji just stared at Aya, memorizing that face. He wanted to be sure he had
made the
right choice. Aya's eyes were slightly large in his face, at least as large
as they could go. His lips
had healed a bit, two jagged scars in the bottom lip. He looked so small and
thin in that shirt, the
white fabric hanging off of him. Aya put a hand around his other arm, looking
a little bit panicked.
"You know how we got doctors here?" Yohji asked Aya slowly. Aya shook his head,
not
saying a word. Yohji took another drag of the cigarette and removed his gloves,
wincing at the
pain. The wire had left hard red lines in his hands, despite how calloused they
were from using it
all the time. He had gone overboard tonight, definitely.
"I called Kritiker. They had a doctor who wouldn't talk, just come in and check
you out
and not ask any questions," Yohji explained. "So, no hospital, and no one on
the street would talk
about treating you."
Aya was silent, his hand beginning to rub his arm slowly. Aya chewed a bit on
his bottom
lip, uncharacteristically nervous. Yohji noted how much Aya had changed, still
able to talk big and
yell insults like the best of them and piss of the population in general, and
yet he was scared of
going to sleep. Yohji unzipped his collar, the cool air of the room hitting
his exposed chest. It felt
good, especially after that rush of burning heat he had felt when he had killed
all of those men
who had laid hands on Aya.
"What did you have to do?" Aya asked softly, looking at the desk lamp. Not making
eye
contact. It was kind of weird to see Aya look away. Aya never looked away, just
stared you down
until you were forced to back down under that cold gaze. Yohji took another
drag and held up his
hand. Aya didn't look at it right away, only nodding. He had already seen those
raw, precise lines
in the skin. Aya knew it was from using a wire.
"What do you think I did? Kritiker had me do a mission in exchange for getting
a doctor,"
Yohji explained. Yohji couldn't feel any anger at Kritiker, any shame over the
deaths, any kind of
sorrow for Aya. He was just numb. His fingers were staring to stiffen up, making
it hard to hold
them around the cigarette as he flicked off some ash into the tray on the bed
stand.
"Aya, they knew. They knew about you," Yohji said softly. It still scared him
a bit.
Kritiker hadn't really believed they were dead. They hadn't ever been given
up on. God, they had
known what Yohji, Ken and Omi hadn't. Yohji wondered if they were watching all
of them, Omi
at school with his friends, Ken on the soccer field with those children.
"What? What are you talking about?" Aya snapped, his brows coming together.
Oh, he
was mad. Aya didn't like the idea of people knowing about his personal affairs.
Aya had thought
he had been inconspicious. The picture Yohji had made that idea seem incredibly
naive. Aya was
beautiful, rare. He would be noticed and remembered no matter what he did.
"You know who I killed, Aya?" Yohji asked, very, very quietly in the dark of
his room.
Aya shook his head. Yohji didn't believe that Aya couldn't have figured it out
by now. Aya was
smart, but in some areas it amazed Yohji about how much knowledge Aya lacked.
Like when it
came to common sense.
"I killed Mr. Stevens. I killed a bunch of guards that worked for him. I killed
all of the
other guys in the room with your boss," Yohji informed him, very calm about
it. Yohji didn't
think he could be upset for a while. All of those emotions just seemed very
distant now, on the
outside edge of his reality.
Aya was shaking. He had stopped rubbing his arm nervously. Now both those hands
were
flat in his lap, shaking. His shoulders were trembling, and his eyes were closed.
He was going
through some sort of memory that he would rather not. Yohji knew that stance,
of just trying to
block out all of those things you didn't want to remember. He had done it himself
many times
after missions.
"Dead? All of them?" Aya questioned, his voice low. Yohji's eyes flicked around
his
room, trying to find comfort in the familiar decor. He looked at the line of
imported beer bottles
on the book shelf, remembering the night he had put all of that alcohol down.
That memory didn't
bring back any happiness or comfort. It kind of felt like he was back in assassin
mode, his brain
shutting down the section dedicated to emotions. Yohji felt that if he allowed
himself any
emotions right now, he'd probably break down and cry right in front of Aya.
Fuck. Aya had been
raped, and Yohji had killed the bastard responsible for it. Why didn't he feel
like he had fixed
anything?
"As many as were in the building. Most of the other . . . employees just ran
when they
realized what was going on," Yohji explained. He couldn't say the other prostitutes.
That one
man with those big, pleading blue eyes was still in Yohji's head. Yohji was
glad he had stormed in
the front door, screaming at them to get the fuck out. They were probably all
running back to
somewhere safe, like the homes they had left in the first place. Or right back
into the open arms of
another pimp, some of them unable to leave that life style. Yohji wondered how
many of them
were as lucky as Aya, to have a place to go to when it was all over.
"Oh," Aya whispered, still shaking. It was quiet. Yohji didn't have anything
else to say. He
just wanted Aya to know that Mr. Stevens was dead. Yohji still wished he had
brought a head or
a finger back, just to prove to Aya that he would be safe. Just Yohji's word
that he was dead
didn't feel like enough to keep Aya safe. Yohji wanted Aya to know that he would
never allow
anyone to touch him like that again.
A tear hit Aya's thumb. It was really weird. It didn't belong there. Aya didn't
cry. He
didn't cry without reason. It just wasn't in Aya to have tears ready. Sure,
there was a few times
tears had been shed, but those had only been out of severe pain, those tears
Aya had been unable
to suppress. Another tear followed, right on the sheets.
"Aya?" Yohji asked, unsure of how to handle the situation. He didn't know what
to do.
He couldn't hold Aya, not covered in blood and dirt as he was now. He couldn't
tell Aya it was
all okay. He couldn't do anything else. He had killed the man responsible. Why
wasn't that pain
going away?
"Yohji . . . Are you sure? That he's dead?" Aya whispered. Yohji should have
brought
back the body. They could have just stared at it together, assuring each other
that he wouldn't rise
up again to torture Aya. Yohji nodded. He didn't think he could come up with
words to cover the
answer. It just didn't seem right to speak.
Aya didn't say anything at first. His shoulders stopped shaking a bit as Aya
started to try
and gain back a bit of that control that he was so fucking proud of. Yohji sniffed
and rubbed out
the but of his cigarette. It was finished anyways, the filter starting to burn.
"So . . . dead?" Aya asked, echoing his own question. Yohji wondered if Aya
really heard
anything Yohji was saying. He was holding himself very still. Yohji imagined
that if a strong wind
came through right now, Aya would just shatter into a thousand pieces. There
wouldn't be a thing
left to pick up. Aya had lost that bit of emotionless edge that kept him so
distant from the world.
Yohji leaned forward. He didn't exactly know how to deal with the situation.
He had
never hated anyone more then he did Aya. Aya was always going around pissing
them off as if he
meant to do it. Aya always pushed away anyone who tried to help, preferring
to bleed to death
then let anyone help him. Aya was a loner, and a completely emotionless machine
when it came to
killing.
And yet, with his head bent down, a tear hitting his lap when he couldn't hold
it back
anymore, Aya just looked so small. It was hard to still hate someone when they
were doing their
best not to cry in front of you. Aya's shoulders shook a bit again, and then
they stopped. Aya was
definitely on the verge of losing control. Yohji didn't think he'd be able to
comfort Aya. Nothing
was ever really going to be the same again, now that Aya had shown this vulnerable
side to them.
It was strange to know that Aya could be hurt too. Aya just had never allowed
them to see him
suffer.
"Aya. Listen to me, just this once, okay? Just shut up and let me say it, all
right?" Yohji
demanded. Aya didn't make a single movement to tell Yohji that he would listen.
The world
outside the window was quiet in the midnight hour. Ken and Omi were sleeping,
the house silent
and still. No one was awake except them.
"I won't let anyone hurt you. You fucking piss me off all the time, but I won't
let anyone
hurt you, all right?" Yohji promised. It was true. He would more then likely
rip Aya's head off
before anyone that Yohji swore he would protect Aya from got to him. But, if
by some strange
stroke of luck, some bastard got to Aya first, Yohji would kill them before
they could touch Aya.
Simple plan.
"You can't promise that, you fucking prick," Aya snarled, though his voice was
barely
more then a whisper. "You can't watch me all the time. Maybe I want to get hurt,"
Aya argued.
Despite the state of numb emotional shock Yohji was in, anger still came in,
making his mouth
taste bitter. Fuck. All he had tried to do was be nice to Aya and he threw it
right back in his face.
"God dammit, Aya, I asked you to shut up because I knew you would say shit like
that,"
Yohji snarled, standing up so fast he knocked over the chair. Aya flinched away
at Yohji's show
of anger, making himself small against the pillows. Despite how his body responded,
Aya still got
his head up and glared at Yohji, unshed tears glistening in his eyelashes.
"You can't protect me. I'll take care of myself," Aya snapped. Aya, still trying
to be a
fucking independent prick that only needed himself. God, it made Yohji so mad.
He could never
make Aya accept the fact that he cared. Yohji wanted Aya just to stop trying
to be strong. He
couldn't do it anymore. Aya was broken. He was shaking as he tried to be tough
in front of Yohji.
"Stop it. You're not fooling anyone anymore," Yohji demanded, his voice raising.
Aya's
face twisted. Oh, Yohji had said something that was pressing the buttons only
Aya knew about.
Fucking hair-triggered into some emotional rampage for no reason. Yohji was
angry that Aya
could act like a fucking child and nobody ever stopped him.
"What the fuck do you know? Just stay out of this, Yohji. You put your nose
in
everyone's business like some kind of savior. You piece of shit, nobody asked
you," Aya roared
right back, angry, pissed and hurting. God, where Yohji had been numb before,
he was now filled
with this kind of rage. Just angry at the entire world for what it had done
to Aya, and angry at
Aya that he wouldn't let anyone help him in the slightest.
Yohji slapped Aya. He hadn't really meant to. It just happened. His brain watched
as his
hand went straight for the good side of Aya's face. It connected, making Aya's
face turn with the
force of the blow, sending him backward into the bed. Yohji's hand kept on going
through the
blow, slowing down as Yohji realized in shock what he had done.
Aya lifted one trembling finger to the smarting red mark on the side of his
face. Yohji had
split the corner of Aya's mouth again, making a bit of blood well up and trickle
down slowly. It
was Yohji's turn to shake, his hand turning into a fist. Aya didn't even look
at Yohji, just
tentatively pressed on the reopened cut and hissed in pain.
"Fuck. Fuck, Aya. Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you let anyone talk
to
you? Everybody knows you're falling apart! Stop trying to act like some tight-assed
hero. You're
hurting, right? Just fucking let someone in!" Yohji realized he was screaming.
Maybe it was the
shock of the mission. Maybe it was the pain of killing people again. That's
it. He wasn't adjusting
right, he couldn't get his mind back into the usual pattern of dismissing the
deaths he caused. He
was brooding on it, which was why he was taking it out on Aya. Aya, unable to
move out of a
bed. He had taken it out on Aya, who couldn't even sit up without help. Yohji
was shivering. He
couldn't really help it anymore. He felt like he was going to be sick. Some
fucking protector he
made.
"Leave. Get out," Aya ordered, his voice as cold as ice. Oh, he had gone to
far. Yohji
knew it this time. What he had done was pretty unforgivable. He had hit Aya.
Raised a hand and
smacked Aya as best he knew, wanting to cause pain in that moment of pure rage.
Yohji bit his
lip, wincing at the sharp pain.
"Aya . . ." Yohji started. He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell Aya how much
he cared
for him. He wanted to explain to Aya that every time he was blocked out, Yohji
wanted to kill
him. Yohji wanted to help Aya, he wanted to be there and support him and help
him get better.
He hadn't meant to hurt him. Ever. It was just getting to be too much. Aya was
raped and he was
acting like it hadn't phased him in the least. It had, it had scarred Aya right
across the heart, and
he wouldn't fucking let anyone touch him.
"Leave," Aya hissed. It was getting dangerous. A lesser man would have recognized
that
Aya was going to somehow figure out a way to kill him and have left the room.
Maybe Yohji
wasn't a lesser man. Maybe Yohji was suicidal right now. That was it. Aya said
he wanted to be
hurt? They had something in common then, because Yohji wanted to get hurt just
as badly.
Yohji leaned in, right over Aya's immobile and furious body, putting a hand
down by
Aya's side to support his body as he leaned over the bed. Aya shrunk down, trying
to get away
from Yohji. Aya had not expected Yohji to have a death wish. Yohji could tell
as much as Aya
gritted his teeth and straightened out his shoulders, glaring death at Yohji.
"Leave, now, or I will scream my fucking head off until Ken comes in," Aya threatened
uselessly. They both knew Aya would never debase himself to screaming for help.
Though, the
threat was enough to make Yohji hesitate. Ken would definitely beat him senseless,
no questions
asked, if Aya was to start screaming for help if only Yohji was in the room.
"Shut up," Yohji snapped, not moving. Aya didn't say a word, but it was more
because he
had nothing left to say, rather then the fact that he was actually listening
to Yohji. Yohji's hand
was now fully under his control as Yohji slowly, gently took Aya's chin between
his fingers and
tilted it up just a bit.
"Sto . . ." Aya started, no doubt going to give off some threat that Yohji didn't
want to
hear right now. Yohji just leaned in and kissed Aya on the lips, as gently as
he knew. He pressed
his lips against Aya's, feeling the rough jagged lines of the splits between
the smooth feeling of
Aya's lips. A little bit of blood sneaked down between their mouths, surprising
warm between
their lips. Aya didn't struggle, didn't say anything. Just sat there like a
stone wall, stunned out of
his mind. Yohji felt a bit shocked as well that he had finally gathered up the
balls to kiss Aya. A
person got to feeling a bit cocky after killing several dozen people in one
night.
Yohji pulled away and Aya gasped in air like he had been holding his breath,
glaring at
Yohji. Yohji stood up and didn't say a word. He didn't need too. Aya's eyes
widened, and one of
those tears he had been holding back made a slow, glistening trail down his
face.
"I'll sleep on the couch tonight," Yohji told Aya, stripping off the trench
coat. his arms
were stiff, the muscles sore from hanging grown men with the wire. Aya closed
his eyes, his
shoulders starting to shake again. Yohji let the coat drop to the floor in his
usual manner, not
really caring about keeping it maintained or taking good care of the laundromat
only material. He
moved to his dresser, picking out a pair of sweat pants and a shirt.
Yohji didn't say goodnight to Aya as he walked out of his bedroom. Aya didn't
say
anything as well, his eyes still closed as if to block Yohji out. Yohji closed
the door softly, letting
the knob turn as it closed.
TBC