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Strange Times	By : fireun Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 3711 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Strange Times
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-34
- 35-35
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-43
- 44-44
- 45-45
- 46-46
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- 48-48
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- 50-50
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Mastermind was whistling, a discordant accompaniment to the congested sobbing of the man huddled against a wall across the room, arms over his head. Each terrified exhalation burbled through mucus, whistled through clenched teeth, and every now and then the man flailed at phantasmal horrors above his head.

“Bats. So unoriginal.” Mastermind had slipped in under the confusion the man’s phobia inspired minutes ago, and had gotten bored almost immediately. “What we have here is basic thug.” Mastermind explained to an absent audience, old hunting habits unwilling to die out. “He knows guns, he knows whores, and he knows really cheap beer. What he doesn’t know is who hired him, where the bastard lives, and how many of his kids I will have to kill to get my point across.” Mastermind took a drag of a pilfered cigarette, grimaced at the harsh smoke and examined the pack. “Might as well just breath in a campfire.” He tossed the pack away with fastidious disdain. “Now, his not knowing is both good and bad. Good, since I now have an excuse to play some more. Bad, since I was looking forward to some wonderful message driven bloodshed and then a nice expensive dinner after. I guess I am going to have to just stick to random acts of violence until I find the right hire-a-gun.”

Mastermind took one last experimental drag of the cigarette, flicking it away upon finding it still as offensive as it had been a moment ago. “Feel free to piss yourself and die now.”

His victim complied.

___________________

Yohji was an up close and personal sort of killer, but that didn’t mean he liked wading through alley grit mixed liberally with blood and excrement on his way to check on someone else’s mess.

“Got a fresh one.” Yohji murmured into his radio. The body was still limp, still warm, saliva and mucus still damp across its cheeks.

“Abyssinian is taking point. Balinese, hold your position, I am making my way to you.”

“Holding, Siberian.”

Yohji backed away from the corpse, stepping over a pack of cigarettes so low quality he would rather go cold turkey than light up, and paused. A cigarette was still smoking where it had been discarded, less than a quarter burned.

“We are going to have company sooner than we thought.”

________________

Aya could swear he caught a hint of spice amidst the destitute ambiance of his current hunting ground, a teasing hint of cinnamon and clove all but hidden beneath spilled fuel, rotting trash, and unwashed clothes and flesh. In the air or in his mind, either way it was a viable lead. Schuldich had a habit of spilling over like that, too much to be contained in one realm or the other. Adamant and existential, and not at all worth all the trouble he was putting them through.

‘Oh, come now…’

Aya whirled, sword out before he had a chance to remind himself this wasn’t a killing mission. It was a hard reminder, seeing as the voice slipping slick and malicious through his mind was an instant reminder of old conflicts.

Schuldich leaned against a building not a hundred yards away, confident and charismatic, far too at ease.

“The hell are you doing?” Aya snarled.

“Problem solving.” Schuldich smiled, white teeth flashing through the feral expression.

This was Mastermind, suave and deadly. It had Aya’s hackles standing on end, waiting for an attack he couldn’t be sure wasn’t going to come. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“They paying you by the hour to babysit me?” Schuldich’s telepathy made its way through Aya’s mind with all the love and concern of a stampede. “No…you were actually concerned…” Schuldich frowned. “But not about me. It’s never about me, is it?”

Aya paused, gritted his jaw against the handful of inelegant insults and demands he was inclined to growl at his disturbed and distressing lover. There was a familiar fey gleam in Schuldich’s eyes, an expectant air to his lack of motion. It reminded Aya of walking home to a cup of tea, to that sense Schuldich was waiting for something to happen. For him to do something.

Aya let himself be frustrated, allowed his arm to launch the punch it had been itching to deliver. He expected Schuldich to dodge; he had projected his intent loudly enough. Which is why he followed it with a rather well placed hit with the tsuka of his katana.

Mastermind, in his prim arrogance, never saw it coming. Schuldich, on the other hand, tickled Aya’s mind with a scattering of appreciative chuckles before settling on pleasantly unconscious.

“Target down.”

“Regroup at base, Abyssinian.”

“Understood.”

Aya took a minute to glare down at his unconscious companion, and wonder just who was going to wake up later. Distasteful as it was, restraints seemed the most prudent idea. Preventative measures could never be overdone, especially not with the ghost of Mastermind’s vicious smile and virulent telepathy teasing past prejudices and confrontations to the foreground of Aya’s thoughts.
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Strange Times