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I Hate Him	By : animegher Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 4320 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Weiss Kruez and Koyasu Takehito and whoever else may apply . . . I’m just using them for a story I think should be animated, because it would be funny as all hell to watch!

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 anything. 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 lay like the dead in Yohji’s bed. And as much as Yohji loved a good pity-party, it got damn boring looking at a living corpse. So, they all had started to go out and do the chores that needed to be done. Omi was taking care of the neglected 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, leaving the house quiet. Agonizingly quiet. There wasn’t even the pound of Aya’s footsteps as he practiced swordwork he didn’t need anymore, because Aya had the utter shit beaten out of him.

Yohji had gone grocery shopping, leaving Omi to be on the look out in case Aya actually woken up, though it was beginning to look doubtful that it would be anytime soon. But, before that errand, Yohji 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 checkout 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 blowjob 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 over stimulation 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 businessman 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 tabletop. 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 calluses 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 till 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 underneath 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 collarbone. 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 even 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 or someone 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 nowhere 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.

A door had crushed one guard. 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 looked 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. A strange contradiction in the middle of this all.

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 schoolwork. 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.

A
Slow down, that hurts, you dumb jerk!" Omi ordered, trying to squirm away from Ken’s fingers. Ken didn’t say anything, too aroused 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.

A
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 doorknob, 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 necktie, 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 along to 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 way 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 handgun 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 couldn’t hold onto the keys, letting them hit the cement as he tried to get back to the house. It didn’t matter that blood splattered out on impact. Yohji left them on the ground, staring at his hands in a hazy disbelief. Blood was leaking out from the bottom of his gloves, but he just couldn’t bear to pull them off and look at the damage right now. 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. Halfway 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. He painfully pulled off gloves stuck to his hands with blood. Long rends ran along his lifeline and palm, cutting through the calluses that he had built up. Red lines of blood and pinched skins ran along the sides of his fingers and knuckles. His hands were already swelling up comically from that mission, not used to murder like they used to be.

Aya’s head moved a bit and one swollen, bruised eye opened up into a small 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. He froze up at that, went so still that Yohji thought the man might have really died.

"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, back into a still mask despite the swelling and discoloration.

"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 pulled it away from his mouth, 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. A
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 inconspicuous. 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 bookshelf, 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 were 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 anyway, 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. A
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 damn it, 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 stonewall, 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 dry cleaners 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.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I changed the target's name to Mr. Stevens, a very special art teacher who irritated the living piss out of me. He’s really tall and skinny, so it totally doesn’t work, but he’s gay and religious to a nine, and I hated him. Oh, the A
Blue Room" is a live theater house in my home territory, so hah, a little pun for you all. Oh, I don’t know a THING about bombs or guns or how the hell a little wire can suddenly be whipped around and make a nice net all over the place and with one finger KILL EVERYONE . . . don’t make sense. Um, I’ve noticed I’ve been throwing in Ken x Omi for no more then providing a break between Yohji and Aya scenes. And yet… I don’t complain. Oh, well . . . I also aimed for gore in this! (Always gotta challenge yourself, yo). I keep re-editing the earlier chapters because I notice grammatical and plot errors, so I keep reposting them (might wanna check back if you think something’s off).

Thank you Joanna to pointing out my gloves oopsie.
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I Hate Him