Angel in Disguise

It didn't occur to him to wonder why Farfarello was being almost obedient. As the behind-the-scenes leader of Weiss, he was used to his team-mates following his commands when he gave them, and somehow, Farfarello had wormed his way into 'team-mate' status.

He unlocked the door, and pushed it open slowly when it didn't open automatically. Bats flew out, which startled him, but they immediately vacated the room without bothering anything. The hall, to his dismay, was dark; he pulled out his flash light and shone it down the hall, looking for anything besides a trailing bat that squeaked irritably when the light was shone on it's face. They took an immediate left after the door, and came upon the promised stairs. Omi flashed another grin at Farfarello, pleased with his knowledge of the building's layout. All they had to do was go down two flights of stairs, and then it would be a straight shot through the building to the right, and they'd be free.

Farfarello jumped slightly when the bats exploded out the door, raising an eyebrow. This was supposed to be the exit, right? Why were there bats? Unless this was some sort of back way that wasn't used very often, which was quite possible. When the stairs popped into sight, he stifled the uncomfortable feeling running down his spine.

"How much further?" he murmured softly, the echoes of bat sonars breaking up the silence with high-pitched clicks.

The lack of windows also bothered him. Weren't stairways usually located on the outer edges of buildings, to be used in case of fires? But this place was a maze and a fortress, which was fortunate, when one considered all the beasts roaming around inside. Nagi could clean up the mess from there. Or a well-placed bomb, although if misplaced, it would simply blow a hole in the fortress and allow the beasts to escape.

He snorted. Such problems weren't his to consider.

"Down these stairs, and then to the right, then straight through the building," Omi whispered back. "Fifteen minutes, tops."

The Irishman was practically radiating discomfort with the close darkness of the stairwell, something Omi found time to consider and find odd. A few steps downward, he realized why. It was strange for the older teen to project any emotion but crazed blood-lust while on a mission.

After a few seconds and a few more steps down, he realized why; there was something else in the stairwell with them.

The door they needed was in sight, located only several steps below, but the strange feeling in his gut hadn't subsided. The tranquilizer gun was in one hand, his knife in the other.

It started with a soft dragged noise, much like they'd heard earlier with the horse carcass, broken up by thick thumps. It was coming up the stairs.

Without really thinking about it, Farfarello put a hand on Omi's shoulder, but he could easily feel the boy's already tense muscles. He heard it, too.

Whatever the monster was dragging, it sounded heavy. He stopped and backed up a few steps, pulling the boy back with him. When the creature came around the corner from the bottom stairwell, he wanted to see it before it had a chance to nab them.

Unless they could make it to the door first. Such decisions were usually left to Crawford, the man who could actually see if the decision resulted in a positive outcome. Or not so positive.

About halfway up the basement stairwell, from the sound of the thumps. But if it dropped its quarry, it would possibly be much faster.

And what if the door was locked? No, they were much safer here, facing it head-on.

Soon, with a sharp slap, fingers appeared against the far wall, palm splayed flat against the concrete. Farfarello was somewhat shocked to see human flesh, not monster. Tiny fingers.

Tiny fingers splotched with blood. His grip tightened on Omi's shoulder, lest the boy act without thinking.

*

Omi saw the fingers come around the corner, and backed up fully into Farfarello's solid mass behind him. The hand on his shoulder was strangely comforting; the heat of his body more-so.

He held the flash lamp in his left hand, Farfarello's knife in his right. His instincts were at fight-or-flight - he either wanted to leap forward and attack while they had the advantage, or go back up the stairs and find another way out, avoiding the situation altogether. Briefly, it occurred to him that he had Farfarello at his back, and trusted him there. As long as the Irishman was behind him, nothing was coming down that way.

The fingers were replaced by a quizzical face topped by a mass of dark hair. Blood splatter dotted his pale skin, but there was an eerie light in his eyes that put Omi on edge. He gripped the knife tighter, and was ashamed to see the beam of light begin to waver as he started trembling. Gradually, the rest of the boy's body came into view. Tattered scrubs hung loosely from his gangly frame, all coated in blood. In his other hand was the brown bear they'd run from in the beginning, Omi's arrow still protruding from it's forehead.

A small plunking noise came from the bear's direction, and Omi shifted the light quickly to figure out what it was. The thing's throat had been torn open. The noise was the remnants of its blood dripping onto the floor. The boy, who had at first seemed as surprised to see them as they were to see him, bared his teeth in a silent snarl, and Omi could see that they weren't normal teeth; they were sharp and pointed, like that of a wild cat.

"...just a kid," he murmured, suddenly glad that everyone in this building was dead. Now he had a clearer idea of what had killed the lab techs, however. It hadn't been the bear after all, nor the tiger-child, or the demonic horse locked in its spare room - it had to have been this ... this child. His heart clenched in his chest, and then renewed its furious pounding, so loud he was sure it was clearly audible. Not with fear; with fury. Anyone who would do this to a child...

Distantly, he noted that it - he - had dropped the bear's body and tensed like a coiled spring.

"Omi," Farfarello hissed, warning the boy to stay on guard. After Bombay's reaction to the death of the child that almost didn't appear to be a child at all, he wasn't too sure how the Weiss would hold up in a fight against something that actually looked like a kid.

Only looked.

He reeked of blood and animal sweat.

Farfarello readied the tranquilizer gun, his arm over the boy's shoulder and parallel with both their faces.

The child's muscles bunched, but the dart was already whistling through the air. It landed with a dull thunk in the boy's abdomen, unloading its contents in an instant.

The fight was over. That was almost too much tranquilizer for such a small body.

He relaxed his grip on Bombay's shoulder. So relaxed, that he almost missed the blur of motion that signaled the child's fast movement.

Omi threw himself backwards, shoving Farfarello's weight down with his own. It couldn't have been comfortable, having his back slammed into the staircase, but the archer was banking on the fact that Farfarello valued his life over some bruises.

The boy sailed over them, and turned back to face them, irritated that they'd dodged and not slowed by the tranquilizer in the least. Another split-second decision flashed through Omi's mind. The boy was clear of the doorway now; they could move and get the outside at their backs rather than be trapped inside. He yanked the folding crossbow out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open, fitting a bolt to it and firing. It struck the boy in his shoulder; a bad shot. Omi swore, and took a few steps backwards while he loaded the next shot. He took a more careful aim, but the child-like beast had launched itself again like an animal. It was coming down for Farfarello, and he fired again, but his feet tangled in the bear's body and he fell over it, the shot going way wide.

An almost fatal misstep, he realized, before getting his feet back under him and jumping - he met the boy in midair, and they crashed to the stairs, safely away from Farfarello. Now Omi brought his knife into his hand, but the thing seemed determined to attack the Irishman, and as soon as Omi was down, it was away and scrambling upwards.

Farfarello was somewhat amazed at both of the boys' responsiveness.

Even more amazed at the tranquilizer's lack of effect. Even he slowed down a bit when pumped full of liquid exhaustion.

Most amazing, by far, was the fact that Omi was actually attacking the beast. This alone brought a wide smile to the psychopath's face.

At least for the moment, the Weiss showed absolutely no problem with slaughtering the child that wasn't a child at all. Could he smell the blood? Feel the hunger that coursed through the beast's veins?

Farfarello understood, when he looked in the child's eyes. He saw the same hunger that overcame himself. The same hunger that had destroyed his life. It brought a chuckle bubbling from his lips. But this child hadn't been cursed by God. No, his curse was suffered for mankind's curiosities. Filthy beasts, men.

And he was older and wiser and hopefully stronger, even though his blood hadn't yet been mixed with any beast's. The child pulled the dart from his abdomen, chucking it back at Omi, but his aim wasn't trained, at the dart cartwheeled harmlessly through the air. The small frame shrieked in frustration, scrambling up the stairs to Farfarello, but the Irishman was ready.

His left elbow wouldn't hold him upright, so he was forced to lean on his right, and lashed out instead with his feet, planting the heel of his foot between the child's eyes. The kid backpedaled, only slightly phased, but he'd lost his footing, fingers clawing at the air as he fell backwards. Farfarello followed him down, pushing off the steps and tossing the tranq gun to the side, much more interested now in whether his blades would have any effect.

He dodged the flung dart, despite the lack of skill behind the throw. Even child-beasts could get lucky, and he wasn't about to take the risk that there was some of that tranquilizing stuff left in the needle if it should strike him.

Farfarello wasn't lacking in his own defense, but like with the horse, Omi wanted to be there fighting with him. Beside him.

Kritiker was going to kill him for getting involved with Schwarz.

He tightened his grip around the blade, and threw himself up the stairs - what an awful place for a battle - and swung the knife around inelegantly, swiping for the child's feet through the soft, cottony material of his scrubs. With another unholy shriek, it spun around and bit him on the arm, drawing blood. Omi angled his wrist, and aimed the knife for the child's throat, but it let go and backed off, sensing the danger. The wound burned, but his grip on the knife wasn't affected, so he lowered himself into the crouched defensive position he'd seen Ken take so many times. The child-thing looked between the two defenders, waiting.

Farfarello paused on the steps, knife in hand. The two of them with knives versus a kid using its own teeth and claws.

His fighting spirit felt dulled, and with every step closer, he felt less eager to plunge his blade into the creature's heart.

Less eager, until he noticed the wound on Bombay's arm. It was steaming. What if he'd been infected with some unholy concoction in the boy's saliva? Farfarello snarled, leaping down onto the steps below, dagger aimed at the child's throat. Perhaps, if the brought back the head, Crawford could analyze it...

The child leapt sideways, smashing into the wall, but dodging the lethal blow, then lashed out with his tiny foot, catching Farfarello in the side.

Its movements were getting slicker, more refined. It was mimicking their attacks.

"Omi, the door," Farfarello gasped, his elbow bumping awkwardly against the banister as he dodged one of the child's violent clawings, only able to retain some semblance of distance in the small area by slashing the air with his knife, his feet often twisted at odd angles on the steps. Stairs. He made a mental note to avoid them next time.

Omi blinked at him for a moment, and then his brain seemed to catch up with the rest of him, and he bolted for the bottom of the stairs. It was another key-pad type opening, and he fumbled the computer in his haste to open it. Dizzy, he stared at the mutating numbers, and wondered what kind of poison the kid had infected him with when he bit. The wound didn't hurt at all, but it was so hot it felt like there was a ring of fire on his forearm.

He found himself getting tired, but didn't feel the same as the last few times he'd been poisoned. He took a brief moment to scoff at the fact that he'd been through this multiple times, enough to know that there was something different about this one. The idea was so startling that it nearly knocked him over when it came. It wasn't poison, it was the tranquilizer. Somehow he metabolized it.

Well, at least he wasn't going to die. He launched the codes that would open the door, and waited for the right one to show up on the screen of his small computer.

Farfarello did his darndest to keep the child away from Omi. Fortunately, it wasn't incredibly difficult. Unfortunately, the kid seemed hell-bent on ripping out the older psychopath's throat with his tiny razor-sharp teeth.

The feeling of brotherly affection was starting to wear thin. He lashed out again, and the kid cartwheeled backwards, landing on all fours on the stairs, head pointed down, jaws wide.

In any other situation, Farfarello would've thrown a knife, but he didn't want to give the youth any more objects to practice with.

The door should have opened by now. He glanced over his shoulder, blinking in surprise when not only was the door not open, but Bombay was... falling asleep?

Bad timing. If the Weiss fell asleep at the helm, they'd be stuck in here. Stuck in here with a creature that had a far better range of motion than they.

What kept people awake? Loud noises? The small space was already full of those. Pain? With the size of the wound on his arm, Farfarello was surprised he wasn't already groaning in pain. Caffeine? Right. Now he was reaching.

Deciding the best possible course of action was keeping the child busy, Farfarello sank down into a similar crouch, growling at the boy. The child's eyes narrowed, and he clenched his teeth together, snarling. His short, shaggy black hair stood on end.

As the Irishman dove forward, the kid followed, and they met halfway. Farfarello dug his knife deep into the child's shoulder, black blood oozing from the wound, and the boy sank his jaw into his elder's already injured shoulder, incisors disappearing beneath the flesh. Still, Farfarello had an advantage.

...Or at least, he'd had an advantage. They pulled apart, the boy licking his teeth clean of blood. The child's arm hung loosely by his side, but he paid no notice to it.

In fact, he seemed almost... relaxed. His lips curled upwards in a grin, and he doubled over, hissing. His shiny black eyes wavered, and then slowly became flecked with tiny pieces of fire.

Amber.

"Omi?" Farfarello said lowly, hoping the kitten was awake enough to hear. "I think he just... absorbed... some of me."

A brief thrill went through Omi at Farfarello's calling him by name. Then the actual meaning of the words sank in, and he looked up, trying to decipher which of the four Farfarello's and four kid's were the right ones. Absorbed? He blinked, and the four were reduced to two. Still not sure which one was which, he input the next code, puzzling slowly through the problem. Great, now there's ... two Farfarellos...

The door slid open with a hiss, and the computer fell from limp fingers as the drug took over Omi's already exhausted mind. He curled into a ball, knowing that he was allowing the worst case scenario to occur - leaving himself defenseless in the presence of a not-quite-ally, and an outright enemy. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he lowered his head to his arms, assuming the most defensive position he possibly could before losing consciousness.

The child stalked its prey patiently now, taking one step at a time, its muscles bunched with power. Calculating instead of simply attacking.

Farfarello was mildly curious at the sudden change, and only after taking a lazy step backwards did he realize... his movements were slowing down. Not the boy's, but his own. His muscles were relaxed, but not by his command.

Of course, the tranquilizer! That would explain the Weiss boy suddenly keeling over, but how..? He mentally rolled his eyes at himself. If he could metabolize Farfarello's essence, of course he could redirect a simple tranquilizer. Fascinating child.

There was a whoosh of air as the door opened below, and the berserker stepped backwards carefully to avoid tripping.

Not that it would matter. In a few moments, they would both be unconscious, and the child could do anything he wanted. From the patient look in the boy's eyes, he already knew.

Feeling slightly more relaxed for the moment -- at least he could use his remaining time any way he wanted, the child was in no rush -- Farfarello made his way backwards down to the unconscious Weiss. He lifted the boy's head to see that, yeah, he was still alive, before pulling him up into his arms and taking them both from the stairwell. This next room was larger than any of the previous ones. Steel-plated. Probably had been a storage room at some point. The exit was really close, too, but he could easily see the keypad on the next door, and with the Weiss unconscious, he had no way of getting through.

What had he done on previous missions, that he became dependent so quickly on the kitten? He couldn't recall. Not that it mattered anymore.

He plopped down against the wall, pulling the younger assassin into his lap and growling vainly at the beast-child. Killed by a child. How ironic. He'd always expected to be destroyed by some divine force. He thought he deserved such an ending, for all the mayhem he'd caused.

Sighing, he rearranged the Weiss to be in a more comfortable position, head resting on his shoulder and legs draped across his arm. Still uncomfortable, he imagined, not that the unconscious boy would know or care. He pulled at the kid's shirt, and a bottle fell out, rattling off across the floor.

An orange bottle.

Pills?

He reached his good hand forward, pulling them up to his hazy eyes, and blinked.

S... stimulants?

A wide grin broke out across his face, and he pushed two of the pills under Omi's tongue and two under his own. Two each, that left a few in case of emergency. Or a few, in case the first batch didn't work.

Divine intervention. Perhaps the boy still was a little angel.