BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4283
Disclaimer: I get no money from writing these fics, nor I don't own Weiss. In fact, I'm not even allowed to touch the pretty least not in any of their special places...

Notes: I feel like this chapter is a bit perfunctory, but it gets us where we’re going.

Chapter Three: Bring Me

The blue light of the television cast stark shadows in the dim room. They watched attentively as pictures flashed across the screen, a visual trail of victims, first those that had been, then those that would be.

Of the latter, Weiss would be the agent.

“Your target is Kaimo Takashi, owner of the nightclub Marked. His business forms a key link in the Tsumetsu slave ring by acquiring victims and serving as a point of sale. Kaimo is personally responsible for a series of violent murders of socially affluent slave owners as well as an unknown number of enslaved victims. Knight Hunters, deny these black beasts their tomorrows.”

The television flicked off and fluorescent light flooded the room. Yohji blinked against its sudden invasion, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes. Draped over his chair backwards, he turned to Manx as she stood by the television, mission folder in hand. About to requisition further information, he was beat to it by Omi.

“Manx-san, is that all we have?”

“No. The file is rather extensive, and I’ll leave it with you. But, there are several crucial points to cover.”

Her voice never faltered as she stood before them in her perfect, short skirt. There were no references to notes; she simply crossed her arms under her breasts and gave them the details, like always.

“We initially became involved with Kaimo because of his unusual popularity among slave owners and his unique ability to make such transactions in such an open forum. The demand of his ‘product’ seems to be based on the diverse selection which is a result of illegal attainment. The slaves auctioned at Marked are involuntarily culled from society through blackmail, coercion, or direct force. Evidence suggests many of them may be mental patients, prostitutes, even orphans.”

“Sick,” Ken whispered, shaking his head at the thought of some guy raiding an orphanage for human merchandise.

“As you know, there are few chances for these people once purchased. However, they probably fair better than those admitted to Kaimo’s personal collection. With these he is excessively violent. Recently, his tendencies have expanded. There have been fourteen disappearances, an odd mix of male and female socialites. Ten bodies have been recovered, quite mutilated. These are not slaves, but rather wealthy owners who frequent Marked.”

“So that’s how we’re going in.”



Marked made Yohji self-conscious in ways even the seediest brothels couldn’t. It was a strange mix of socialite function, night club, and auction block, a posh location with an unsettling sense of uncivilized commerce. There was a token separation of functions; the club’s main level held the common bar and dance floor, full of smoke and lights and heavy music, while the restricted upper level was dedicated to the more questionable pleasures of expensive drugs and expensive slaves. These were brought, each Saturday night, to the raised stage, announced, described, and examined by the elite customers.

Not everyone could go upstairs, though a casual surveyor wouldn’t guess the security was tight as Yohji brushed past the guard in the stairwell. His access had been earned in just a week as he first took the stairs on the arm of the wife of a millionaire. She had invited him to her bed, and who was he to say no to a twenty-eight year old beauty just because her last name matched that of an eighty year old man? His performance had been more than pleasing, and the upper level became his domain.

Arriving at the top of the steps, Yohji smoothed the lapels of his navy suit, a trim Baroni, fitted at the waist and made more casual by the open collar of his white shirt. It had seemed overdone downstairs while he waited, but in upper rooms, it was on par with the mix of suits and tuxedos as they ran counterpoint to ladies’ sleek dresses and wide gowns.

The main area was to his right, with its hardwood floors that ran to the edge of the stage; this was raised three feet, having a narrow catwalk that extended outward and covered with polished wood. Above it hung a row of lights, prepared to illuminate the stage while leaving the audience comfortably in the dark veil that defined the room. It was full of dimmed lights, soft furniture, and dark corners.

Shoving his sunglasses to his forehead, Yohji scanned the room. A lifted hand caught his attention, and, fixing a charming smile on his face, he approached Kaimo. The man was sleek in his three piece suit, a unique deep turquoise, undoubtedly custom dyed, that matched his eyes. These were, if tending towards a hard stare, alluring when set against his light skin and long, black hair which hung loose around his shoulders, a few stray pieces slipping forward to soften the square quality of his jaw. He flashed Yohji a smile of perfect white teeth as the man approached.

“Kawate-san, it’s a pleasure to see you.” His voice was not as deep as one expected, nor as harsh; it took on a playful quality as he greeted Yohji by his alias.

“The pleasure’s mine, Kaimo-san.” Yohji inclined his head in an informal bow.

“Nonsense. Did you bring your leash, Kawate?”

Yohji had noted leads in a number of hands, anxiously anticipating a new slave to guide to the basement where, reportedly, a number of play rooms were established. Access to these were severely restrict, but the security inside was practically nonexistent.

“Ah, not tonight,” he shoved his hands in his pockets in a good imitation of embarrassment, “I’m afraid I’m still a pathetic observer of the games.”

“No good, Kawate. As much money as you have! You should be more adventurous.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

The man’s arm fell lightly over his shoulders, and Yohji found himself tugged in the direction of the next room. He forced himself to smile at Kaimo as they approached the granite-topped bar and calmly let the man direct him to one of the high stools. Yohji found the other behind him, leaning over his back to talk to the bartender, then again to Yohji.

“A slave, or companion if you rather, is thing of great pleasure, Kawate. And I know you can appreciate that.” His smooth hand slipped up Yohji’s arm and across his neck in an uncomfortable caress.

Kaimo let him choose which martini glass he wanted, so Yohji assumed it safe to sip at the clear drink.

“I suppose,” he allowed.

“Good!” Kaimo clapped him on the shoulder, “Because I have a surprise for you.”

This is it, Yohji thought, expecting an invitation to Kaimo’s rooms and a chance to kill the man.

He was disappointed.

“Tonight, I’m buying you a present.”


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