Chapter 4: Breaking the Girl

I run, I fall, what ripped away, check my body
Was it body or soul
The darkness fades, fades to light
Disappearing now, disappears from the night

And all these nightmares I once had as a child
The morning always came, it came too late
What did my mind forget, forget to hide
Could the nightmare be awake, I don't know

In or out, up or down, never know its an illusion
Round and round, on and on, every day spins my confusion

Not again, not again, not again, this dream I can't awake

From Silent Hill 4 soundtrack "Tender Sugar"

oooo

She craved the sunlight like a pale, wilted flower hidden in the deepest recesses of a windowless basement, had awakened feeling like her insides were frosted over with ice, as if her heart and vital organs were chunks of half-thawed meat. She had even imagined in that first moment of consciousness, that she could see her breath, a white fog puffing from her lips.

Buruma sighed and rolled onto her belly. The picnic blanket beneath her had soaked up a good deal of heat and every few minutes she would roll onto a new part of it, and laze in that stolen warmth. A fuzzy blanket was wrapped around her legs because it wasn't the most ideal time of year for sunbathing, and a chilly wind had been threatening to blow all day, hinting with little teasing breezes over her skin. She ignored it. It was a small price to pay for the chance to bask in pure, delicious, unadulterated sunlight.

#18 lounged artlessly in a folding chair beside her, book in hand and one of Buruma's mother's floppy garden hats on her yellow head. Lunch had been eaten, and the remains were pushed off to the side, or stacked back in the little picnic basket sitting on the corner of the blanket.

It was early afternoon. Buruma had awoken at noon after only about five hours of sleep. She was tired and cranky and not very rested, but she figured, ambitiously, that she would be fine for the rest of the day as long as she went to bed that night at a decent time. Her body was used to long hours and little sleep. Sometimes it was even how she worked best.

The nightmare was still fresh in her mind, the source of the cold in her chest, but the sunlight was calming-soothing. Even made her feel relatively normal. She rolled over again, getting restless, feeling like a battery that was nearly charged and raring to go. If she'd had her way, she would have jumped straight into work, but #18 had cautioned her to take it slow so they could determine if she was well or not.

Buruma scowled, flopping a hand over her eyes to shield her delicate retinas from the sun.

That kind of prudence was unlike #18, who would normally allow Buruma to run herself into the ground if she were so inclined.

She shot a furtive glance at the other woman. #18 had been giving her odd looks all afternoon but seemed, for the most part, to be deeply entrenched in her trashy romance novel and not about to discuss whatever was on her mind. It was typical for #18 to hold her own counsel, but Buruma got the uncomfortable feeling that the usually detached woman was preoccupied with something.

She wouldn't let it bother her, she decided. She was feeling better with each minute that passed, and was therefore on the mend and had nothing to worry about from suspicious cyborgs.

She kicked the blanket off to expose her legs and make sure she tanned evenly.

Her mother would skin her alive if she ever caught her sitting out here without sunglasses or sunblock. Mrs. Briefs was forever preaching to Buruma about sunlight and UV rays being the number one threat to her beautiful, youthful skin.

"Those swimsuit models who regularly tan look like old rawhide by the time they're thirty," her mother had always said primly, while dabbing her face with white cream.

Maybe Buruma was courting premature wrinkles, but at the moment, she needed sunlight more than she needed vanity. It drove away the darkness-the cold, the fear.

Or at least that's how she thought of it when she first woke up. Now her spirits were much higher, the zinging battery feeling making her brain itch for some action.

Fear? She scoffed. Ridiculous!

She had just been sick and stressed out. She'd had a bad night. That was all over with now, and there was no longer any reason to dwell on it. She was the heiress of Capsule Corporation, and she would bounce back. She would put it all behind her.

And if she still had a tiny niggling feeling in her belly that there was still something very wrong going on, it was just her being silly. She did, after all, have a world-class imagination. It was what made Capsule Corp go round. Her sparkling panache and creativity.

She closed her eyes and focused on keeping her mind meditatively blank, studiously keeping out the flashes of nightmare that kept rearing their ugly heads, wanting to be analyzed in detail.

Like Chi Chi and #18's mutilated bodies.

She shoved the thought away, sickened because she could still remember the smell. It was amazing and unsettling how starkly she could remember the dream, how she could remember every lesion and abrasion and bit of seeping matter on her friend's bodies, even now. Didn't her dreams usually fade, become as insubstantial as gossamer, minutes, sometimes seconds, after she awoke? Not even the sunlight could fully burn this one from her mind. She comforted herself with the knowledge that, in time, the memories would fade.

On the heels of that thought came the desire to see her father. She was daddy's girl at heart, and although she knew logically that there was nothing he could do for her about bad dreams, especially in his current condition, her first impulse was still to go to him. She was used to her father being able to fix whatever she couldn't.

She hadn't seen her father since the night she'd spent at his bedside. The doctor had told her over the phone that her father was fine, that there had been no change, but cautioned that if Buruma wasn't feeling well, her father, in his weakened condition, shouldn't be exposed to her. She had agreed instantly not to see him. He'd already had a heart attack because of her, there was no way in hell she was going to be responsible for making him sicker.

She pillowed her head in her arms and tried not to think about that either. Pleasant thoughts, think pleasant thoughts. New shoes. That magazine that wanted to list her as one of the fifty most beautiful people. New haircuts . . . she was thinking about trying a perm. . . .

on striving together

No, not that.

She shook her head, stretched and turned her face to the other side.

Think of something else. Like Yamucha or . . .

Warm pleasure

The world around her was fading to distant background noise. Time seemed to slow down, or speed up, she couldn't tell which, only that it somehow left her apart from everything else.

.blood

Her eyes snapped open, and she inhaled sharply, blinking dizzily as the world spun blurrily and righted itself.

Well to hell with that!

She sat up, grumpily, annoyed at the way her middle had tightened in languorous heat. It was . . . tempting. Tempting to let those images and feelings roll through her body in a smooth tide of liquid fire, let it swim through her soul along with golden eyes, cold stone and hot blood.

"Something the matter?" #18 asked mildly.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. "No."

That earned her another odd look.

"Miss Buruma!"

Both women looked up to find Vivian jogging towards them with nervous little steps, a file folder cradled in her hand. #18 stood up, peeling her sunglasses off, blocking the other woman

"Buruma is resting. I ordered no interruptions," the blond said coldly.

Vivian balked, uncertain and more than a little cowed, but she clutched the folder to her chest and stuttered earnestly. "It's about the Red Ribbons." When #18 hesitated she continued, "Buruma was right. There was a Red Ribbon base above that mountain town!"

Buruma shot to her feet, knowing #18 would be too tempted to hear the details to turn Vivian away. "What happened?" she asked sharply.

Encouraged, Vivian said, "Everything we've found indicates that it was a fully operational base as of the day before yesterday, but when we arrived, it was empty. There were signs of what looked like a mass evacuation. They cleared out, Miss Buruma, they heard we were coming and cleared out. We have no idea where they went."

"That's not possible." She couldn't believe that, she simply couldn't. Not without proof. Hell, even with proof, she found that hard to believe. "Even if we have a leak, there's no way anyone could get information to them that quickly, fast enough for them to be completely gone without a trace!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Buruma. I have the report here from Zane." Vivian skittered over, still looking frightened of #18, and handed Buruma the manila folder.

"Thank you," Buruma dismissed without looking up.

Vivian retreated and Buruma sat back down to read the file. #18 examined it over her shoulder.

"This is impossible," Buruma whispered when she was done, shutting the folder and handing it to her friend. She was truly shaken and horribly disappointed. If the Red Ribbons had run like that, then it meant Buruma had been close, that maybe the stolen Capsule Corporation components had even been there. "We don't just have a leak . . . we have a full on invasion."

"What will you do?" #18 asked, flipping through the pages.

Buruma closed her eyes and thought hard, considering the worst-case scenario first. "I have the power and the right to purge the Corporation. Fire or put on hold every worker we have. But do you have any idea how much time, talent, training and loyalty we could lose that way?" She looked over her shoulder at the other woman.

#18's crystal blue eyes were steady. "The Red Ribbons would pick up that talent the second you discarded it."

"But would we lose more by not purging?"

"It is possible, yet you must consider the idea that these infiltrators are so deep within your system that they could garner information even at a distance."

Buruma was startled by the thought and then cursed herself for not seeing it in the first place. It was possible that the leak was long gone. That whoever the leak was had planted recording devices and split. "I don't understand how this could happen." She put a hand to her forehead. "Fine. We're just going to have to root them out. We're upping the priority on this to Red Class 1. I'm going to be calling in some favors tonight. In the meantime . . . #18, I want to speak with Piccolo."

The android went rigid, but her face remained serene. She set the folder down. "Piccolo," she repeated and Buruma could hear every single objection that she didn't voice in that one word.

"I need to ask him a few things. This is important." She had not seen the green man in several years, and would have gladly kept it that way. If he was given even the slightest opening, she'd be dead before she knew what had happened. He was one of, if not the most, powerful creature on the planet, and it was high time they had a talk.

"And you believe he would answer these questions?" #18 sounded truly curious.

"He'll answer."

#18 considered that, then shrugged it off. "We will need my brother, Yamucha, and Kuririn, at least. And I would suggest not doing it this day."

"You're right. Not today but soon." Buruma laid back down on her stomach to go over the details in the report more slowly, brain stewing over this latest development, already formulating a proposal to Donovan.

#18 nodded and went back to her book.

"Where is your brother?" she asked suddenly.

The cyborg woman blinked, eyebrows slightly creased. "I don't know."

oooo

Dr. Jinn Wylie spent most summer days, and it was always summer in some part of the world, on archeological digs, or examining findings, or acquisitions at famous museums. Archeology was his life, and he pursued it with rabid single-mindedness. He'd been to every major site and studied every culture that ever existed, traveling all around the world.

In the last couple of years, he'd found his interests becoming more specialized and his delight in the nomadic lifestyle waning. So it was with a sense of finally settling down and obtaining a more stable life that he accepted a fulltime teaching position at West City University.

It was a good deal. He got to share his greatest joy with roomfuls of students and still had time to study his own specialties, even go on the occasional dig.

He was usually very dedicated to his teaching, but this Friday morning, he found himself shamelessly skiving off class, calling in to his friend, Nancy, asking her to leave a note on his classroom door. Then he curled up at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, the mug in the shape of a brontosaur's head, and his folder file on the CC dig.

The Briefs' find was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in ages, and he had been working on it nonstop since he was invited to the site. He was very disappointed when Buruma didn't keep her appointment with him, and even more anxious when it seemed that Capsule Corporation wasn't returning his phone calls. Still he occupied himself with every book and scrap of information he could find.

He'd made some disturbing and exciting discoveries, as well as uncovering and logging more than one version of a legend surrounding, not the site, but the type of culture it represented. Much of the imagery in the stories was similar. Something about apes, which was obvious and appropriate. More than one mention of evil from the stars. There were several descriptions of specific characters. He was certain by their basic roles in the stories that they were the same people each time, but as different interpretations were wont to have different details, depending on the culture it came from, it was hard to make out just who those people were.

The King. The Ice Princess. The Destroyer. The Legendary. The Prophet. The First. The Forsaken People. The Curse. The Sacrifice.

They kept appearing but their function in the story and the earmarks of each character kept changing.

There seemed to be some sort of connection between the King and the Destroyer. He couldn't figure out if the Destroyer was supposed to be from the stars, or if it was the King who was from the stars. Or maybe it was both. Was the King the Destroyer, or did the Destroyer come from the King?

Then there was the Curse. In one version, it was clear that the King brought about the Curse. In a different version, it was the Ice Princess who caused the Curse. In both versions, the King was affected by the Curse, and it was clear that the Destroyer and the Curse were not the same things. But was the Destroyer brought about by the Curse? Then there were the Forsaken People, who were also affected by the Curse, but were somehow 'Forsaken' even before the story of the Ice Princess and the King started.

It was a myth, and an old one and didn't necessarily need to make sense. But he felt that if he could understand the story, maybe he'd have a little better understanding of the purpose of the Shrine itself.

He was sipping at his coffee, rereading an interpretation of the story done by a Chinese Monk, excitedly making the connection between the Ice Princess and the Sacrifice, when he had the sudden disquieting feeling that he was being watched. He set his cup down and hesitantly peeked over his shoulder and found himself airborne.

Wylie yelled as he was ripped off the ground by the collar and his chair toppled over. The next instant his feet were dangling, and he was held firmly up against the wall by a slim hand at his throat. He blinked and recognized the person in front of him with not a small amount of alarm.

"Y-You . . ." he searched his memory then realized that he hadn't caught this guy's name. "You work for Buruma."

"Dr. Jinn Wylie," the man with shoulder-length black hair and very light blue eyes said without expression.

"What do you want?" Amazed, he realized the guy was holding him up with one hand and wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"Where were you last night?" the intruder asked in the same even, emotionless tone.

"Last night?" he parroted back, even as he recognized the scenario. He'd seen it last night on Matlock. Oh hell, what had he gotten into? "I was here-at home."

"Do you know of the Red Ribbon Army?"

He was even more confused by the sudden change in subject. "The . . . no. I-"

"You're lying." The hand at his throat tightened, and his pulse jumped as he stared into completely indifferent, merciless eyes and knew that this man would really kill him.

"I just meant I don't really know of them." He backpedaled quickly as his mind scrambled for where he had heard that name before, and then it suddenly caught on. "I think it was-yes, they did . . . um . . . come to the door yesterday wanting to know why I had visited the Briefs." It wasn't unusual for him to be approached by private corporations, but it was awfully strange that they just showed up at his residence without first contacting him. He'd invited them in but felt uneasy the entire time, disliking the way that they'd looked around his house as if searching for something.

"And what did you tell them?" the hand tightened again incrementally, even as the tone became almost soothing.

"N-nothing," he choked out, sweating. "Just that the Briefs wanted a . . . a consultation on the University's archaeology programs. That the Briefs were reevaluating their funding." It had been self-interest that made him lie to the nerdy lawyer guy from the Red Ribbon Army. He wanted to study the Brief's find, he didn't want anyone else butting in on his research or trying to take over, and he especially didn't want to piss Buruma off and get banned from the site. So he'd lied.

The dark-haired youth paused, and he wouldn't call it hesitation so much as contemplation. "Do you have any other dealings or contracts with them?"

"No," he gasped, trying without success to ease the grip on his throat.

Very slowly, he was lowered to the floor. His stretching toes touched linoleum, and the man released him. He stumbled back, coughing.

"Just what the hell are you up to?" Dr. Wylie blustered in outrage, even while backing away and eyeing the phone, wondering if he could get to it. "How dare you come in here and threaten me!" a sudden thought, "Did Buruma send you?"

"No," the intruder answered coldly. "Both Buruma and her father fell ill within twenty-four hours of each other. It looks to be of natural causes but that is not what I believe."

That gave him pause. He straightened, still rubbing at his throat. That sure explained why no one had called him back. Both Capsule Corp's leaders felled with one blow.

He gaped as he realized what was being implied. "You thought I had something to do with it?" he asked with disbelief.

"I was exploring my options." A small, chilly smile. "Had you been involved with the Red Ribbons, I would not have been so lenient.

"You mean they did it? They hurt Buruma?" He paled, shocked that he was seemingly caught up in what was apparently a life-threatening corporate rivalry.

For the first time the blue eyes looked uncertain. "I'm not sure."

"Just who are you?" He demanded.

"#17."

"What kind of a name is that?" he asked a little snidely and was instantly sorry because the man's face darkened angrily, the first emotion he'd shown since arriving.

"A name you give to an object, a thing, not a person," was the soft reply.

He didn't know what to say to that and felt oddly ashamed for being rude.

"Are you still researching the Shrine?" #17 asked him. His tone was the same expressionless drone, and yet Wylie could have sworn something about it was just a tad friendlier than before.

"Yes." He had answered hesitantly, a 'no' on his tongue because he really wanted to keep researching, and it occurred to him, but too late, that this man might order him to stop.

"Tell me what you've found."

oooo

The blueprints in front of her blurred, and Buruma yawned hugely, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Buruma-san, are you okay?" nervously asked the young man, standing across from the desk, holding several more scrolls of blueprints.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Sorry." She waved him off.

"I think it's past time you turned in for the night, Buruma-san." The other man at the table, Ash, told her cheekily. He had worked with her longer and was less afraid to speak his mind.

"Mmm," she hummed noncommittally and blinked rapidly instead of rubbing her hands over her face like she wanted too. She was freaking exhausted, and if she looked anywhere near as tired as she felt, then it was no wonder Nathaniel stared at her like he was looking at a train wreck.

"Here. This right here." She jabbed at the blueprint in satisfaction and triumph. "Here's the problem." She grabbed a red pen off the desk and began scribbling on the paper. "Rework these equations. See if you come up with something different. And this right here won't work. This system is flawed. This energy reroute isn't going to cut it when you're trying to power a system ten times the size of this building. We tried this a few months ago. Damn it, Ash, you need to know what has and hasn't been tried."

Ash glanced at the marks she had made, obviously struggling not to take her bitchy tone personally. He was a perfectionist and didn't like to be questioned. "I fixed it," he muttered. "It should work now."

She considered him skeptically but looked again more carefully. "You're just saying that because I'm tired," she snapped finally. "Here." She made an 'x' and circled two other components, then slid the blueprint over to him.

His eyes skimmed over the marks, and then widened, and he cursed blackly as he finally caught his mistake. Buruma watched in amusement as he banged his head on the table a couple of times.

"Hey, it happens," she said fondly, getting to her feet with a groan and stretching all the kinks from her body. "Okay, that's it. We're closing up shop."

Muttering, Ash rolled up the blueprints sulkily and handed them to Nathaniel. "Night, boss."

"Bright and early tomorrow, boys. I expect you to be at your best!" she called over her shoulder, grabbing her windbreaker on her way to the door.

She definitely needed to think about giving the two of them a bonus on top of their overtime. Those two were so damn enthusiastic that they would stay the entire night if she let them. They were good workers, and it was people like them who she genuinely liked, that made this whole mess with the leak so hard, so much deeper a betrayal. As far as she knew, either of those boys could be the one stabbing her in the back, trying to tear her entire life's work out from under her.

It was hard for a natural extrovert like her to remain professionally aloof. It was hard for her not to take them out to lunch and get involved in their lives and personal affairs. It was hard for her not to care about them. Her dad had rules against being friends with employees and having relationships with them outside 'boss and underling'. While growing up she thought those rules oddly harsh coming from a man as sweet as her father. But now she understood.

Business was like love. Blind and ruthless.

"Buruma-san, Donovan-sensei called!" Nathaniel yelled across the room.

Startled, she called back. "What did he want?"

The boy looked confused. "I don't know."

Great, just great.

She shoved her arms into her windbreaker and ran up the stairs to the elevators, taking them up to the ground floor. The front lobby should have been empty except for janitors or stockers, so she was completely surprised when she found a tall man pressing very close to a cowering woman against the far wall. Suddenly she was seeing red.

"HEY!" She was so furious it came out a strangled shriek.

Janus Mazuni whipped around jerkily, one arm still clutching Vivian's wrist so tightly that Buruma could see the woman's skin turning white. Janus' froze, apparently stunned at having been caught. He looked between the two women and hastily released Vivian, wiping his hand off on his Armani suit jacket in nervous habit.

Vivian, clutching her paperwork to her chest, instantly darted across the room to hide behind Buruma, her face pale and her breath coming in tearful little hitches. That was enough to drop kick Buruma right over from pissed to ballistic.

Janus broke the tense silence, tone lofty. "Good to see you in good health, Briefs-san. I heard you had taken ill."

Buruma's eyes narrowed. "I never felt you had much honor, Mazuni-san," she snarled, struggling for control as she strode over and pressed the button for security. "But I really hope this, as the cliché goes, is not what it looks like."

"I-I was merely . . . inquiring after you, Buruma-san," He stuttered quickly, still composing himself. "Nothing more. This is corporate business."

"Business?" she repeated sweetly, stalking closer to him. "At eleven-fucking-p.m. You can do better than that Janus-kun. You'd better do better than that. You'd better explain how the hell you got into my compound, who let you onto my grounds, and what gave you the false belief that you were welcome here."

He grinned suddenly, maliciously. "You should be asking yourself the very same questions, Buruma-chan."

The main doors flew open and several pissed-off looking security guards strode in with their laser guns drawn. All weapons immediately fixed on Janus, who paled and stepped backwards. The head guard, a real badass named Eddie, didn't even look at Janus. "Boss?"

"That was quick, Eddie, I'm impressed."

"Caught wind of this little fucker a few minutes ago." The man grunted.

"Hmph. One moment, and you can escort Mazuni-san from the property," Buruma said calmly. "Why are you here, Janus?"

"A little matter of breaking and entering." He puffed up angrily, cheeks pink. "A little matter of you ransacking private property yesterday."

Buruma went still, knowing with a sinking feeling of disgust and frustration what was going to happen next. She played dumb anyway, as was expected of her. "What are you talking about?"

Janus sauntered towards her, hesitating with a nervous gulp when the guns remained trained on him, tracking his movement across the room. He handed her a manila folder with shaking hands. "You're being sued for breaking and entering and destruction of private property."

Buruma took the folder from him and flipped through the documents, scanning the summons.

"You should probably ring-up those fancy lawyers of your father's now, Buruma-chan," He said snidely "You're going to need all the help you can get when Zanwick-sensei finds out about this, which will be at exactly seven a.m., sharp."

Buruma looked up at him with blank eyes "I don't know what this is."

"Oh, of course not," He purred, and pulled out several ten-by-twelve photographs from his stack of papers.

Buruma kept her expression totally blank and her breathing even as she recognized several members of Zane's strike team running around unmasked in the abandoned Red Ribbon compound in the mountains. Why the hell would they be unmasked? What the hell was going on?

She felt her fingers clench tightly on the papers, but only said, "I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

Janus sniffed haughtily, leaned down, and said softly, with obvious relish, "Face it, you smart-mouthed little bitch, we've got you."

"Eddie," Buruma said, still looking into Janus' gloating eyes. "Escort Mazuni-san off my property."

Janus yelped as he was roughly grabbed by the collar, a gun jammed into his gut as he was marched to the door. The security guards spread out, some of them going to search the rest of the compound as per standard procedure. #18 appeared from behind a knot of them, and Buruma wasn't surprised to see her.

"Don't ever come here without my express permission again, Janus." Buruma watched them haul him away. The door slammed shut and only then did she remember Vivian. The informations operative was standing with her back against the wall, still sniffling slightly.

"Are you okay?" Buruma asked without turning around.

"He was walking around looking for you. Just going wherever he wanted," Vivian whispered in a small voice. "I tried to stop him."

Buruma nodded silently, not particularly happy with Vivian for letting Janus walk all over her, but figuring the woman had been traumatized enough for one night. Once she'd gotten a bit more information about what had happened, and Vivian had gotten over her fright, she'd give in to the urge to read the woman the riot act.

"Next time, I don't care who they are or how important they look, you kick and scream if you have to. If they don't work here, they aren't welcome."

"Yes, Miss Buruma." The same subdued voice. It sparked her temper, and she let out a harsh breath to keep from rounding on the girl.

"Go home, Viv. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Vivian fled.

Buruma sighed and determined to drag herself back to the main compound. She was now officially done for the night. Finished. Kaput. She couldn't handle another deadline, crisis, or break-in.

There hadn't been a lot of time today since she'd slept half the day away, but she'd multi-tasked so well that she'd gotten an enviable amount of work accomplished. Her father's workload had been successfully partitioned out, his meetings rescheduled and her own schedule balanced like a talented juggling act. She'd closed two deals, came up with a solution that was nothing short of inspired to a problem presented to her by one of her project teams, and made a beautiful impression on three people she'd never met before, who were going to be involved in the Gero trial.

The doctors had called earlier that evening to update her on her father's condition and had happily told her that her father had moved around and muttered a bit, that this was a wonderful sign and that he was on the road to recovery. Feeling like a million dollars, Buruma had sloughed her self-pity for a few hours to indulge in some well-deserved preening.

The day had gone so well up until Janus showed up, that she estimated that it would only take another two full days of work before the company would catch up to where it should be. Donovan had even commented on it at dinner, looking impressed, and #18 had mentioned with a small smile that Buruma seemed to be feeling better. Yamucha had been over after dinner, bringing her a little stuffed teddy bear with a rose in its paws, and they'd spent a few hours cuddling under a blanket on the couch, just watching mind-numbing sitcoms.

And somewhere in the midst of it all, she realized that her world had righted itself, had spun complacently right back onto its natural axis, and if it wasn't completely back to normal, it was at least well on the way back to status quo. Whatever had caused her stable little life to skip a beat seemed to have vanished completely.

She did have one strange moment. Around six-thirty, something tickled in the back of her mind, and a cold drop slid down into her stomach and spread throughout her body in a tingle of awareness, and she knew, she knew, that the sun had just gone down. She sat there rigidly with the buttery taste of popcorn in her mouth and almost said something, but Yamucha murmured sweetly in her ear, and she turned back to him with a giggle and grin and completely forgot about it.

After Yamucha left, she snuck back to her labs to cram in another two hours of work, not consciously aware that she did so to avoid being alone or going to bed. She hadn't even really wanted Yamucha to leave, and had nearly asked him to stay the night with her, thinking it would be nice just to have him around so she wouldn't be alone. But that didn't seem fair to him and besides, she was feeling pretty cocky and confident.

That confident feeling was still with her and had lingered long enough for her to bid #18 goodnight before she showered and dressed for bed. It made her throw back her shoulders and march haughtily right past her vanity mirror. She even gave it a defiant stare just to show that she wasn't thinking about last night.

She was thinking about last night and as she piddled around with a cup of cocoa, slapping the file folder Janus had given her on the side table and setting out her clothes for the next day, the silence in her room seemed to grow thick and crushing. Her fingers trembled as she set down her empty mug, hesitated on her bedroom light switch as the thought of yellow eyes waiting out on her balcony flashed through her mind. If she turned the lights off, she might see them.

In the end, she wasn't entirely brave. She swatted the light switch, eyes closed, and sort of scuttled to her bed, diving under the covers like a child. That pissed her off, and she screwed up her courage and opened her eyes to glance once, briefly, across her bedroom, refusing to linger on the shadowy corners, before settling back on her pillow, pride satisfied.

Then she couldn't get to sleep.

In slowly increasing annoyance, she tossed and turned restlessly in her extra-king-sized bed and finally opened her eyes and flopped onto her back, slapping her hands down on her fluffy comforter in petulant frustration. This was ridiculous! She'd been drop-dead exhausted all day, had barely been able to keep her eyes open, and now she couldn't sleep.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of something so boring she'd pass out. She needed a full nights rest if she was going to be at her best in the morning. She shifted slightly with a low grumble and her hand bumped into something solid, something kind of fleshy and cold, like clay, lying next to her.

She went stock-still, lungs stuttering.

"Can't sleep, honey?" asked her father.

She flew upright, shrieking, and the clay thing grasped her wrist tightly with scaly fingers. Her screams rose shrilly as she saw what lay next to her. It was gray and clammy, shriveled and wrinkled like a prune, staring at her with flat, runny eyes. Decrepit fingers were clutching her wrist. The wet juices underneath it were blackening the bed sheet. She wrenched at her hand but the thing held on, started to uncurl like a big skinny-limbed spider. She tugged again, as hard as she could, and it flopped weightlessly across the bed, half landing on her in a wet slopping mess.

She went mad with terror, kicking and screaming, and shoving uselessly at it and suddenly snorted awake, scrabbling upright in her bed, her entire body humming with sick chills. She was lying in bed, tangled up in her sheets, comforter bunched over to the side. Her room was quiet and empty and really cold.

She groaned and flopped back down onto her pillow. A dream. She'd dreamed that she couldn't sleep. How stupid was that? She put a shaking hand to her sweaty forehead, tried to smile and nearly sobbed.

That had been bad. That had been really bad.

Shivering, she checked the bedside clock. Hours had passed, but it felt as if she hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. She grabbed a fluffy robe off the bedpost and squirmed into it.

Her room was positively freezing. She'd apparently forgotten to shut the balcony doors before going to bed and the chilly fall wind that had been threatening all day had finally sprung up. Her curtains flapped wildly, and she wondered if it was going to rain. The air tasted wet. Hugging herself, she flopped out of bed and shuffled to the balcony doors, slamming them shut and locking them before heading into the bathroom with a huge yawn.

A few minutes later she stumbled out, feeling somewhat calm and really sleepy and padded back to her bed.

She shrugged off her robe and a freezing, wet wind slapped at her back. The robe dropped to the floor from suddenly nerveless fingers. She had shut the balcony doors. She had. Another sweep of wind against her shoulder blades, and she could even hear the white rushing noise of the air through the trees. She wondered wildly if she'd ever opened the doors in the first place.

Bracing herself, she turned to look. The balcony doors were open.

She stifled a little whine of terror, her eyes darting around the room, frozen in indecision. She was caught between rushing to the balcony doors and slamming them shut and the horrible fear that there was something inside the room with her and that if she turned her back, it would get her.

Her eyes flicked from the dark corners to open closet door, straining to see inside. There was nothing there. The room was empty. Her legs bumped against her mattress and the thought came to her that whatever it was could be under the bed. She immediately skittered away to the middle of the room. The closet door creaked and her gaze jumped to it, but maybe it was the wind. Then her attention was caught on the bed, wondering if she really did see a large lump under the covers. Would it move if she stared long enough?

The creaking sound again. Not the closet. More like invisible footsteps on the floorboards. Again. Again. Coming closer. Breathing too fast, she turned a tight circle, trying to look everywhere at once. Movement flickered in the corner of her eye, and she gave a shrill cry, jerking around to face the source.

Her breath shuddered out when she saw it was only her reflection in the vanity mirror.

"Can't sleep, honey?"

She couldn't move. Just stood there like a statue, as something else moved into view in the mirror

"Can't sleep?"

It wasn't her father's voice.

She saw her own reflection, pale and frightened, and, behind her, Yamucha. Yamucha with glowing gold eyes and twisted hatred making him ugly.

"Poor baby."

She whipped around, but there was nothing behind her. Her eyes flew back to the mirror and he was there, still standing behind her in the reflection. He stepped towards her and she looked behind herself again. Nothing was there. She stared at the mirror in horrified fascination, watched him get closer, his lips peeled back in a snarl.

"I'm going to eat you."

Yamucha grabbed for her reflection with a roar, and she shrieked, instinctively jerking away, batting at the empty air as if to fend him off. Something invisible slashed at her arm, and four red welts instantly sprang up on her skin. She grasped the wound in shock. The air moved around her, and she stumbled back blindly, screaming, glancing into the mirror to see him to her right, ready to pounce. She wailed and kicked out, stumbling until she collided with the French doors. She looked up into the glass, found herself staring at Yamucha's reflection. Behind him were the soaring caverns of the Shrine and all the dead that lay inside it, and she had one horrified second to realize what she'd done. And then his fists came down and the glass exploded.

They were all over her, reaching for her, snatching at her, grabbing her, wrenching her into the glass, and she couldn't even scream, she couldn't breathe. Her chest was on fire. Her heart was beating too fast, stuttering, seizing; it was going to burst. She was going to die.

Come.

She kept trying to scream, her mouth open soundlessly, her body almost convulsing for want of air.

Call to me and it will end.

The feeling of twisted, gnarled hands grabbing at her was fading, the sensation of being dragged through broken glass melted away and for a moment she floated in blessed darkness.

You need not suffer.

She snatched desperately at the darkness, wanting to sink into it, hide inside it, but finally stirred, horribly disoriented, and found herself face down on her bedroom floor just in front of her balcony doors. The doors were closed. It was dark outside, still night, and there was something floating outside on the balcony. She hid her face into her hands instantly, not wanting to see what it was, and curled into a sobbing ball, half out of her mind, her chest still aching, and her heart beating too fast.

"Stop! Stop it!" she begged. "No more."

Shhh. You're safe. A soft, soothing purr in her mind. The feeling of ghost hands stroking her hair comfortingly.

When nothing else happened, she raised her head slightly. Her face was hot and wet with tears. She winced, cowering, when she met golden yellow eyes shrouded by darkness.

"You," she whispered. She could see it no more clearly than before, but she knew what it was. She could feel it somehow, like a pressure in her skull. It was the creature from the night before. Creature. Monster. Another monster. Her face crumpled, and she inched backwards crying. "What are you?"

The moon seemed to grow brighter, or maybe it could control the darkness, could push it back like a curtain or a cloak because she could suddenly see clearly.

She stared, eyes going wide and unfocused because the strange thing was that she wasn't really shocked. Part of her wasn't even scared, only quiet and still and waiting. It was like she had been expecting this. Expecting him. The culmination of all her nightmares. Like every day of her existence, every choice she had ever made—no, it was vaster than that and infinitely more devastating—like every path in the history of the planet had led up to this.

It was the Shrine beast. The one with spiky hair and a monkey tail.

A demon. A real live demon.

"W-wha . . . " Her voice failed, and she swallowed hard.

You know who and what I am, it told her.

She just shook her head, not understanding. Its voice seemed to bounce around in her skull, making her woozy, making it hard to concentrate on the words.

Its face was almost human. Almost. It was starkly and obviously male, and, had it been human, it would have been the most handsome man she'd ever seen. It had a flame of black, spiky hair, gold eyes rimmed in red, cold, sharp features and a sleek, compact, heavily muscled body. Red fur ran the length of its arms and down its back. Only its chest and stomach were bare, the skin bronze hued. It wore black pants and that seemed odd to her, that an animal, a monster, would wear clothes. A long red tail waved lazily behind it as it floated there in the air.

Her lips worked, silently mouthing words she'd forgotten the meanings to. She made an effort to speak. "I do know you. You're from the Shrine." Her voice slurred, and trailed off numbly before she could ask what it wanted.

You freed me. There were colors in his voice. She could see them.

"I . . . I did?" she whispered.

She was staring. She couldn't help it, and then she couldn't look away, and too late, she remembered the spell those eyes could cast. They were deep tunnels, bottomless waters, burning with golden light that had nothing at all to do with the sun. And all the colors that swirled in its voice rushed into those eyes, and she could fall down inside with them and fall and fall and it even seemed like a good idea, and that thought sent an icy sliver of fear spiking like a nail through her lungs before everything, every feeling of panic or trepidation, started to melt away.

That's right, the creature told her softly, lulling. Let go. I have what you need.

"Please don't," she whispered and found the strength to close her eyes. But it didn't matter what she did, or what she felt either way because the creature was already there, all around her, inside her head, inside her body, filling her up. The sensation was incredible. It stole her breath, stole every thought of resistance that was screaming for her to run, to hide.

I will take away your fear. I will bring you into the dark. I will teach you pleasure.

A stab of heat right in her crotch, and she grabbed herself in shock, giving a gasping cry.

Remember . . .

She shuddered, and her body went lax, slumping over. She hit the carpet on her side, except something was off. The carpet was strange, so soft that she began to sink down inside of it. She could feel it slowly swallowing her like warm tar. It should have been the most terrifying thing she'd ever experienced, but she couldn't bring herself to care, only closed her eyes and let it happen. This was what she wanted, to disappear, fade away. It would all be fine if she just let go, let herself be taken. . . .

Darkness rolled over her like high-tide. She felt it like a comforting blanket, burying her as if she lay in a shallow grave. She breathed it in, and it filled her lungs, slipped into her veins, went to the tips of her toes. She didn't need to fight.

Blurry eyes fluttered open, and everything was gone. She floated in a void, a formless black pit of nothingness where there was no up or down, no light, no nightmares, just blessed emptiness.

Remember, my little one. Remember my touch. She could have sworn she felt those words whispered into her ear, could even feel the demon's presence, feel him stretched out behind her, a line of heat and power. But she also knew he wasn't really there. No one was there.

His hands, warm and large, calloused and clawed, touched her body, slid under her nightgown, over her belly, up her ribs. She let out an almost soundless gasp, blinking muzzily, but she could not see anything touching her. His hands splayed over her ribs then caressed down to her hips.

"Stop. . . ." But it was weak, barely a half-muttered whisper and she wasn't even completely sure she'd spoken the word aloud. She wasn't sure it was possible to speak in this place. She couldn't think right. Everything in her head was floaty and disjointed.

She tried to move, felt her body so heavy and warm and weak but managed to grasp for its hands (paws?), touched nothing but her own body though she could still feel the pressure of fingers sliding over her skin. There was nothing there. Was this a dream? Then she arched back with a small startled sound as the nothing hands caressed her, slid gently over her body.

"No, don't. . . ." She moaned then cut off with a shuddering whimper when a tail lashed like a silk cord over her.

The hands seemed to be everywhere now, all over her body, ghost touches, running together, mirages, memories, some feather light, making her shiver, others more substantial and inescapable, but just as invisible. A thousand touches, a thousand glimpses of a dark mind, a thousand terrible promises all at once.

She whimpered and writhed, and for just an instant, she thought she could see the beast. The vague outline of her tormentor, spiky hair, red fur . . . but then it was gone and she forgot everything but the new pulsing feeling of need. She twisted in pleasured anguish She grabbed for its hands but only grasped air. She cried out and reached out to brace herself but there was nothing to hold onto. A tail twined around her, the tip brushing over her, teasing.

A phantom mouth joined the invisible hands. A hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, and she could feel hungry lips against her own, a tongue tangling with hers, kissing her, but she could not kiss back, there was nothing there. The creature continued to torment and pleasure her and she lost it completely, sobbing out a strangled desperate yell, unable to think past the delicious sensations. Her weak hands scrabbled futilely for purchase, wanting to fist tightly into her tormentor's hair.

His hands slid up her thighs, gripped her hips as she bucked and thrashed. He was merciless, teasing, giving no respite, making her body twist, roiling, undulating, begging silently. The wicked creature immediately backed off, leaving her at the brink of orgasm.

For a horrible minute she thought the demon had vanished. Then she felt his lips against the tender skin of her inner thigh, tongue contenting itself with licking there, sharp teeth biting gently where the veins pulsed close to the surface. She lay, still in shock, staring up into endless nothingness. She could feel her entire body throbbing against the rhythm of her heart. She tried to squirm out of its grasp, but his grip on her tightened. Finally, she gave a heaving sob and reached down to touch herself but an invisible tail captured her wrists. She blinked and then could see the beast, just faintly, just a shadow, crouched between her legs.

"P-please . . ." she begged, tears trailing down her flushed cheeks.

Call my name. The creature increased the pressure of its fangs against her thigh.

"I . . . I don't know it."

He dipped its head, and she quickly shut her eyes, catching her breath and tensing in anticipation, but he didn't touch. She could feel him, hovering just an inch above her, but not touching, not satisfying, and she mewled in disappointment.

"Oh, Kami, please!" she cried.

What do you want?

She let out a soft sob. It wasn't enough. She wanted . . . She wanted . . .

Yes. The creature whispered, enticingly. You belong to me.

Yes, she remembered-she knew what that red fur felt like under her hands, soft and silky. She could touch it again if she wanted. She could to pet that red fur and curl up in those arms . . . and feel sharp fangs in her throat. The thought only made her taut body clench tighter. She could remember that. She remembered sweet, sharp pain, a flash of heat. A little shock of pleasure rippled through her, and she whimpered, letting her head fall to the side as her fingers slid up her throat, scraping her fingernails against her pulse point.

Coming away drenched with blood.

With a jolt she sat up, jarred from her trance.

"What is this?" she whispered, looking down at her hand, at the blood pouring down in rivulets, not just from her throat but also from the stitched gash in her palm. "What are you doing to me?"

A gentle kiss and she cried out, back arching, nearly forgetting about the blood.

"Please . . ." She was so confused. None of this made any sense. She had to be still dreaming. This was just a dream. . . .

Call to me. Let me in.

A really bad dream.

She swayed slightly at the sound of the demon's voice, but then shook her head. Some part of her deep down was beating against the warm darkness, making her gasp out weakly. "No."

Suddenly she was sitting upright without effort, and the beast was a distance from her, a strange look flitting across its features.

She didn't understand any of this, but she was starting to remember and knew this was a bad idea. The demon was part of it. Whatever was happening, the creature was part of it, maybe the worst part. Giving him what he wanted would be the worst possible thing she could do.

I would satisfy your body in a thousand ways, little one. Let me in.

In. It wanted in her room. She was still in her room.

"No!"

The void vanished, and she found herself once again on her bedroom floor, bathed in moonlight and half in the shadow of the creature that stood just outside her door, stock still, looking absolutely stunned at her audacity.

"You bastard . . ." she whispered, voice shaking, feeling every place he'd touched her (hadn't touched her) throb, and she was sickened that she wanted more (wanted it to be real).

Let me in, Buruma-chan. The voice in her mind deepened with soft fury.

"NO!" she repeated louder, defiantly.

The creature snarled, its tail frizzed out and lashed, and she recognized the ugly look on his face. It gave her strength.

Let me in, or next time I may not save you. I am all that keeps the darkness from consuming you. It is here, waiting. The yellow eyes flashed past her into the room.

The hair on her neck reacted instantly, and her spine went rigid.

Something was happening behind her. The sound of creaking floorboards, soft chittering sounds from her closet, tinkling glass. She jerked a look over her shoulder and scanned the room wildly. It took her several moments before she saw the shadow of something moving under the bed, something trying to pull itself out from the darkness beneath. Her vanity dresser rattled softly, and the night seemed to deepen, seemed to spread across the floor to lap at her feet.

In utter terror she shrank back against the balcony glass, knowing something was going to happen.

Let me in. The creature behind her whispered slyly. Before it's too late.

The thing under the bed was coming out, was pulling free. A hand, a strangely misshapen hand with fingers fused together slid out from the darkness and searched for purchase in the carpet. It made a horrible sound, a hoarse squeal that made her bones ache as it dragged itself forward. Another, similarly disfigured hand appeared. Hooves. They were shaped like cloven hooves. Her knees tucked up to her chest, and she started rocking.

It's coming . . . The creature told her with savage satisfaction, kneeling down outside the door. Come into my arms, and I will protect you.

The thing flopped out from under the bed and struggled jerkily across the floor.

It was Kuririn.

It was Kuririn, except he was horribly deformed. The middle of his face had elongated into a flat-nosed snout, drooling mouth gaping open, showing blunt lower fangs. Tusks. His ears were long, floppy. His face and arms were spattered with blood and gore. His eyes were brilliant red. He snorted, grunted, started rooting at the carpet. He was a pig.

She suddenly knew with a strange calm certainty what had killed and eaten Chi Chi and #18 the night before.

Her mouth was open, and she thought she was screaming until she realized it was just the noise of her own blood rushing in her ears.

You will let me in now and keep your mind, or you will do it later—after I break you and you crawl to me begging for the end.

The pig saw her. It saw her, and it opened its mouth and squealed in rage, high and guttural, and charged her on hands and knees.

Whatever was blocking her throat suddenly came loose, and she howled, begging Kami to let her wake up, to not let it be real. The Shrine Demon's laugh echoed through her mind, followed her down into darkness, into madness.

It wasn't real! Please, Kami, don't let it be real!

oooo

Ten-thousand years should have made for patience, an eternity of waiting should have lent tolerance for small obstacles and serenity in the face of unexpected setbacks, yet as the black horizon grew pale blue with the first hint of dawn, the creature crouching outside the Briefs' residence barely resisted the urge to howl with rage, smash the entire building to pieces, and snatch his prey from the rubble. He could not enter the residence without her consent, but no force in heaven or hell could stop him from plucking her from the charred ruins, should the mood take him.

The only thing that prevented just this course of action was the knowledge that she would not survive such rough handling. And she would survive. She would survive to face his fury. She would survive to beg his forgiveness for her betrayal. She would survive to bare the full brunt of his wrath, to suffer every last nuance of his revenge. Then would she die. She'd breath her last breath as a weak ningen wrapped willingly in his embrace, tears of joy in her eyes, his blood on her lips and his cock buried deep in that small exquisite body. She would die and be reborn as his creation, his Queen.

But first there was the small matter of getting his little ningen to let him inside!

It was morning already and still his prize resisted him, when if he could taste just one drop of her blood, not even the light of day would shield her mind from his influence. It was maddening. He should have had her the very first night of his freedom, after he'd putdown the old man. She should have followed the irresistible lure of his voice in her mind and stumbled sleepily from the building right into his waiting grasp. He should have been burying himself in her wet heat at this very moment, should have been licking and tasting her soft skin, drinking her sweet blood, bruising her hips with the force of his thrusts, teaching her every carnal act he knew.

She should not have been this strong, his precious, traitorous little bitch.

He crouched at the window, ignored the approaching sun. She was so close that he could smell her, so close after ten-thousand years that were it not for the fucking curse, he could reach out and touch her, grip one petite ankle and drag her to him. Just a few more minutes. A few more minutes, and she would lose. She would break. She would come to him. Maddening!

He'd been calling to her throughout the night and instead of coming to him, she'd fled. Even alone and vulnerable in the nightmares he fed her, she managed to elude him, had made her way unerringly to hide in her parent's bedroom. Futile gesture though it was, it was also a testament to the strength of her will. Perhaps he should have known better than to treat her as a light opponent, the woman who had taken down, not only him, but his entire race.

Her continued resistance made him hungry for the moment when she finally broke. Snapping that iron strength would make her surrender all the sweeter. He wanted to hear that desperate cry.

Even now, the little aqua-haired human writhed on the floor, lost in the nightmarish world of his mind, her face pinched in terror and agony, nightgown soaked through with sweat until he could make out every delicate curve of her body, every soft swell as she twisted and arched.

"Ou-sama!" The demon's tail twitched, and his demeanor darkened, but he didn't look up as the younger creature alighted on the rooftop above him. "It is morning!"

When he didn't answer, the younger one hopped lightly down next to him, concerned dark blue-gray eyes widening, lips parting in a silent gasp when he saw Buruma. He drew near, clawed hands touching the window forlornly, unable to pass through. "So it is true then . . . you will break her."

The demon growled, showing sharp fangs. "Be silent. It is less than what she deserves. She has yet to even begin suffering for her crimes."

The blue-gray eyes turned on him, tired and vaguely reproachful. He shook his head. "You're punishing her for sins that were ancient a thousand years ago, sins she cannot even remember."

"But she will remember." The demon hissed dangerously. That was another moment to anticipate, when it all came flooding back to her, and she realized just how much trouble she was in. She would know in that moment what her punishment was going to be. And she would dread it with every fiber of her being.

"Then stay your hand 'til then."

"Hmph. I ran out of such patience and mercy a long time ago, Kakarotto." The demon crossed his arms, only his swishing tail gave away his irritation.

The younger one watched Buruma pensively. "You will regret this," he said finally, earning himself a vicious, but not unexpected, backhand that sent him careening into the air. He did an aerial summersault and came to a stop, floating there. He touched his tender jaw, seeming otherwise unperturbed by the violent reaction. "Dawn approaches. Let her be."

The demon glanced over his shoulder at the pink horizon, then back into the Briefs' residence and grudgingly conceded. Buruma was safe for the day.

It didn't matter. She would not last much longer. He would return with the night, and she would surrender. She would not escape him, not after he'd waited so long.

Then the entire planet would suffer.

oooo

She spent an eternity in a place of nightmares, an eternity in a hellish pit of horrible monsters, blood and death and carnage. And just when she was certain her tortured mind would snap completely, it all just suddenly melted away.

Buruma awoke with her throat hoarse from screaming, barely able to hear over her pounding heart, barely able to breathe, completely disoriented. It wasn't until she'd hauled herself forcefully and frantically in blind panic out of a dark cramped space, that she realized she'd been huddled in the corner of her parent's bedroom closet, without any knowledge of how she'd gotten there. Her nightgown was torn, bloodstained, smeared with gore, her hands and legs covered in welts and scratches. She literally dragged herself to the door, her legs numb and unable to carry her.

She still didn't believe it was over, even when her eyes stung and burned in the light of day, she kept thinking she needed to be on guard, be prepared for the next onslaught. She managed to lug herself upright and stumbled unsteadily down the stairs, raving like a madwoman. Her hair was sweaty and plastered to her face, her eyes rolling in their sockets, expecting any minute for the floor to drop out from under her feet and some new terror to rear up and plunge her back into hell.

By the time she reached her bedroom, she found her nightgown was whole and clean and now only the worst of the cuts and scratches on her body remained and they were faint. It made her laugh hysterically. The injuries were fading. Maybe they'd never been there in the first place. They weren't real. Or maybe she wasn't real.

She didn't care. Not anymore. She didn't care about anything except making it stop. She wanted the world to end, wanted nothingness to consume her. She wanted her body and soul to dissolve, to just sleep forever in quiet, peaceful emptiness.

She wanted to die.

Even the memories were more than she could bear.

Tripping and falling only to have the foot-long, fat pink worms that had been eating one of the burned blackened corpses on the floor burrow into her stomach, into her left eye socket. She had flopped on the ground shrieking, with worms all over her, sticking out of her, wriggling around in the fleshy pulp of her ruined eye, under her skin, eating her . . .

No . . . oh, Kami, no more.

She fell onto her bed, a low keening sound escaping her throat. She was unconscious before her head touched the pillow.

Her alarm clock woke her a few scant hours later, and she gave a startled cry into her pillow, her sleep-addled mind's first thought being that it was the shriek of some monster. She recognized the sound a moment later and scrambled weakly out of bed, panting, shoving the blankets away in revulsion, slapping at her skin like something filthy had touched her.

She stared at her bed, almost afraid it would come to life, then over at her balcony door. It was shut. Her eyes skipped to her vanity mirror, and her breath hitched, and she buried her face in her palms when she saw that it was cracked, the glass spider-webbed out from where something decidedly heavy had hit. She looked again and the cracks were still there.

No, no, no. Fuck this!

She was still tired, so incredibly tired, but she wasn't willing to spend an instant more at the mercy of her subconscious. She limped over and snagged the clothes she'd set out the night before, and one of her little overnight capsules that were always packed and shuffled downstairs to shower and dress in one of the guest bedrooms, just wanting to get the hell out of any place that reminded her of her dreams. The shower did nothing to warm her, and she dressed as quickly and efficiently as she could with icy, trembling hands that couldn't seem to hold onto anything.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a clock was ticking away, already counting down. She figured it was only a matter of time until her symptoms became worse. There was something horribly wrong with her and as far as she was concerned, it didn't matter if the problem laid with her, or if it was caused by some outside phenomenon: The Shrine, The Red Ribbons, Kami Himself. The only thing that mattered now was that she secure the future of Capsule Corporation before whatever was happening to her happened again.

Because if it started happening again, she might willingly put a bullet in her own brain to stop it.

(It couldn't be a dream, it was too real! It was all too real!)

Her face was pale, and the skin around her eyes taut as she expertly applied concealing makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the scratch on her neck she remembered inflicting with her own nails. She ground her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against acid tears as emotion surged up in her chest, choking her.

She let it out in a small angry scream and sent her beauty products slamming into the mirror, shattering it. She threw them all, then picked up a tall, heavy glass bottle of expensive lotion and smashed the rest of the mirror out.

When there was nothing left, she sank down on the tile floor with her knees drawn up to her chest and cried.

She could not afford to crack now. She couldn't. Her father's business was at stake. Her company had been invaded. Her father had been attacked. She had to be strong, she had to be a leader and take care of things. If anyone found out what was happening to her and word got out, her judgment would be called into question. She could be kicked off the Gero trial, removed from the company board. She could not afford to chance it.

She sniffled a little, then forcibly calmed her breathing and stood on wobbly legs, leaning against the bathroom sink, bracing herself on her hands.

She had to use the day to prepare and secure the company to be self-sufficient long enough for her father to recover. After that, she could try to fix herself and hope that it wasn't too late.

Downstairs, Capsule Corporation was already in full swing. Breakfast was ready and waiting, the morning reports had arrived, and the first thing she did was make a quick phone call to her father's lawyers and have the summons Janus had given her the night before faxed over to them. Honestly, she would've been surprised if they hadn't already heard.

"Buruma!" Donovan said, meeting her as she came down the stairs, looking pale and flustered. He had probably just arrived at the compound. "I am so sorry about last night! Mazuni called me before he arrived, and I arranged an escort to meet him, but the next thing I knew, Vivian was calling saying he was walking around the compounds."

Buruma paused, letting that sink in, carefully keeping her face averted from him. "So how did Janus get past security? And why didn't Vivian call security? Why did she call you?"

Donovan shrugged blankly. "I'm not sure."

"Find out." Her voice was a little high pitched, but she was feeling slightly better now that she was in control of something, and she stalked down the stairs. "I want to know every word that was spoken between them. If he threatened her, I swear to Kami, I'll have his balls."

Donovan hesitated. "A-are you feeling alright, Buruma? You look a little pale."

"Oh, I'm just great!" she snapped defensively, feeling her shoulders stiffen at his worried question. "But maybe you should concern yourself more with your work and less with my health."

Donovan sputtered in surprise and then jumped out of her way when she stormed past him, looking as if she might body-check him on the way down. He didn't call after her.

She had just started to calm down and assure herself that no one was watching her when she slipped quietly into the kitchen and nearly yelped. #17 and #18 were hanging out in the dining area. #18 sitting on the counter, legs swinging, and #17 straddling a chair, trying with much deliberation to pick which donut, chocolate or powdered or cream-filled, would next go to its demise.

She seriously considered turning around and walking out, but figured she probably wouldn't make it through the day if she ran from everyone. Instead she gave them both quiet, strained good mornings, and hurried to the table, more than a little high-strung and hoping they wouldn't notice anything odd about her, as if the word 'crazy' was printed across her forehead.

The twins nodded to her. They were so silent and preoccupied as she dished up that her already taut nerves wound tighter, and she started to panic, waiting for one of them to break the silence, waiting for one of them to say something about her appearance, or what she'd been doing last night or the screams, maybe she'd been screaming again or . . .

"#18 informs me you wish to speak with Piccolo." #17 was looking at her.

"What?" she asked breathlessly, then blinked. "Uh, yeah. I'd like to ask him a few things." Words like 'paranoid schizophrenia' floated through her mind like dandelion fluff. "Pass the orange juice, please."

#17 hesitated before speaking again, and that started the alarm bells ringing all over again. When he phrased his next question, it was very careful. "Have you visited that Shrine of yours lately?" he asked.

Neurotic delusions.

She almost choked on her juice. What did he mean? Why did he want to know? Did he know she was having dreams or hallucinations, or whatever the hell was going on, starring a Shrine Beast that wanted to fuck her or eat her alive, she couldn't tell which?

"No. Not since before daddy got sick. Why do you ask?" A quick sideways glance at #18 to see if the woman suspected her, but #18 was watching her brother in confusion.

"Yes, why do you ask?" the android woman asked.

"That archaeologist, Jinn Wylie, has been calling for an appointment. He is very interested in the Shrine." Another small but extremely pregnant pause. "I thought you were as well."

Psychopathic obsession.

The Shrine.

"No. Oh, no. That's so over with." She took a gulp of her juice while making an expressive hand gesture to show just how 'over with' the whole Shrine thing was. "In fact, I was just going to have the whole thing cemented in."

#17 considered her shrewdly. "Do you wish me to give the order?" he asked blandly. "Jason could have it completely destroyed by lunch."

"NO!" Her fork clattered loudly onto her plate, and she nearly clapped a hand over her mouth in revulsion, sickened by how much the idea of them taking the Shrine from her hurt. Maybe she was really sick, like Daddy. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was really sick and she was going to die.

Both cyborgs stared at her speculatively, and she flushed. "I'm sorry," she sputtered, "It's just that the Shrine is low on my priorities at the moment. I would rather the two of you be more focused on our leak and on getting me an interview with Piccolo."

The twins nodded in eerie unison.

"Yes, the leak." #18 poured herself another cup of coffee, something in her body language making it clear that she was pointedly ignoring her brother while his body language said he didn't give a damn. "#17 and I have finished full physical, electrical and digital examinations of this house, and the North Lab and have found nothing out of the ordinary. We will continue today with the South Lab and then the East Compound. We hope to thoroughly inspect CC2 within the next two days. Our main concern is that our interloper may have reached the lower levels."

Buruma shut her eyes. "That would mean nothing is safe." Nothing is safe. Nothing is safe. "Most of our main controls are in the lower levels."

"That is correct."

"I've already begun tightening security. As of this morning, I've implemented full lockdown. No one gets in until I've okayed them. It will slow work down for a few days, but it's an acceptable loss. I've also completely separated the sections to minimize the flow of information. And this afternoon, we're going to start using the trackers on the employees."

"That is a good start." #18 nodded her approval. "I would also recommend. . . ."

SNAP

Silence.

"Babe?"

Buruma jerked upright, flinging herself backwards, chair upending with a sharp clang onto the hard cement floor. Her hands clenched in her hair, eyes shut tight. Her entire body was tingling, crawling, freezing, it felt like she was about to jump out of her skin.

It was happening again! It was happening all over again! It wasn't ever going to stop!

Yamucha's arms were around her immediately, voice panicked. "Buruma? Buruma, what's wrong? Do you need a doctor?" When she didn't respond, he started to scoop her up, but she shoved him back and skittered away from him like a frightened animal.

"Buruma!"

"Just keep the hell away from me!" she gasped, disoriented and struggling for composure. "Keep away! Keep AWAY!"

He froze, and that gave her the moment she needed to take a deep breath and look up slowly. They were in her lab. Her and Yamucha were alone within the gray metal walls of her lab. Her desk was covered in paper work. #17 and #18 were nowhere to be seen. The clock on the wall read 12:45.

"What just happened?" Her voice quavered.

Yamucha stared at her.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" she screamed at him, rubbing at her arms, trying not to writhe under the jittery, edgy crawling of her skin.

This wasn't a nightmare, was it? She had woken up this morning, hadn't she? Oh, Kami, was he going to turn into a monster?

"Whoa. Whoa." He raised his hands in a placating gesture, watching her like she was about to bolt. "Babe, calm down. Tell me what's wrong."

"What day is it?" She demanded sharply, her world tilting around her.

"It's Saturday, babe." He said softly.

"Oh. . . ." The relief was painful. It was the same day. She hadn't lost a day like she had the last time.

They stared at each other. Nothing was happening, and when it became apparent that she was either going to have to explain herself or see a doctor, she thought quickly. "Oh, good." Weakly, she bent down to pull her chair upright with shaky hands and collapsed into it, fingers digging into her arms, rubbing lightly now because the jittery feeling was fading. "I must have-" she gave him a watery smile and lied, "I must have dozed off a little . . . and had a bit of a nightmare."

His taut expression instantly melted into relief and sympathy. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry." He went to her and hugged her, rubbing her back soothingly. "You must be totally worn out. This isn't fair. You having to put up with all this shit. I wish there was something I could do to help you. I feel like a complete waste of space."

"Oh no, sweetheart. I'm fine, I'm fine. And you're great! I just . . . need to get back to work." She patted him on the shoulder awkwardly, ashamed that she wanted to flinch away from his touch, ashamed that at the moment she could only think of him with glowing yellow eyes.

"Are you sure?" Big, soulful brown eyes.

"Yeah, yes. Look, I'm kind of shaken up. Can you go get me something to drink?" She gave him as lucid a smile as she could manage.

"Sure. You could probably use some coffee to help stay awake. I'll get you some." He practically tripped over himself in his rush to get to the lounge and the coffee maker.

With him out of the way, Buruma quickly started flipping back through her notes.

It was just like the last time she'd blacked out. She couldn't remember anything, not a single thing since breakfast. She'd obviously been in the middle of reading these documents but she wasn't at all sure what she had been doing before that, or what she had already gotten done, or what had happened during her conversation with the twins.

The papers in front of her were pretty self-explanatory. She'd been reviewing a new contract from one of her father's investors. But she was halfway through it and couldn't remember what the first half of it said.

She started organizing the papers, stacking them in different piles and occasionally skimming one to see if the contents were familiar. She was halfway through the stack when she froze, a sheet of paper in hand. It wasn't a paper from the files, it was a drawing. A strange drawing done in pen, covered in squiggles that she knew, without a doubt, were Shrine symbols. It was done in her own handwriting. She stared at it, wondering what in hell it meant before finally setting it down carefully and touching her cheek, her forehead. Her skin felt a bit warm but otherwise not clammy or sickly or anything.

What the hell was happening to her?

She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palm, feeling that clock in her brain ticking down faster than ever.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break?" Yamucha asked gently, startling her as he put a hand on her shoulder, and set her coffee down beside her.

"Yep. I'm just great." She handled the hot cup carefully and took a sip. "Thanks."

He kissed her on the cheek and went back to doing pushups on the lab floor. He seemed to be starting up a serious training routine again, and she wondered distantly if he was planning on fighting in the Tenkaichi Budoukai that Kuririn had mentioned.

She picked up the contract, skimming it, though her mind remained elsewhere. She had seen a doctor after fainting at the gala, she'd had a CAT scan and an MRI. There was nothing wrong with her brain. Her hormone levels were perfectly normal. What else could possibly be wrong with her?

Well, that was obvious, wasn't it? She gave a faint giggle. The only other option was that she was completely insane.

She straightened her shoulders and determinedly flipped to the beginning of the contract. There was nothing to do but start over.

For the rest of the afternoon everything she did was futile. She couldn't get a single thing accomplished, no matter how simple. She was shaky and paranoid, and she couldn't concentrate on anything for long periods of time, and every little noise and every person who passed by made her jumpy and nervous.

Before she knew it, it was late afternoon and she knew she'd run out of time. She abandoned company work completely and went into a frenzy of last-minute preparation. She distributed as much of her own work as was humanly possible among her employees, agonizing over the decision because she had no idea who she could trust. Then she spent the rest of the afternoon researching her own condition, being careful not to alert the others to her activity.

By dinner, she'd spent a couple million dollars from her own bank accounts on special favors, including absolute secrecy, from top medical specialists. They agreed to look over the results of the tests and scans she'd gotten the night of the gala and, for what she paid them, would keep it secret even if the diagnosis was insanity. She arranged for the results to be given to #18, or her father if he were awake, should something happen to her.

She was still researching when she felt the now-familiar sensation of her heart skipping a beat and a curl of ice slipping down her spine. She shut her eyes and breathed through the douse of fear it brought, then turned to her computer and typed in a search. The results popped up instantly, and her mouth quivered as she saw the official time for sunset matched the current time on her computer.

Was it happening again? Would it start now?

She looked around the lab unsteadily, watched the oblivious workers going about their business, stared suspiciously as two interns passed her station closely, chatting amiable to each other, glanced worriedly at where Yamucha and #17 were having a chat that, knowing them, would probably quickly escalate into a fight.

She made a decision and stood up. "Okay, people. That's it for the day. We're closing up early."

A few people let out cheers and #17 looked surprised.

"What's the occasion, boss?" Ash shouted across the room as his partner started cleaning up their equipment.

"No occasion, just a power trip." She informed him dryly, and he gave a shout of good-natured laughter.

She got on the phone and closed up the other labs. She figured that emptying the compound would make for less confusion during the night.

An hour later, she'd nearly completely shut Capsule Corporation down.

"What's up?" Yamucha asked her, watching her fish through her desk. He'd so far refrained from asking, but his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

"Everyone's been working hard the past couple of days," she lied smoothly. "I thought I'd give them a break." She found the capsule she was looking for and pocketed it, making sure he wouldn't see. "Yamucha, I've got some work to do in the lower levels of the main house. I could be up really late. Will you stay with me?"

He shrugged. "Sure, babe. No problem."

The lower levels of the main house functioned almost like a fall-out shelter. They were heavily armored, solidly protected and fully self-sustaining. Things like radio waves and other signals and frequencies would not be able to penetrate the walls. She wasn't exactly planning to lock herself in so much as keep anything and everything else out. The capsule she'd taken contained various high-powered weapons, and Yamucha himself, though sometimes he acted like a geek, was an incredibly powerful weapon. The twins had been ordered to remain outside and on high alert throughout the night. They had not questioned the order.

It seemed like a highly reactionary plan when she stopped to think about it. It was an incredibly physical response to an internal problem. Fortifying the compound because she had nightmares, it was like admitting she was insane. But she was following her instincts at this point, and she couldn't bring herself to just do nothing, to just sit back and wait. Not after how bad last night had been. She would fight the only way she knew how.

The room she chose to stay the night in was huge and cozily half-lab half-living room with a computer system and lab table on one end and gigantic couch, fireplace, several television sets, a stereo system, a Ping-Pong table, small kitchen and bathroom on the other. One wall was entirely covered with capsules containing everything from food, clothes, and beds, to biohazard suits and an entire welding set.

Her and Yamucha settled in easily, her researching and him watching T.V. or doing sit-ups. And when ten o'clock rolled around everything was still perfectly normal. She took a break from work to shower and change into some comfy clothes and then sat down with Yamucha, who was playing a baseball videogame. She played a few rounds with him while snacking on some Cheetos. She was fairly good at the game, better than Chi Chi, not as good as Kuririn, but good enough to make Yamucha have to put a bit of effort into kicking her butt.

By one a.m. she was feeling awesome. She was physically ready to drop any second but her mind was clear and nothing weird was happening. Yamucha was dozing on the couch, blanket thrown over him. She sat at the counter with a mug of coffee and smiled to herself with deep contented satisfaction.

Everything was alright.

This proved it. It was only bad dreams. Nothing could happen as long as she was awake and even if she DID sleep and have nightmares again, they could have no power over her because now she knew they weren't real.

They were just dreams.

She stayed up another hour just to prove it and was giddy with triumph even though she was so tired she could barely see straight when the clock struck two. She finally gathered up a cozy blanket, feeling safe for the first time in four days and snuggled up to Yamucha, who half-woke and muttered irritably but made room for her.

She'd barely closed her eyes when a small weight plopped down on her legs on top of the blanket. She went rigid under the blankets, catching her breath, a hundred disturbing images and thoughts running through her mind.

Don't look! It's just a dream. Don't look! If you can't see it, it can't see you. Nothing can hurt you. It's not real. Ignore it and it will go away.

. . .

She braced herself and cracked her eyes open.

And sat up in surprise.

"Scratch!" she whispered in delight. The little cat, who was actually Scratch the third and granddaughter of the original Scratch, blinked lazily at her and kneaded her claws in the blanket. The cat had hopped up onto the couch to snuggle with them. "How did you get in here? You miss Daddy, huh? Poor girl, no cats in the hospital."

She reached out and petted the little cat who purred happily and arched into her hand. Smiling, Buruma settled back down, giggling when Scratch padded up the blanket, still purring, and a little wet nose poked her ear. "Go on, get!" She gently pushed the kitten away. Scratch hopped down indignantly and trotted away.

Buruma settled back down only to hear, "Mew? . . . rrrroww? . . . Mew?"

"Oh, Kami, Scratch. Let me sleep." Buruma moaned.

"Meeeeew. Mew. Meeeeoooow."

Buruma groaned and sat up groggily, blackly wondering if the cat was lonely or hungry or wanted out or was just trying to drive her mad.

"Meow . . . Meeeeoooow. . . ."

"I'm coming. I'm coming."

"MeeRRREEOOW."

Buruma jerked to her feet, heart thudding. "SCRATCH!" She tripped over her blanket getting to the desk lamp to flip it on. Soft light exploded through the room but she didn't see the cat. "Scratch?" She hurriedly flipped the switch on the wall and circled the room frantically. "Scratch, where are you?"

She didn't see the little cat anywhere! Not a trace. For an instant she was at a complete loss, and then she scrambled back to the couch.

"Yamucha!" She shook his shoulder. "Yamucha wake up!"

"Hrmph?" the fighter mumbled but didn't stir.

"Yamucha. . . ." She trailed off, attention caught by something on the wall behind the television. It looked like a large angular crack shaped like a lightening bolt in the wall, streaking up from the floor. It was about an inch wide. When had that gotten there?

The crack moved.

It grew, started lancing up the wall. But she didn't hear the sound of cracking wall, just a strange low, stretching noise.

What the hell?

The crack pulsed red and began sprouting tiny little offshoots.

Buruma stared in horror.

There were more cracks creeping up the wall now, spurting up like vines or slender tree branches, but they weren't really cracks, she could see that now. They looked more like veins, pulsing red or black, the wall they touched slowly turning from sterile white to gray and then black. They were spreading up the wall, zigzagging around.

"Yamucha . . ." she stared at the wall. "YAMUCHA!"

He sighed softly in his sleep but didn't wake.

"I'm dreaming," she whispered, watching the blackened portions of the wall begin to puff and pulse like the thinnest tissue. The veins were now spreading across the ceiling and to the other walls. The room was growing darker. "I've fallen asleep. This is just one of my stupid nightmares."

The veins were coming across the floor. Her eyes followed them in sick fascination.

"It feels real . . . How can it be a dream when it feels so real?" She pinched herself and winced at the pain. "But it can't be real. There's no such thing as this. There's no such thing."

The veins engulfed the television and it blackened and melted with a low hiss.

"Stupid. This is stupid. IT'S JUST A STUPID NIGHTMARE!" She grabbed Yamucha's shoulder and shook him desperately. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" He continued sleeping peacefully.

She slapped his face. Once. Twice. "YAAAMUCHA!" She punched his arm, but he didn't even flinch. Her tear-filled eyes turned back to the veins. "It's just a dream. They can't hurt him. They can't hurt him."

She grabbed him under the arms and started to haul him off the couch with all of her might. He was heavy, at least eighty pounds heavier than her. He flopped to the floor hard, his face peaceful and slack with sleep.

"Damnit, Yamucha!" She whimpered and began dragging him as best she could. The veins had reached the couch, she could see how slick and wet they were, watched how the couch seemed to blacken and melt. It reminded her of mushroom hyphae, the numerous, thin little thready roots that mushrooms used to decompose things. Or like veins in a brain. Every square inch of the walls in the room was blackened and pulsing with veins, it was like being inside a cancerous lung. It didn't even look like a room anymore. Panting, she tried to pull Yamucha's dead weight faster.

Her naked foot came down on a black vein, and she shrieked in agony. It felt like a hundred hornet stings. She dropped Yamucha and landed on her butt, wrenching her foot up, horrified when the vein came up with it, attached to her foot. Sobbing and frantic she wrenched her foot free and then grabbed the tiny, sticky, cobwebby strings of hyphae that remained still embedded in her skin and yanked them out, sickened. They felt like pumpkin guts and were just as hard to pull free.

She scrambled upright, limping and bleeding, and screamed in horror when she saw veins halfway up Yamucha's legs. "NO! NOO! YAMUCHA!" He was still sleeping, oblivious, but his eyebrows wrinkled, and he flinched and moaned in pain. She grabbed his arms and tried to pull him but the veins were spreading fast, she could actually see them digging into his flesh, could see his flesh blackening. "NO!" She let go of him when the veins snaked up his chest and arms and backed away, hands in her hair. "IT'S JUST A DREAM! IT CAN'T BE REAL!"

The veins were closing in all around her. She grabbed her coat off one of the chairs that was still intact then threw both the chair and her coat down over the veins, and hopped onto them, using them as stepping places before they were quickly engulfed to get to the mercifully vein-free metal staircase leading upwards. She ran full speed up the stairs, blinded with tears and babbling hysterically. Her hand found the door handle automatically, but the door didn't budge, and she hit it at full speed, her shoulder cracked painfully into the reinforced steel.

She gasped in agony but didn't even pause to touch the throbbing hurt as she struggled with the handle. For one horrible instant, she thought she was trapped, and then the door simply swung open. She scrabbled into the strange dark basement, gasping for air as if suffocating and clutching at her shoulder. The door slammed shut behind her, and she locked it and sank to the floor, back to it, and cried loudly for Yamucha.

She didn't know how to stop this, what to do or where to go. If she could only wake up . . . but how could she wake up when part of her insisted that she was awake? How could she fight this?

"Mew?" the sound echoed off the walls of the dark, crowded room.

Her head snapped up. "Oh, Kami," she whispered, holding very still. Of course she wouldn't be given a reprieve. If this was like last night, it would only get worse from here.

"Meeew?"

Her eyes darted around to each silhouetted object she could see, straining until she was sure of what they were or simply that they wouldn't move, while her brain laughed darkly at her because it didn't matter if it looked safe now, there were no rules here.

"Rrroow . . ." The small form of Scratch staggered into view some distance ahead of her, literally staggered. The little cat put one shaky paw in front of the other and then teetered drunkenly to the side, as if she had no center of balance.

Buruma didn't dare breathe. Just a little kitty. Cute little kitty. . . .

The cat opened pale, milky glowing eyes. "Rrroow . . . Rrroooaaauuk." The meow choked off into a deep strangled sound. Buruma could see the little mouth opening wide, the strangling sound came again, harsher. Scratch lurched towards her, harsh coughing, choking sounds coming louder and stronger.

Don't move. Keep still. No sudden movements. . . .

Buruma slowly pushed to her feet, eyes locked on the small animal. Pale, sightless cat-eyes snapped to her, and she went still, a small whimper on her lips. The cat reeled forward, hacking. There was a wet splattering sound as several thick, black droplets spewed onto the ground from the animal's mouth.

The coughing got deeper, louder, longer, and then something huge and solid burst from the cat's small mouth in a sickeningly impossible manner, something too big to be there burst out in a gush of dark liquid and the sharp crunch of cracking bone. It screeched.

Buruma screamed, hands slamming over her ears against the horrible sound.

It was a muzzle. A giant muzzle from a giant animal too large to be inside Scratch, but an animal that was bursting out anyway, clawing its way out of Scratch's mouth. There was a shriek, and more of it ruptured out. The head appeared, and shook, spraying wet goop everywhere. The stench of death and shit hit her nose, and she gagged, hand fluttering to cover her mouth still unable to look away. Slitted red eyes flickered open, blinked, found her and the thing shrieked.

Buruma bolted, dodging blindly around the equipment, barking her shin against something heavy on the ground, listening to the shrieking and roaring, the wet, squelching splitting sound and knowing whatever it was would soon work its way free and come after her. She rounded a stack of boxes and ran as fast as she could past the creature toward the door. Its shoulder and one giant paw were free. It tried to round on her, howling in rage.

It was some kind of dog or . . . that was the closest her mind could come to describing it. Some kind of big, black, too tall, and too lanky dog with a too long, bony head.

She barely reached the door when she heard the room behind her explode into chaos as things crashed to the floor and knew that the creature was free and barreling towards her. She wrenched the door closed and ran straight through two more rooms towards the elevators, not stopping when, in one room, she caught the barest glimpse of a pale person who turned to face her as she ran out of the room, not flinching when she ran through a hallway of mirrors and a golden-eyed Yamucha was in every one, smiling darkly.

She reached the elevator and slammed on the button, whimpering continuously as she heard the muffled sound of a door cracking and splintering from another room, the sound of something forcing its way in. The elevator doors slid open, and she took one look and lurched backwards. There was no elevator box, just a long, charred and blackened cavern. It was a distorted version of the passageway into the Shrine. There was no elevator.

"Buruma . . ." whispered an eerie voice from deep within the cavern. "Buruma, is that you?"

The dog-thing following her howled. She whirled and ran for the stairs.

One of the doors to the stairs was broken and torn off the hinges. She didn't pause to wonder about it. She just kept going. The stairs were now filthy, broken, rusted chain-link versions of their old selves. They swayed and creaked as she pounded up them. She tripped twice, then kept her eyes forward after she got one glimpse of the fact that there was absolutely nothing beneath her, just darkness going straight down forever.

The door below her was ripped off of its hinges with a squeal, and the thing that had come out of Scratch tore into the stairwell, screaming in fury. It moved wrong, with an odd, stomach-turning gait that required too many joints in its legs. Its head kept snapping for her feet, stretched out on its too-long neck. The stairs lurched when the thing started climbing them, and she struggled for balance, fairly leaping for the door.

She burst up into the ground level and yelled when she saw that the veins were already there, creeping up the walls, spreading faster than ever. The whole house was in chaos. Every window was shattered, and it was storming outside so hard that it made the house shake, wind and rain and sleet pounding down. The interior of the house brightened with flashes of lightening. She ran.

The doors behind her burst open, but she didn't turn to look, just found another door and slammed inside.

It was the parlor, and it was full of girlish giggles. #18's broken body was pulling itself along the floor, trailing dark red liquid and her metal spinal cord, head still facing the wrong direction. Chi Chi's body was up tottering around upright, her face slack and eyes blank, the top of her head gone. Black fluid dribbling from her lips.

"Buruma, we were just talking about you," Chi Chi's voice said from the air. "Where have you been? Why did you leave me here? How could you let it kill me?"

With tears burning her eyes, she dove straight for the other side of the room, not stopping and choking back screams as the two ravaged bodies of her friends started after her.

"Buruma, come back!" #18 called. "We know you're crazy. We know your brain is rotting. Just like the veins. They're inside your head, Buruma. The veins are rotting your brain."

She threw herself out the door and had gotten three running steps away when she heard the door to the parlor explode open, and the girls started screaming, screaming and shrieking in pain and fear, and she then heard the sound of tearing flesh. She sobbed in great gasping cries and nearly turned around and went back in, nearly tried to help them, but then the screams went silent, and she started running again.

She made it to the main staircase, out of breath and completely out of her mind with terror, and wondered if she'd make it to the top without collapsing. Her legs grew shakier and weaker with every step, and she ended up half crawling up to the top of the landing. It was then that she realized something was really wrong with her because her legs remained mostly numb after that. She had to drag herself across the floor.

She found a splotch of light and paused, trying to examine her legs, squinting when she saw some kind of shadow. She touched and felt pinpricks of pain, revolted when touching her skin of her legs was like touching a soggy mushroom. Then she realized what it was. Hyphae. A tiny network of red veins covering both her legs like pantyhose. Eating her.

She dragged herself down the hallway to her room, blubbering and begging for it to end. She didn't pause to consider what she was doing. She didn't care what happened as long as it stopped. The door to her room swung open at her fingertips and she dragged herself inside, breath coming even harder when she saw her room had been torn apart and the whole place smelled like shit.

Kuririn-The-Pig was rooting around near her bed. She heard him grunting to himself.

Panicking, she wrenched herself towards the French doors, trying to keep low and quiet. She reached them without being spotted but then froze in absolute baffled horror.

There was nothing out there. The balcony was empty.

"No," she whispered, touching the windows. "No . . . Please . . . Please. PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!" She pounded on the windows, screaming it, not caring when the Kuririn-pig shrieked in outrage. She curled up against the door and sobbed, shutting her eyes tight as she heard the pig's hooves pounding towards her. "Please make it stop! Make it stop! I'll do anything! I'll do anything you want!"

Call to me, sweet one. The words whispered with tender viciousness in her mind. The pig's squeal faded away but she didn't notice.

"And you'll make it stop?" she choked out on a small whimper.

I will end it all. Smug and hungry and threatening and she knew what he would do to her. Kami, the things he wanted to do to her.

She shook her head, eyes scrunched tight, mouth trembling. Something inside her was still screaming for her not to do this but it was a small and faraway voice and she was terrified and heartsick. "I just want it to stop. I just want . . . Please. It doesn't matter does it? It's just a dream?"

It is only a dream . . . came the soothing reply. (Liar. Liar. Liar.)

"Then it doesn't matter if I let you in. It's just a dream so it doesn't matter." She whispered weakly, no longer caring, her adrenaline crashing and leaving her weak and light-headed.

That's right. . . .

She struggled up on her knees, cold fingers searching for the handles, feebly unlatching them and pushing them open. Freezing wind and rain lashed over her, soaking her instantly. She hugged herself and opened her eyes.

The Shrine demon stood stock-still before her, waiting, fine tension humming through his stance.

Do it. The creature demanded softly. Call me inside, my hime You were mine before you took your first breath in this world. Do not prolong what must be.

"I don't care what happens. I don't care. Just make it stop," she whispered thickly. The world was spinning. She was so dizzy.

Say it! Now!

She could barely keep her eyes open. "Come . . . Come inside . . . Come to me. . . ." She was already falling. "Come now . . . Vegita."

And for an instant she thought she felt the fabric of the universe tear open and all the air and heat in the world was sucked into the vacuum, leaving nothing behind but an ominous hush.

One instant of infinite stillness, infinite silence.

She watched his lips peel back from pointed fangs in sadistic glee, watched his tongue push across his lower lip. He took that step, one slow step forward until he was in the house, standing over her.

"Gaarata minok vesh urerlo . . ." the beast hissed in a low, rough voice. The first words she'd heard him speak aloud.

Ask, and it shall be given you.

Her heart squeezed in fright a half second before the world exploded into movement. She barely had time to give a tiny, strangled scream before he lunged down, and she was ripped from her room and into the black endless sky.

Time skipped out on her, or maybe she passed out a little from vertigo and pressure and the sheer force at which he took them into the air. She came to, hanging in his arms hundreds of feet above the earth, bathed in the light of the waxing gibbous moon, still several days from full. Her back was to the demon's hard chest, his tail wrapped around her thigh, one powerful arm closed around her middle, the other hand buried in her hair, holding her head still while he licked at the pulse point on her throat, scraping nastily long incisors against the fragile skin there, biting, but very gently.

Her body trembled, the little nips sending odd shivers down her spine but her eyes remained staring straight ahead, transfixed by the moon and how beautiful and huge and cold it was. It silver rays nothing at all like the brilliant heat of the sun. She let the moonlight seep into her pores, and her mind struggled to remember . . . something. The demon chuckled, low and feral, and she felt more than heard it, vibrating through his chest and knew his eyes, too, were locked with relish on the celestial orb, even knew that he was drawing power from it.

His lips brushed against her ear, "Okaeri . . . hime."

She felt the gentle graze of his mouth against the skin of her throat, a chaste kiss—and then piercing fire. She arched back and shrieked as twin daggers lanced through her neck, her entire body jerking with the shock of it. He bit deep, fangs sinking into her flesh. Her hands clawed at the arm around her middle, white fingers digging into the skin. Her other arm clenched in his hair, trying to pull him away.

Shhh. It will be better in a moment. I promise.

She wailed in exquisite pain, spasming. Then her eyes rolled back, her scream faltering, and her body jerked for a different reason. The horrible electric agony became a thunderstorm rush of heat that burst through her veins in an overwhelming surge of sweet pleasure. In that moment, she lost herself completely. She couldn't think, could only feel, could only react in the most animal way as the pain melted into unbearable rapture. She bucked and strained in his grip, knees tucking up nearly to her chest.

She would have doubled over if she could have, her mouth falling open in a deep-throated cry of ecstasy. She came almost instantly, her body seizing up rigidly and then shaking apart.

She collapsed against him weakly in the aftermath, still moaning softly, because every part of her body felt so good and languid and weightless. Dazed, she struggled to catch her breath. She squirmed gently, crooning even as her attention was once again drawn to the moon. The notes of a song she'd once heard, a song that had something to do with the moon, floated through her half-unconscious mind. She wriggled deliciously, arched her neck, enjoying the feel of his mouth still locked on her throat, drinking her blood, his chest vibrating with low, sensuous growls.

He started to move his head and her hand gripped his hair automatically, a small protesting noise leaving her throat. She felt him smirk against her neck. His jaws opened, and he bit again, reopening or deepening the wound and pleasure stabbed through her so sharp that her pupils dilated and the moon got smaller and smaller and. . . .

She blinked and found herself lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. What she thought was the moon was a pinprick of light above her. She almost believed she had woken, could think now that the moonlight was gone and not filling her head with silvery fog. She stirred weakly, feeling so warm and lazy, as if her whole body was weighted down. She started to sit up, but froze with a frightened whimper as the demon growled a warning. She quickly ducked back down, huddling in her blankets.

He lay next to her, propped up on his side, looking down at her darkly. Her face flushed, and she tried to turn her head away, but he deftly caught her chin, leaning down, tongue flicking over her mouth.

Her lips parted almost against her will, and his mouth smothered hers. She moaned against his lips in fear and desire, shocked at how eager her body was responding to him. She could even taste her own blood in his mouth and, horrifyingly, it didn't bother her. Her hands rose weakly to push at him, a small sob swallowed in his kiss.

She tried to protest, tried to shake her head but her body ached with want.

"Onegai . . ." she pleaded between his kisses, knowing he was going to take her, "Onegai. . ."

I have no mercy for you, my little hime. None at all. His voice shivered down her spine, and she gave a low whimper.

"Iie . . ." Tears slipping down her cheeks. He seemed completely unmoved.

His hands smoothed hungrily over her, golden eyes darkening to a red-gold with lust, as he dipped his head and began to lick the fang wounds on her throat. It was like a rage of fire, a fever. She instantly threw her head back with a needy cry, her pushing hands trembled and wrapped around his neck. She froze when she realized what she'd done, appalled not only at her act of blatant submission, but because she desperately wanted more.

No mercy, precious.

He sucked on her neck and her teeth clenched, little desperate whines coming from her throat as she was blinded and torn with pleasure and a tiny slice of pain.

The memories he'd given her had not prepared her for this, had, in no way, prepared her for the reality of feeling his body, hot and heavy on top of her, dominating her. She clutched at him, crying out, shutting her eyes against the golden orbs watching her with heat and deadly promise.

She let her head fall back, met his mouth with hers when he came up for a kiss. She shuddered as he began to whisper and growl against her skin, words she couldn't understand and which he offered no mental translation to, but which made her belly clench tight.

The demon snarled and took her mouth again.

She wasn't sure how long it lasted or how many times he took her. She didn't fight him again. But it didn't matter. It was just a dream.

It was only a dream . . .

oooo

#18 sat in the sunny breakfast alcove of Capsule Corporation's main house watching in growing irritation as the kitchen-bots puttered around. She was dressed for work in jeans, a white shirt, and a blue vest, and considered it a perk that bodyguards didn't need uniforms. She had already eaten breakfast, had also been over the morning reports, been down to the front gates to boss her brother around, and she supposed she could find something more to do, had even started to on another task, but oddly, couldn't concentrate. Her mind kept returning to Buruma.

She crossed her legs and, though she usually thought of herself as a machine and therefore not prone to strong emotions or even things like boredom (Gero had stripped her of her emotions, of every last ounce of pride, dignity, and humanity), she tapped her foot impatiently in a very human manner. Another ten minutes passed and she checked once more on Buruma's ki.

It was ten a.m. and Buruma was still up in her room, her ki humming soft blankness, and #18 decided that she must still be asleep. #18's eyes flicked to the clock again. It was unlike Buruma to sleep past eight-thirty or nine. Past ten was nearly unheard of on workdays.

She rose and headed for the main stairs. Buruma had been under a lot of pressure lately and probably simply needed her sleep. She'd been acting strange for days. #18 might have chalked that up to Shitagi's illness, but Buruma had been acting oddly even before that.

Her behavior had started the night of the gala.

#18's mouth tightened slightly. She'd searched the ballroom after the disastrous evening ended, searched through the tapes of the guests, but found nothing wrong or out of the ordinary until she'd gone back to the Shrine that night and found the scalpel covered in the Buruma's blood. She knew Buruma had cut her own hand open but she couldn't figure out why.

And the odd behavior continued. Yamucha had mentioned this morning that Buruma had fallen asleep at her desk yesterday and had woken up hysterical and, last night Buruma had gotten up while he slept, left the basement, and had locked him inside.

She was also still having nightmares.

#18 was still disturbed by the memory of Buruma waking up in the living room howling and clawing like the damned, shrieking and almost convulsing. It had been appalling to witness such terror. If the nightmares continued to be that bad, what would happen to Buruma? Certainly there would be mental repercussions.

And something else occurred to her: that a nightmare that bad could easily have given an old man a heart attack.

She instantly discarded the idea. Briefs-san had not had a heart attack in his sleep. He'd been wide-awake. She couldn't imagine he'd gone back to sleep after being upset by Donovan's phone call.

And why had he been upset by the phone call in the first place?

Unless he was put to sleep. That didn't make sense either. If someone could put him to sleep from a distance, why not do more than that. Simply kill him from a distance, stop his heart from a distance? . . . Perhaps that was it, and Buruma was getting a different treatment because no one would believe that a healthy girl her age would have a heart attack.

#17 seemed just as disturbed by the goings-on, but he had jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that whatever was happening to Buruma had something to do with the Shrine. She assumed this was due to Briefs' reaction to Donovan's call but still, they had no idea what that had really been about. It was ludicrous to assume that it had something to do with the ruins themselves, and she had told him so.

#18 knocked lightly on Buruma's door. When no one answered she quietly peeked inside. To her surprise, Buruma was awake and sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair. The girl was dressed in her nightclothes but had tied a bright red silk scarf around her neck. #18 hesitated, noting the strangely dazed look in the girl's eyes and the slow, languorous way she ran the brush through her hair.

"Buruma?" She hadn't meant for it to come out a question and was surprised at herself for sounding so uncertain.

"Hmmm?" Even her answer sounded slow, almost drugged. She didn't look up, continued staring lazily into the vanity mirror. The cracked and broken mirror #18 saw, growing uneasier by the moment.

"Breakfast is ready. . . ." Again she was surprised at herself for avoiding the obvious issue.

"I'll be down in a moment then." The girl murmured, still watching her reflection.

"Yamucha already left for work. He says you locked him in the basement on accident."

No answer.

#18 hesitated. It was an accident, wasn't it? "Buruma, are you still having nightmares?"

The girl stopped in mid-brush and turned strangely vacant eyes on her that quickly focused, pupils going to pinpoints like a hawk spotting a rat. Her gaze narrowed, calculating, "No. I slept like a baby."

#18 cocked her head, unsure what to say to that, troubled by the vibes coming off the girl. "You should hurry and get to work if you're going to see Piccolo this afternoon."

"Okay . . ." Buruma watched her with almost predatory concentration, and #18 felt her hackles rise. She backed from the room, and Buruma blinked, face going almost slack as her eyes became hazy and unfocused again. She turned back to the mirror to brush her hair, humming softly.

As #18 shut the door the humming became a softly lilting song.

"Anai, Anai, Bejita-sei Anai. . . ."

-finis-

See profile for full unedited version. The title is a Red Hot Chili Peppers' song I think. The very first line is a shout out to the song "No Rain" from the Silent Hill 4 soundtrack.

"Okaeri . . . hime." Vejita said "Welcome home, princess." This line is a shout out to Chp 41 of Deviant Nature's "By Any Other Name" The original line in Deviant's fic was "Okaeri . . . Hiei."

Onegai- Please

Iie- No

Ningen- human