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vegeta999
Author of 12 Stories |
Chapter 3
Ran lay sprawled across his bed, the same fatigue that had been dogging him for the last few days as present as ever, but this time he didn’t really notice it. In fact, for the first time it seemed, he was able to simply put it out of his mind. He didn’t even care that Ken had made an absolute mess that afternoon, which he’d have to clean up in the morning. Almost totally unmoving, only the slender fingers of one hand absent-mindedly playing with the corner of one his sheets, he stared off into the depths of space. As much of the depths of space that rose above the skyline and filtered lazily though his window, anyway.
The redhead hesitated to actually think it, as if giving the feeling in his chest recognition would destroy the moment. But the fact was, for the first time in a long time, he was happy. Not the kind of fake bliss he threw on occasionally for Aya’s sake, or the fleeting kind that accompanied a success for Weiss that left him feeling cold hours later. No, this time it was a genuine kind of warmth that curled up in the pit of his stomach like a small kitten. It stretched, pawed and let its tiny heartbeat echo through his veins as it slept there, contented.
That was the kind of fragile thing that this feeling was.
It had been forever since he’d felt this kind almost-calmness. The last time had probably been in those first moments when he’d finally seen Aya awake and healthy, despite all that her body had been put through. That was partly the reason why he was sprawled rather lazily across his bed, watching the stars outside his window at a time when he normally would’ve already been sound asleep. If only in these few silent moments Ran could think about something other than what he’d become.
He’d cooked a French-style duck dinner for Aya, Sakura and Omi, (because Ken and Yohji hadn’t been home to devour the poor bird) and because he’d remembered how Aya used to love the French restaurants their parents had taken them to years ago. Actually, they had gone out quite a bit back then, just spending a night together to commemorate some accomplishment or another. Of course, those restaurants were too expensive now, even taking his Kritiker pay into account. At that thought a wave of guilt had swept though him, and in the process given him the idea to do what he could. His culinary skills had grown over the years so that the concept wasn’t too radical, and the thought of putting a smile on Aya’s face always negated the work that he’d have to do to get there. That was how it had been decided.
Aside from that, Ran had always found the whole process of cooking strangely cathartic on its own, but it had been even more so after he’d seen her face light when he’d casually put forth the idea.
Sakura and Aya had led the conversation just like they usually did, but this time he hadn’t been able to avoid being drawn into their discussion. At one point it had even been easy for him to talk so openly with the four of them siting around the small wooden table. It had been the kind of night that he and Aya used to have; the kind that he’d missed the most. If only for those couple hours, Ran had felt some of the weight he’d been carrying slip off of his shoulders. As it was now, he was drawn into remembering the haunting moments of his previous life that had been so filled with this kind of carefree night. Because he knew, by morning, everything would be back to normal again and the warm feeling in his chest doused by the night’s cold fingers as this day passed into the next.
This was the last safe place before they reached the target. The small space between two blacked-out storage buildings was where Omi had set up his electronic equipment, and it was where they would rendezvous after everything had been completed inside.
“Ready Omi?” Ken asked, whispering into the comm.-link that was sitting comfortably inside his ear.
“Yup,” the teen replied through the transmitter, the iridescent glimmer of his laptop catching on the edges of his features, revealing a nose, part of a cheek, the corner of a pair of lips.
“You sure you’ll be fine here?” Yohji asked Omi in turn, knowing that the alley was a bit more exposed than they would’ve liked, but that it was also the only place close enough for the young hacker to be able to access the security grid of the lab wirelessly.
“I’ll be just fine,” he reassured Yohji, tucking his small frame in behind a vending machine so that there was almost no indication that he was there at all. “But codenames only from now on,” he added a bit strictly, like a lecturing older brother.
“Right,” Ken apologized for his earlier slip, his slight blush at being reminded by someone younger than him invisible in the, almost absolute, darkness.
“Abyssinian, Balinese move to the north entrance now. Siberian move to the west entrance in five seconds,” Omi whispered into the comm.-link in the tone of his voice reserved only for missions. At the same time he began typing furiously on the laptop that was resting on his crooked knees as the other three assassins crept away from his position slowly.
Noiselessly, which was a feat in itself on gravel-covered asphalt, Ran and Yohji sprinted the short distance to the North entrance. They waited there for the guard there to move off as per his patrol schedule, which they had managed to obtain access to.
“Four…” Omi began counting down.
“Three…” The security camera covering the entrance panned away from the two assassins and they silently closed the last bit of distance between them and the lab.
“Two…” The camera began to pan back towards where Ran and Yohji stood in front of the keyed entry panel.
“Go!” Omi whispered as the heavy metal doors slid open. Both men made it through just before the temporary over-ride Omi had made was cleared. The door was then securely shut by the time the camera’s lens glided over it, the guard far enough away on his patrol not to have heard anything. Ran and Yohji each leaned back against a different wall in order to pause and make sure everything was going as planned before they proceeded further.
“Well done. Emergency contact only. Bombay out,” the final buzz of their teammate’s voice sounded through the comm.-link before it went dead. Now they had to trust solely in their own timing and in Omi’s computer skills.
Both assassins stood in the half-darkness of the entryway; the fluorescent ceiling lights mostly turned off to save power. Yohji moved first, taking the branch of the hall that led off to the right when he’d made sure that the cameras had moved away from. Ran, in turn, watched him disappear down the corridor rather passively, pupils dilated in the poor light. So far so good. Operations were proceeding according to Omi’s calculations thus far and that fact managed to keep his adrenaline levels low. When you were uptight you made stupid mistakes. Keeping calm was the key.
By now Ken should’ve made it inside the complex as well. With Omi manipulating the security grid, all they had to do was avoid the night-guard. The four of them had practiced this routine of timings endlessly over the past couple days. Thanks to what Yohji had ‘observed’ on his date, Omi had been able to access the digital security footage database from the past few weeks, allowing him to develop a intricate dance of sprints and pauses that allowed them to avoid as much possible interference as they could. If he had to, he could probably walk through the corridors blindfolded and not get caught.
Ran flattened himself against the wall, making his silhouette as small as possible as one of said guards walked right past him. A few seconds wait for the next camera to pan away and he began to slink through the hallways as well. The redhead was practically silent as he glided across the linoleum floors, the soles of his boots making only the faintest of taps as they came in contact with the hard surface. Even as he sprinted along in the darkness, his eyes swept left and right looking for anything out of place, listened for any sound that would betray the position of someone hidden in the shadows.
Nothing. The only sounds that he managed to hear were those of his own breathing and the faint swish of his trench coat as it brushed against his legs, both of which would be practically undetectable to anyone aside from himself.
Coming to the junction of two hallways Ran paused, sidling up against the nearest wall once more. A wait of forty-five seconds for the camera and then a turn to the right. The door he wanted was the third down that hallway on the left side, covered by an immobile camera. In another minute both Yohji and Ken should have arrived at their perspective target areas and then Omi would disable the cameras for a total of ten minutes so that they would be able to enter, complete the mission, and exit without being caught on tape. Any longer than that and the internal alarm system would detect the override and the lab would become a zoo of guards and police.
Crouching down low, the cold cement of the wall leaching the heat from his cheek, he checked his watch. …Just a few more seconds and the red light outside the metal security door would start to flash green: unlocked. The unlocking of the doors was the signal that the cameras throughout the building had been disabled. That was when Weiss would make thier move.
In the darkness the small fluorescent dot on the second-hand of Ran’s watch seemed to move with ominous slowness, as if time itself were waiting for something to happen.
Red…
Red…
Green.
Ran closed the distance in a heartbeat, pushing the release on the door and rushing inside just as planned. Checking the room, he found himself in he found nothing but an empty conference room covered in darkness and the blue glow from a large monitor that lined one wall. So his room hadn’t been the one…that meant either Ken or Yohji had the one that contained the targets. Just to be sure, he checked the darkened corners of the room to make sure there wasn’t anyone hiding in some nook. Quietly he slid chairs out, one hand on his katana throughout the whole process. Every corner and hiding place was checked. The hum of the monitor was the only other sound in the room.
Not a soul to be found.
Ran made to turn and head back out of the lab the way he had come, hand dropping from where it had rested on the hilt of his katana. Just then something small but immensely powerful struck him on the back of the neck. It was like all his energy was being sucked out of him as he struggled to turn and face the opponent that he was sure hadn’t been in the room a few seconds ago. However, the last thing he saw was the blue glow of the large monitor before everything dissolved into inky blackness.
Subsequently, the relief that flooded in after a successful mission was the best natural high that Omi could think of. And just that sort of relief began to flood in the moment that he saw Yohji running towards the alley, followed closely behind by Ken.
“Mission a complete success!” Ken yelled through the comm.-link as he ran. “They were all together with only four guards. Easy as scoring on an empty net!”
“Roger that Siberian. Excellent,” Omi had to try not to let his excitement leak into his voice. Someone had to at least pretend to be professional about the mission. Still, a smile began to cross his face as he began packing up his computer gear so that they could be out of the area as soon as possible.
“I’m going to pick up Megumi,” Yohji spoke in turn, referring to the code they’d given the Super 7.
“Roger that Balinese,” Omi confirmed. Originally they’d been happy simply referring to the British racecar as the ‘seven,’ but with how rare and extremely conspicuous the car was, they’d realized that they couldn’t keep leaving such a blatant clue for anyone to overhear. And a girl’s name seemed fitting enough, considering it was Yohji’s car after all.
“Where’s Abyssinian?” Ken asked as he did a perimeter check to make sure that no one had witnessed their hasty exit. “Did he already make it out?”
“I don’t know. His comm.-link’s still dead, but he was the one assigned to the room deepest inside the building since he was the stealthiest of the three of us. He should be on his way out now,” Omi rationalized. That awful feeling was rising inside him again. But before he could reply the air was filled with the familiar hum of the Super 7’s engine, Yohji parking across the street from the opposite end of the alley.
“Go with Balinese,” Ken suggested, looking straight into Omi’s eyes, having finished his check of the area. “I can’t carry your gear safely on my bike and he can’t leave that,” he gestured with a thumb towards the Super 7, “here for very long before someone notices. I’ll wait for Abyssinian. I’m sure he’s fine.” Ken knew very well that Omi was worrying, and the best way to work around that was to appeal to his rationality. It was true, they all couldn’t stand around in this alley; it was the equivalent of suicide for a group of assassins.
“You…You’re probably right…” Omi agreed softly, looking back towards the lab and then ahead to where Yohji was beginning to look increasingly impatient. Ken was right, everything would be fine, he reassured himself. After all, they’d been up against Estett and come out alive… The teen scooped up his computer equipment in one resolute motion. “Please be careful though,” he couldn’t help but add before taking off towards the Super 7.
“Don’t worry,” the soccer-player forced a smile as he watched Omi and Yohji drive away, glad that he’d kept the teen from worrying for the time being. But Ran was still late, and even he couldn’t help worrying about what could potentially have happened inside.
Once Omi and Yohji were safely out of the area he crouched down into the nook where the computer equipment had been set up, watching for any sign of their unofficial team leader. At times like this, seconds often meant the difference between life and death. That was what made waiting the hardest part of any mission. Every few minutes that passed had him looking down at his watch.
“C’mon Ran… What’s going on in there?” Ken whispered to no one but himself, the comm.-links rendered useless by distance.
Still no sign of his teammate. Looking down again at his watch one time too many, Ken knew that there would only be a few more minutes until the scheduled change of guards and the switching on of the main power, meaning all the inside lights. Soon after that the first shift of the morning would be arriving. If Ran was still inside when that happened then there would really be a problem.
Ken held his breath as he watched the sky lighten and the seconds tick by on his watch. He tried to suppress the knot in his stomach. A knot that was too painfully similar to the one that had been inside him the night he’d had to look Kase in the eyes and…
Ken gritted his teeth hard enough to give himself a headache. He wasn’t going to think about something like that now! They weren’t going to lose Ran. The redhead would walk out any second. He started to repeat those thoughts until they became a mantra to ward off the loss of another person he couldn’t bare to lose.
“It’s not that,” Omi said, despair hinting in his voice. No one made eye contact with the Kritiker secretary. Of course Manx wouldn’t notice his absence right away, Omi knew. Today was Ran’s normal day off so he wouldn’t be at the shop… Omi swallowed hard. He had to tell her, to put into words what none of them had been willing to acknowledge for the last couple of days since the mission. Yet, the lump in his throat felt like it would choke him if he tried to speak those words.
Manx started tapping the toe of her red high-heel on the floor as she waited for someone to tell her what was so urgent that Omi had used priority coding in his email to her. If this was one of Yohji’s jokes it was in really bad taste. Though, she had to admit that she doubted their acting could be this good. If Ran were here he’d just spit it out, whatever the problem was. It made her wish that it wasn’t his day off so that she could deal with this ‘emergency’ and then get back to her other work. Being a Kritiker agent was not a lightweight occupation, despite its non-lethal designation. There were probably folders piling up on her desk right now as she waited.
She flipped a stray curl of red hair over her shoulder; her patience beginning to wear thin as silence pervaded the room. “Well Omi?” she prompted once more, trying to break a hole in the conversational deadlock.
“Manx…” Omi began to balling the tail of his shirt in his fists, searching for the right words.
“Ran’s missing,” Ken finally blurted out, saving the teen from biting a hole straight though his bottom lip.
Her eyes widened perceptively as Manx digested that initial bit of information.
“What do you mean by ‘missing’?”
“The mission went perfectly according to plan. At least, it did for the three of us, but he never came out!” Ken gritted his teeth in a cross between frustration and anger.
“We’ve tried everything Manx,” Omi managed to wrench the words out of his throat. “But where I had been able to enter their security grid before there’s not a single exploitable entry point. Their security grid is like nothing I’ve ever seen now. Even my stronger viruses are useless.”
“I waited for him until dawn practically gave me away,” Ken stated, “He never came out.”
“We don’t know what happened in there, but we haven’t seen or heard from him since he entered the building that night,” this time Yohji spoke up, looking more tired than normal.
“We waited three days…hoping…” Omi broke off, obviously the most emotionally effected member of the team at the moment.
“We know Kritiker doesn’t take responsibility for anything that happens during our missions but we need help Manx,” Yohji appealed from across the room where he leaned, bonelessly, against the wall.
Manx closed her eyes, finally convinced that this wasn’t a joke. True, Kritiker didn’t involve itself in failed missions but Weiss, and Ran, were special cases. She’d watched as Ran had abandoned Weiss when it had ‘come into conflict’ with his goals and she’d watched as Weiss had fallen apart as a result. The fact was, without Ran, Weiss was just about as good as the average Kritiker assassins, but that wouldn’t cut it when it came to the missions that were assigned to the group. And it wasn’t just that either, Estett and Schwarz had posed a global problem that few of their teams and only a handful of operatives had been able to counter. There was no doubt that such kinds of power would surface again. When it did, Weiss would be a key player in the subsequent battle against them.
She couldn’t deny that even though procedure said she was to declare Ran missing in the Kritiker database for a month and change that to dead after the time had elapsed, replacing him with someone from one of the other groups that was not the kind of action she knew needed to be taken. Weiss needed to be at full strength as soon as possible and tossing in a new member in wouldn’t fill that gap.
Botan had known that all along.
After a moment of contemplation, Manx opened her eyes finally, drawing together her own composure and addressing all of what remained of Weiss.
“Kritiker will do all that it can. You know how contact me if anything new comes up,” she turned to head back up the stairs, casting one last look down at the three men before she left. “We will find him.”
I don’t know what I should say. How do you describe it? I’m feeling so many things at once that I don’t know where to start. I suppose that the beginning is always a good place, or at least that’s what coherent people say. I’m not quite sure that I’m terribly coherent at the moment.
If I had to choose a day to begin, it would be last Thursday. Sakura and I worked so hard to get Ran to smile and our efforts actually paid off, which is almost surreal in itself. He really seemed to let go that night and be the Ran I used to know. I was relieved to see that he was still in there; that no matter how harshly he came across, the sweet side of him is still there.
To hear him laugh again…that really made the night special. I think Omi noticed it too; he seemed so surprised when Ran finally started opening up after dinner. Ran’s always been the quiet one in conversations but that night it was that kind of peaceful, calming quiet that I’ve known for so long and not the cold, standoffish stiffness of late. I think for those few hours the three of us managed to make him forget the past. The positive aura from that night seemed to linger through the weekend as well, until about Monday, I think. I’d actually started to hope that he was moving past the deaths of our parents and getting back to his old self.
Yet, by Monday’s end the wall that separated him from the rest of us had settled in again. When we worked the afternoon shift together he seemed so far away even though we were standing right next to each other. I even asked him if anything was wrong but he denied that there was a problem. Doesn’t he know that I can tell when something’s bothering him? It’s so frustrating sometimes!
Then, he practically brushed me off when Omi got back from his tutoring (which he really doesn’t need anyway)! I know that I haven’t been working here long, and that Omi does handle the stores taxes with Ran, but its not some secret operation that they have to conduct behind my back for goodness sake.
I shouldn’t be getting mad over something like this though. Not now anyway.
The fact of the matter is that something has happened. I don’t know what, but I know that it’s not good, whatever it is. You see, Ran hasn’t come back to the shop since he went out on Thursday night. Let me clarify for the record so that I don’t sound like I’m paranoid, that was three days ago.
Not a call or a message or anything! I just don’t know what to do. He’d never disappear like this without telling me, or anyone else at the shop. I can’t help but think that something terrible happened to him. What if he was mugged or kidnapped or something? Ran’s not stupid enough to challenge someone with a gun…
I admire the fact that Yohji and Ken are trying to keep me from over-reacting like this but I know my brother and he’d never leave without saying good bye first. Yohji tires to joke that he’s run off with some girl that I wouldn’t approve of and Ken says that maybe he’s just lost track of time. But those stories just don’t fit Ran. I was the one who always used to joke that he needed a girlfriend before he got old and boring and he in turn used to tell me that writers were free spirits and didn’t need girlfriends. Finally, when he got tired of me bugging him, he promised that I’d be the first to meet anyone he was dating. Ran wouldn’t break that kind of promise. He’s not an irresponsible teenager. Certainly he doesn’t lose track of time either.
What do I do? I don’t know where to look for him anymore. No one seems to know where he went that night and no one’s seen him since. It’s like he just vanished.
Even the police won’t let me report him missing since he’s an adult and there’s no reason to suspect any sort of foul play. As far as they’re concerned he’s on an unplanned vacation.
I don’t want to cry. I feel like if I do it’ll be final and he won’t come back, but worrying like this hurts so much.
Please, please let him be alright.
Closing his eyes, since they were useless in the darkness anyway, Ran tried to calm himself down in the face of the waves of pain and sickness that washed over him. Slowing hurried breathing and trying to brace himself against the side-effects of whatever drug he’d been given he gave into listening to the room around him. There were no wayward sounds. Not a single discernable sound or even a breath in the darkness. There was no way to tell where he was now, or whom he was up against. All he really had left, Ran reflected, was his capability to curse his own stupidity.
Where had he gone wrong?
The door had slid open fluidly; the light from the large monitor had illuminated almost the entire room as he’d checked every inch of it. He hadn’t seen anyone in the room and he was sure that no one had followed him down the hall. Yet, he’d felt the unmistakable tingling sensation of someone hitting one of the pressure-points on the back of his neck, leaving him only a few seconds of consciousness before he’d blacked out. It took an expert to deliver a blow like that to the proper area without killing the person in the process, and someone even more skilled to be able to get close enough to him undetected in order to pull it off in the first place.
What’s more, from the emptiness in his ears he knew that his comm.-link was gone. That was to be expected he thought, leaning back against the wall he’d managed to prop himself up against. If he was still alive though, the rest of his team would likely be as well. They were too strong to die in a place like this. That thought almost made him smile. In fact, the probability of any of them being caught like this was rather low.
He wouldn’t worry.
He rubbed gloved hands along the length of his bare arms. The level of skill his captors possessed though was still painfully obvious. He’d been stripped of his coat, katana and wristwatch but had been left with everything else from his gloves right down to his leather boots. Whoever was behind this was obviously confident enough in their skill to leave an assassin alone with the belt around his waist, which would be a death-sentence for most of his would-be attackers. Even the fact that his hands and feet remained unbound was a cause for concern. It was as if they were taunting him, telling him that there was no way he could escape.
Personally, he was up for the challenge.
Still, there was an uneasy feeling in his stomach at the prospect of not knowing what he was up against. Their intelligence regarding the security of the facility and the capabilities of those guarding their targets had been excellent compared to what they normally managed to piece together. Even Kritiker had been impressed with what Omi had managed to turn up over the course of his late night computer sessions. As a team they’d verified what Omi had found and had come across only the usual irregularities. There had been no indication of a person anywhere in their data have the kind of skill it took to be able to both sneak up on any member of Weiss and knock them out with only one blow. At best, the bodyguards that they’d been aware of had been brutes relying on firepower and raw strength, not any type of skill.
So who was it that had evaded him, and why did they want him alive?
As Ran continued to rub along his arms he noted the tenderness in the crook of both elbows, undoubtedly the result of bruising associated with an injection of some sort. This only raised more questions in his mind. Why did they have to drug him if they’d already knocked him out?
Nothing was making any sense except the complete darkness that surrounded him.
Knowing that the more he moved, the faster the effects of the drug were likely to ware off, Ran stood slowly, leaning against the wall until the new wave of nausea settled. Carefully, he brushed against the edge of the room until he felt himself round four corners with not even the slightest indication of the location of any sort of door.
Wanting to double-check what he already suspected, he circled the room once more counting his steps from corner to corner until he was sure of the approximate size of the room. It was small, definitely the size of a confinement area. As such, it was barely big enough for him to lie down in length-wise and only marginally longer width-wise. The other suspicion he’d had was confirmed as he slid one glove off and gently prodded at the wall.
Hard padding.
In the dark he even squares of cloth covered the entire room and made the location of the door impossible to discern. As well, the padding muffled any sounds from both the outside and inside. He couldn’t even start knocking on the walls looking for an echo to tell him where the door was.
As things stood, Ran was disoriented and at the mercy of a room that he couldn’t get out of.
It was simple really. When he thought about the tactics that were currently being used on him. Not knowing where he was, how to get out, how long he’d been out cold, where his team mates were or even what day it was were all tactics designed to defeat him psychologically. It was a simple case of mental warfare. They, whoever they were, wanted him broken so that he’d tell them what they wanted to know, and the first step in achieving that was complete disorientation. Unfortunately for them, he thought wryly, he would break under such simple tactics.
He was not about to go down without a fight. Ran vowed that he’d make sure whoever was holding him captive would wish that they’d killed him when they’d had the chance.
Until he was given an opportunity however, there wasn’t much else to do but think about such things. Of course, that was what ‘they’ wanted, for him to stew in his own thoughts and slowly go mad. But since he was determined to return to Weiss as soon as possible, the decision to keep himself busy was an easy one to make.
Giving his arms one final rub, Ran dropped down to the floor and began a set of push-ups aimed at getting circulation into his arms again so that the stiffness would start to fade. He worked slowly, pausing halfway up and again just above the ground as he rose and fell. Not bothering to count how many he was doing, he continued until he felt the burning stiffness that came from continual use and the heat of blood being pumped recklessly into his arms and shoulders. He stopped just short of the first bead of sweat rolling off the tip of his nose.
Letting out a deep breath after what must’ve been at least a good hour, Ran rolled over onto his back, letting the warmth spread throughout his entire body. The adrenaline combined with the after-effects of whatever drugs were still in his system lulled him into a state where all he felt was a subtle tingling sensation throughout his limbs and the languid rise and fall of his chest as his heart beat in his ears.
He was sure that his teammates were safe. He wouldn’t worry.
No matter what she tried to tell herself, Weiss was just as much of a pawn in the games that Kritiker was playing as anyone else. The fact was though; that she was almost totally alone when it came to championing Ran. Birman, of course, was on her side, but she was on a mission in Europe at the moment and simply wasn’t available to plead Ran’s case. The other people that would’ve fought tooth and nail to get the redhead back, well, she was their voice now too.
It had taken losing those two of the most important people in her life to convince her to go against procedure and fight for this. The first time that Ran had left Weiss, to confront Reiji Taketori on his own, she’d let him go so easily. Kritiker didn’t chase after those types of people, she’d told herself. She’d been with Weiss from its inception, from when it was just been Omi, a crossbow and a computer. Weiss was her unit, even if she shared it with Birman. Like it or not, they had also become part of her family too. It had been under her vigilance that Ken and Yohji had been eased into their roles. As they adjusted to the blood that came to cover their hands she was the support that kept them focused, to keep them from losing their sanity in those first months, as whatever innocence they’d had was washed away mission after mission.
Ran however, had been cold and stoic when she’d integrated him into Weiss, which had not been her choice but one made by Persia. Where Ken and Yohji had been kept in the dark about the identity of their employer, Ran had known about Shuuichi from the start. It had been Persia who had plucked Ran out of the hole he was digging before he’d managed to destroy himself seeking revenge all on his own. Admittedly, she hadn’t wanted him to put in Weiss, and back then, she’d been vocally adamant about that fact. Weiss had to be a team, and for that to work the personalities of those in it had to mesh. The fact was that someone cold, uncommunicative and fiercely solitary did not fit with the three expressive, generally open and cooperative people she’d already placed on the team. Ran had been the last thing she thought her team needed, but she’d followed Shuuichi’s request. As it turned out, the reception Ran received from the other three was about as warm as an Antarctic summer. To put it simply, Ran focused on the missions and shut everything else out. Manx had figured that she’d wait six months and report the lack of cohesion to Shuuichi and then have Ran removed from the team in favor of her choice.
The thing was, after six months, Weiss and the Koneko, had been running more smoothly than ever. Ran had a way of coordinating people, of leading, without ever acting as a leader. It was an odd kind of instinctual quality that put him in the middle of the team but kept his personality separate from any attempts to coax him out of his self-constructed shell. But, out of pride, she’d refused to admit those facts to herself. Just like anyone else, she couldn’t admit that she’d been so wrong. Because of that same pride, she’s let Ran leave Weiss all too easily after both Reiji and Shuuichi’s deaths. She’d done it partly because she’d blamed Ran for Shuuichi’s death. Ran’s rash focus on only revenge had forced their hand, she’d rationalized. If she’d never agreed to let Ran join Weiss, Shuuichi might still be alive. In her heart of hearts she knew that it was just an excuse, that two paths of revenge had crossed, but it had helped to dull the ache of loss; of waking up after everything was over and knowing that the conflict between the two brothers had been put to an end. To save Ran, Shuuichi had been forced into direct opposition of Reiji and had ended up giving his life.
The ache at the thought of having been helpless and losing the person she would’ve easily given her life for had made it all too easy to dismiss Ran, all too easy to believe that Weiss would be just as efficient without him.
Even as Estett began to move to the center stage of criminal activity, she had ignored Birman’s pleas to bring Ran back, to revive the force that had transformed Weiss from a simple assassination unit to Kritiker’s top defense against the ‘dark beasts’ of the Asia sector.
Yet, Botan had seen it too, Botan her long-time friend and the other man in her life that she would’ve sacrificed herself for. And just like Shuuichi, he’d rushed into the scene for Weiss’ sake and paid the price for obtaining Ran’s loyalty to the team with his life. It had been hard to deny his importance after that, no matter how bitter her heart was at the loss of two of the people she cared for the most.
However, after watching Weiss take on a renewed Schwarz and even the Estett elders, after watching Ran’s mask crack and seeing the desperation seep through the cracks at the thought of losing his sister, she’d finally admitted his worth to herself. Ran was Weiss and Weiss needed Ran if they were to continue to complete the missions assigned to them.
That was why she was resolute now, fighting with every rationalization she could come up with as to why valuable Kritiker resources should be spent on the recovery of one person with no top-level knowledge.
Tapping the toe of a red high-heel on the tile floor just behind her, Manx again fought the urge to pace, to give in to worrying. Botan and Shuuichi had died to protect Weiss and she wouldn’t let their sacrifices be in vain. Even if it were because of her own selfish reasons, she’d get the resources needed to bring Ran back alive.
She looked over to the large wooden doors that were the main focus of the opposite wall of the small reception room. Behind them was the heads of Kritiker’s Asia division, discussing the very issue that made her want to pace the length of the small room repeatedly. The waiting was always the worst, but at least it meant they were considering her proposal.
Finally, after another ten excruciating minutes of waiting was added onto the eternity that the Kritiker agent had already spent standing in silence, those large oak doors slowly swung open a fraction. From that small gap a head of tousled purple hair emerged, along with bright blue eyes. Her partner, and superior, while Birman was on her solo missions, Calico was a wisp of a woman who was mistaken for a boy more often than not. Still, she was a lady at heart and a fair person with a pleasant temperament. Manx had enjoyed working with her in the past. The good rapport that had been built between them had given Manx the leverage to ask such an audience from Asian Headquarters in the first place.
Calico extended a slender white finger and beckoned wordlessly for Manx to enter; never one for excess use of words. “They’ve made a final decision,” the purple-haired woman half-smiled. Manx wasn’t sure whether it was a smile of congratulation or condolence as she was escorted into the darkened conference room.
The thick padding that covered the walls not only muffled all sounds from outside but also effectively dulled any sort of vibration from footsteps or machinery that might have given a general indication of where he was. He’d almost hoped that his dulled senses had been the reason that he hadn’t been able to make heads or tails out of the cell he was confined to. With the worst case scenario confirmed in his, now cleared, mind Ran was left with nothing to do but think, wait and do whatever simple exercises the small space allowed for. Trying to keep time was useless in a dark space like this one where an hour could be only a matter of minutes in reality. Even exercising had its limits if he wanted to preserve as much energy as possible. There was no telling when his captors would see fit to feed him, if they decided to at all, so there was no use in actually pushing himself to any sort of physical limit.
As it was, Ran lie on his back in the center of the cell, arms spread not far from his sides, ready to react should something in the small space change suddenly. In his mind he was doing the only thing he knew would keep himself calm and, by proxy, keep his captors from putting him in a position favorable to whatever plans they had.
With each subsequent breath his chest barely rose; muscles barely twitched. Everything, what little that there was surrounding him, was clear and yet far away at the same time. Even his fingertips felt miles away while each crease in the glove or callous was infinitely visible in his mind’s eye. It was in this deep meditative state that he was able to keep his mind clear and yet active.
Like this, on the verge of appearing to be in a coma himself, at least he had some grasp of the time that passed, regular breaths helping to map out seconds and minutes. Breath after breath he watched the hours pass without ever actually feeling them doing so. In such a state only his instincts remained alert and raw while every other fiber of his being focused on taking one breath after another. The movement of blood through his veins felt like the tide, ebbing and flowing in a gentle rhythm that brought life to the land it touched.
It was only after hours of lying in such a trance that Ran’s limbs began to protest the inactivity. Still, he continued to focus on nothing and everything in order to keep his sanity intact if nothing else. Yet, that was also when he began to feel the presence of someone approaching, like a warm breath across the back of his neck. Ran never had been able to figure out how he could sense something like that without any tangible physical indication when he was deep in meditation, but now he was simply glad for the warning. Instinct, after all, was the sole factor that had separated life from death for him so many times in the past and he wasn’t about to start questioning it now.
Slowly he slid out of his meditative state and back into his body, flexing all-too-familiar fingers as the warmth returned with the movement, the acute awareness of his surroundings fading into a dull haze alongside the tingling in his neck. His blood began to flow faster, breathing deepening as he braced himself for whoever he’d felt approaching.
When a blinding light filled the room, forcing Ran to shield his eyes until they adjusted to the difference, he made sure to note which wall of the room contained the door. But this was only a small victory considering that he couldn’t see who it was that had opened it, let alone how many people there were. The thought set him on edge but he held still. It would be to his advantage to force action out of his captor instead of making the first move.
However, the only thing that perceptively changed in those moments was that the deathly silence that had surrounded him for so many hours was broken with a chuckle. Not an outright mockery or a taunt, just an amused chuckle. He recognized that type of laughter; the kind that businessmen who’d worked with his father had used. The only word he could use to describe it was professional, which in his current situation, was not a pleasing observation.
Then, as his eyes gradually adjusted to the light and this vision began to return he was greeted with the sight of the deep purple bruises in the crook of each arm and the small red marks left by multiple needles, confirming what he’d thought earlier. Ran then turned his head towards the direction of the light, blinking to clear his vision faster.
“Suitably comfortable?” a deep voice asked with more than a little amusement, the sound of which sent Ran’s stomach plummeting.
As if to taunt him further, it was at that moment the blurred forms before his eyes decided to sharpen themselves.
Gritting his teeth Ran bit out his own response, fully aware now of the pistol pointed straight at his head.
“Crawford.”
“I’m pleased to see that you remember me.”
Ran swallowed hard, not because of the gun pointed between his eyes but at the realization that Schwarz was not only still operating in Japan but that they’d likely been involved in this operation from it inception and had managed to remain undetected. It was a pretty well known fact that those few organizations that could actually afford to hire Schwarz flaunted that fact as a deterrent in itself. In fact, Kritiker had calculated once, through various sources, that the sheer presence of Schwarz alone was enough to dissuade half of the opposition for whoever hired them.
And there was also the sickening possibility that if Schwarz was involved that he hadn’t been the only member of Weiss to be captured, like he had reassured himself earlier.
None of those thoughts found voice however as he locked eyes with the precognitive.
“What do you want?”
Had anyone else been on the receiving end of Ran’s question it would’ve seemed itself to be more of a threat, but Crawford remained as unfazed and collected as ever.
“It’s not what I want, but what the heads of this company want,” Crawford answered cryptically, the calm statement much more of a threat than Ran’s own harshly spoke words. “It would be in your best interest to cooperate,” he continued with a tinge of a smirk on his lips.
Had it been anyone else, Ran thought soberly, he would’ve pushed his luck despite the presence of the gun. Yet, this was Crawford of Schwarz who would undoubtedly know if he were going to make a move long before he’d even decided on it himself. He knew full well that Kritiker’s policy on being captured was to escape at all costs regardless of the circumstances but there was a clear difference in his mind between risking his life and throwing it away Ran wasn’t about to do the latter without knowing the status of the rest of Weiss. No matter what Kritiker expected of him. But these things, no matter how committed to them he was in thought would never be admitted verbally either.
Refusing to truly acknowledge his submission, Ran placed his hands on his highs, a casual gesture which only meant acquiescence to those looking for it.
The smirk seemed to take up residence on Crawford’s face as he returned the pistol to the holster inside his white suit-jacket. His hand flicked a switch outside the room, which bathed the small padded space in light. A few steps and the other assassin was inside the space, door closed behind him silently. “I’m glad you see it my way,” he taunted, glasses reflecting the sterile fluorescent light from above. In turn, Ran stayed both silent and still.
Crawford made no secret of pulling a small clear case out of one pocket of his jacket, a pair of syringes clearly visible inside of it. The redhead watched this knowing full well that the needles could be filled with everything from truth serum to a deadly poison, knowing too that he had no secrets to betray even under the threat of imminent death. Kritiker was quite careful about those types of things, he thought wryly as the felt the cool numbing of a cotton ball of antiseptic being wiped in a small patch on his bare shoulder.
Ran almost felt detached from the entire scene as he watched the same person he’d faced countless times in battle prepare the syringes as if it were an area of expertise for him. At the same time the cynical portion of his mind that was trying to remind him that fighting now would be absolutely pointless made a snide comment about the older man being the nurse from hell. However, it promptly corrected itself at the thought of Farfello in possession of the sharp needles instead. He kept his eyes trained on Crawford the entire time.
The redhead didn’t even flinch as the cold metal of the first needle pierced his shoulder, watching out of the corner of his eye. For the second syringe Crawford returned to a bruised elbow, swabbing it with the same skill and precision he’d done the first. This puzzled Ran however as the second syringe was clearly an empty one, the kind he’d seen used to take blood samples many times in the past. As far as he knew, torture of rival assassins didn’t normally involve blood-work. It wasn’t like he was oblivious to the difference in procedure either; he’d had blood taken numerous times at the hospital after the explosion as well as during Kritiker’s annual fitness tests. In fact, it was almost instinctual for him to clench his fist as the bit of rubber tubing was tied around his upper arm and to unclench it after the needle had been inserted into the vein. In that way, the whole process was terribly surrealistic. Even as he watched Crawford returning the syringes into the plastic case he was left with the feeling of waiting for blows that didn’t appear to be coming. Ran didn’t know whether to worry or relax. It was an odd feeling considering he’d been staring down the barrel of Crawford’s gun only moments before.
Reaching around Ran to where he’d set the bottle of antiseptic earlier, the American’s face brushed suspiciously close against Ran’s left ear. In fact, he was so close to the other man that Ran caught a whiff of the faintest dab of cologne, a dark heady scent that left one feeling as if they’d been slightly drugged. He was horribly tempted to push Crawford away, not comfortable with such close contact even with people he’d known for years. Still though, if nothing else he managed to keep his wits at the sight of the butt of the pistol inside the white jacket that pressed against his shoulder.
Lips practically brushing against his ear, Crawford whispered in one languid breath.
“It was either you or your sister.”
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