Witch Hunter Robin


By Brandon Rice

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Wooooo! I'm back baby! Author's notes at end of chapter!

Airplane Note. I made up this particular airplane; since this is the technological future and things are new.


Chapter Three . . .

"The Scarred Man and the Subway Tunnel."

"Isn't this ironic, Amon?"

Two men sat on an airplane. It was the large Boeing model made for the fastest flight to different countries. The model was a fairly new invention and Amon and his partner could be in Japan three times as fast as a normal plane would have taken them. Of course they were not going to Japan. Not yet. They had to pick up their supplies in Hanover, Germany first. Once they had those crucial supplies they would be off to Tokyo to find Robin and to settle the score with Maiji.

"Shut up." Amon replied curtly to the elder man beside him. The man laughed.

The man himself was a real piece of work. He had a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes and he wore a large fedora hat. The hat was pulled down so it shaded his face and the rim of his overcoat was pulled upward for the same purpose. The reason his face was so hidden was because of the large scars that covered the entire left side and most of the right. The skin was wrinkled and scarred and the veins in his face were so visible and exposed that most people who saw them felt sick. The skin also gave off the distinct impression of someone who had once suffered very bad burns and had spent years in surgery trying to repair the damage.

"Hmm. You're unhappy about this?" The scarred man suggested.

"Yes." Amon replied.

"You hate yourself for what you allowed me to do? But deep down inside you know it's our only chance."


"You have always amused me Amon." The scarred man sat back in his seat. He gave a shallow laugh that sounded like wind blowing through an old rusted whistle. The cackle quickly changed into a hacking cough that caused him to wheeze and clutch his side. Amon moved tentatively as if he wanted to help, but the scarred man pushed him away and sat back in the chair looking very offended that Amon had even suggested helping him.

"No!" The man bellowed. "You keep your hands off me, witch!"

Amon leaned back in his chair with a blank stare on his face. The scarred man growled and clutched his chest. He should have died a long time ago but he refused to let the old reaper take him until he saw his mission fulfilled. Turning his face to the window the man sighed and looked down at the blue ocean that was gleaming in the fierce orange of the sunset. Amon didn't say a word to him.

"Do you see now?" The scarred man asked at length, turning his head back to Amon. "That I have always been right?"

Amon did not reply. The scarred man turned a blind eye to his partner's silence. He was much too used to it.

"Can you kill her, Amon?" The scarred man asked as he gave one last cough and covered his mouth with his hand; the veins in his wrist had the same bulging look to them that the ones in his neck and face did.

"Maiji will die." Amon replied.

"I meant Robin." He pointed out.

"We're not going there to kill Robin." Amon spat back; this time a very real surge of anger in his voice. There was the leader.

"You're so naive." The scarred man smirked. "You still believe that Robin Sena can be saved, don't you? You still tell yourself that I'm nothing but a senile, half-dead fool. You'll see soon enough that your entire mission is suicide."

"If it's suicide." Amon retorted. "Why are you here?"

"Please Amon, don't make me laugh; you know it's not good for my lungs." His partner snickered. "I'm here because . . . oh, what does it matter? The point is I am here. And so is this."

In The scarred man's hand, which was clenched in his pocket, there was a small vial of green liquid.


In a hospital not far from the downtown Hilton was Dihn Van Quan. The STN-J had been under the impression that he was going to be out of action for a while since one of his arms had been torn to ribbons.

However Dihn had no intention of stopping. He was in the hospital's emergency room. The doctors were coming in now. He could hear them. He knew the STN-J would be watching hospitals and he knew that at the first word of someone coming in with injuries close to Dihn's, they would come for him. So he did not even wait. He looked up at the doctor as he approached.

"Amputate it." He growled.

"Sir," The doctor said in his boringly plain hospital tone. "We can save the limb—"

"Amputate it you stupid fuck!" Van Quan screamed. One of the doctors was filling up a needle with liquid and Dihn realized this was a bad idea. These doctors planned on not listening to him. Jumping up onto the operating table, Dihn took the doctors by surprise. This man had horrible gunshot wounds and he looked ready to keel over dead; instead he was moving with all the grace of an Olympic gymnast. Van Quan swept a leg out and kicked the doctor with the needle away. Then he jumped down and used his good arm to grab a scalpel off the operating tray. One of the doctors began to take a step back but Dihn swiped his arm around and slit the doctor's throat. As a steam of blood shot through the air and the screams of the other doctor's and nurse's echoed in the room, Dihn killed them all one by one and then he bent down to one of the dead men's neck.

"Time to write."

The door opened and a security guard came bursting in. Dihn threw the stiletto into his forehead and watched him fall backwards dead without as much as a grunt. Then Dihn dipped his fingers back into the dead man on the floor and when he rose up he took the blood stained fingers like a paint brush and began to write on the wall.


Michael's apartment was nothing special. Old, navy blue carpeting and walls tiled in white wallpaper. The kitchen was just big enough for one of those hotel refrigerators and a small portable grill. The bathroom was no better and he was surprise they managed to fit a shower in that minuscule room. The living room wasn't as diminutive as the other rooms, but Michael didn't use it. He didn't really use any of the rooms actually. He more often than not just stayed in his bedroom, which was just as cramped. The only thing he had was a closet, a bed, and a table that housed his computer and CD player.

Quickly hitting the on button he let the loud rock tunes fill the room. He knew any minute his neighbor would bang on the wall and the guy downstairs would hit the roof with a broom. Michael didn't care. He was a government official and didn't have to turn down his music if he didn't want too; and he didn't want too. Walking over to the closet Michael peeled his wet clothes off and let them go to the over-flowing hamper (he didn't have time to wash his things lately) and then changed into some old clothing that was uncomfortable and itchy.

Sighing he slammed back onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling. It was a noisy room; then again he did have an CD blasting at full volume. Though even with that CD he could not drown out the sounds of his conscious and his reason battling inside his head. It was like his logical intelligence and his love-sick heart were engaged in a samurai-style sword fight. And it sucked very badly.

Part of him told him to move on. Part of him told him that Robin Sena was gone from his life. And that same part told him how very much he had enjoyed the time he spent with Doujima. Doujima could make him laugh anytime and anywhere. She was gifted enough to make him feel like the happiest man in the world. She was also, though she didn't act it, incredibly intelligent and able to compete with Michael's own mind most of the time. And that wasn't even to mention the pure and simple fact that she was probably the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The three years he spent dating here were a very happy time for Michael. He'd been outside Raven's flat for the first time, he'd been on actual dates for the first time, and he'd . . . done other things for the first time too.

And yet; it hadn't worked out. Doujima was clearly in love with Michael and more than willing to spend the rest of her life with him. The reasons were probably just as much a mystery to her as they were to him. And while Michael was in love with her as well; he hadn't stopped being in love with Robin. He hadn't forgotten her and he hadn't forgotten that until that night the factory collapsed, he'd never seen Doujima that way before. Sure; the week of subtle flirting followed by passionate love making on Michael's desk at work had been the start of a three year relationship that had been pure bliss. But every time Michael took a drink or coffee or looked at a donut; he remembered that his heart was still in Robin's hands. Finally, after three years, he decided it was unfair to make Doujima go through this. He knew she suffered. She tried to ignore it whenever Michael got moody around the anniversary of Robin's arrival or departure. She let him slip her name out in times of passion and not say a word. But Michael was all too aware of the deep pain it caused her; and he had finally ended it.

A day hadn't gone by that she hadn't asked him in one way or another to try again. Whether she'd make a joke, look at him in a funny way for a second, or invite him into her apartment after a failed hunt like she had today; he caught her actions. Hell, even when she had dated Sakaki for a brief four months had she not ceased her pursuit of Michael. Michael just stood by pretended not to notice; or dismissed it.

The truth was he didn't want to "not notice" anymore. He wanted to move on and fall in love with Doujima. However he couldn't forget Robin Sena or the brief, but very true love they had shared.

Then Michael's phone rang. He grunted and began to look around for it. He threw pillows aside and ruffled his sheets until he realized it was coming from his pants he had put in the hamper. Throwing open the lid he picked up the soaking wet cargo pants and pulled out his phone, took a quick glance at the caller ID (which read "Karasuma, Miho") and then answered it.

"What've you got?"


Amaz Shonen was the lead detective for the Tokyo Police Department. He was also an ambitious, greedy man who wanted to join SOLOMON. Yes, he knew about SOLOMON. He was the STN-J's liaison to the Police Department. He was the cop Michael talked to every time a case came up that the Police handed over to the STN-J. And they hated each other. Michael thought Amaz was a greasy-haired prick who was meddling in things beyond him – and Amaz thought Michael was a total asshole who was trying to keep him stuck as a lonely detective. Oh, Amaz was bright. He was brilliant at figuring out crime scenes. However he had no craft, no experience with witches, and nothing to offer SOLOMON that they didn't have already. Amaz believed that if he caught a witch, SOLOMON may employ him: which is why he hated handing over cases to the STN-J.

Now Amaz was standing in a downtown hospital and looking at the crime scene. He often joked that he could read a crime scene like writing on the wall; but today that joke took on a whole new meaning. Written on the wall in the blood of the fallen doctors was a length note that was addressed to the STN-J. Now there was no proof a witch had committed this crime; but since the killed had left a message for the STN, Amaz couldn't see any way he'd be allowed to keep the case.

"Sir?" One of the younger cops who was still in uniform asked. "I called the STN-J office and—"

"Did I tell you to call them?" Amaz snapped.

"No sir, but I assumed—"

"Never assume." Amaz snarled. Amaz was young and his skin was paler than most. His black hair was tied into a long pony-tail behind his head and his eyes were shaded from everyone else with dark glasses. He turned down to the bodies and looked at them. "Do we have a murder weapon?"

"Yes sir." Another uniformed cop responded. "A scalpel from the doctor's operating tray. It was covered in blood and our finger print dust showed unknown prints not matching the doctors."

"Good." Amaz replied happily as he looked down. "You, idiot rookie –" He said to the youngster who had called the STN-J – "You call the STN-J back and tell them –"

"No need Detective Shonen." Michael announced as he entered the room wearing his dark STN-J hunter's jacket, followed closely by Daisuke. Doujima had become unreachable since Michael gave her the day off and Sakaki and Sheila were still on the hunt in the Walled City, which left only Michael and Daisuke to handle this. "Tell us yourself."

Amaz turned around and glared at Michael as if he had just announced Christmas would be replaced with a new holiday where everyone had to ram hot iron sticks up their asses. Michael's return gaze was no less menacing.

"There is no evidence that this is a STN-J case." Amaz snapped.

"But the man who murdered these people is one of our fugitives." Michael replied. "That makes it a STN-J investigation."

Amaz shook his head. "Warrant?" The STN-J almost never actually used warrants to take cases from the police; even if that was the way they were supposed to do it. Usually the bodies were so mutilated and so oddly killed because of the craft that the police just let the STN-J do what they wanted. Not Amaz. He wanted to make a name for himself.

"Probable Cause." Michael replied. "Now clear your men out of my crime scene."

"You hear him pig-tails." Daisuke's sarcastic wit added.

"Until I see a warrant—" Amaz began, but he never finished that thought. The police radio from one of the uniformed offices was now reporting a crime. Shots fired on the subway tunnel.

Dihn Van Quan had been striking in tunnels under bridges; but everyone in the room had little doubt as to who the attacker on the subway was. Mainly because of the large, red note.


My wounds run deep.

The tunnels shall run deeper.

Blood shall flow like the river of apocalypse.

And drown shall be the sinner who oppose Kuro-Sama.

The meaning was obvious.


"It's always me, isn't it?"

Nagira had been minding his own business; or trying to at least. He was taking the subway back to his office and had just been boarding the food car on the train (they had tables instead of those cramped seats) when he heard the screams. Turning his head to the right he caught a glimpse of a cop falling down dead on the floor. Someone had snapped his neck. Nagira noticed something else; something odd. A tall man with a long black pony-tail was taking the cop's gun from his belt. Now murdering a cop and stealing his firearm in a crowded subway station was odd enough; but this man happened to have one of his arms dangling limply at the side and looking as if it had been smashed in some huge machine.

What happened next was a surprise for everyone involved. Van Quan tucked the stolen gun into his pants and then ran forward. People who had just seen his murder were screaming and running and as temped as he was to draw his own firearm, Nagira could not. Nagira always carried a gun; a HK USP Tactical. While this was a good gun for a situation when he had to take out some crazy one-armed man who was snapping necks; it was not a good gun for firing in a crowded subway station full of people screaming and running. Nagira reached his hand down below his white coat and withdrew the gun, holding it tightly at his side. Just because he couldn't use it now, didn't mean that fact would remain for long.

Nagira's eyes traced after Van Quan, who was running towards the tunnel of the subway. Why this man would go and kill the cop and then run down a subway tunnel was beyond him; but Nagira was much too familiar in these kinds of things to argue. As a lawyer he dealt with a lot of people who committed crimes. And as . . . well, his second job didn't really have a name, but it did present him a fascinating life. Much like this day, filled with murder and gunfights. Fascinating.

Nagira cursed loudly and took off running. Now he knew the police (or possibly the STN-J; this guy had lost a lot of blood and he was still going strong. Witch maybe?) would be better suited at catching this maniac. And the remembrance of newspaper articles about a serial killer and the striking similarities with this unknown assailant were rather odd. Still, Nagira was compelled to hurl himself down the subway tunnel and towards this unknown figure. He held the gun tightly and he prayed his eyes would adjust to the darkness soon. While he was at it, Nagira prayed no train was coming this way.


The train station that had been attacked was now all over the police radios. A cop was dead, and according to reports two men had run into the dank railroads that ran beneath the festive city of Tokyo. This was horrible news, Michael knew. Daisuke, Michael and Amaz had gone straight from the hospital to their cars, and they had all arrived at the station around the same time. Not the station that Dihn Van Quan had killed a cop at, but the next one down the line. Dihn was on the subway, according to eyewitnesses, heading south. So the STN-J, as well as their annoying police pal, had gone south and began heading north.

Michael had been hunting for a while now, and even before it he had always stayed in good shape. Still, a run between two subway stations was no simple task. Amaz and Daisuke were both ahead of him, panting severely as they went. Michael held his gun tight and sped up. Maybe it was just a personal dislike, or maybe Amaz was simply jealous of the STN-J agent; but Shonen seemed to be running like his life depended on it. He simply had to bag Van Quan before the STN. Mentally, Michael commented on how stupid the three of them were being to run at their fullest and wear themselves out before they found the homicidal witch; but that was merely a personal nitpick.

Daisuke wasn't thinking quite as much. He tried not to think, really, when he could help it. Daisuke Matawan was once, a long time ago, known as Takeda Akaibishi. He had been a popular soccer player at a downtown middle school, and he had a loving family. His father worked in politics, and his mother was a gifted trial lawyer. That all changed when Takeda's craft awoke. That . . . didn't matter. Not right now. Daisuke stopped thinking about what had happened to him that day after soccer practice, and instead he focused on the small, dark silhouettes ahead. He had to strain his eyes to see that far ahead, but he was sure he could see two people.

Then the gunshots came.


Nagira's footfalls sped up. He was gaining speed on Van Quan. Whether or not Dihn had seen or heard the man following him was up to interpretation. Nagira really could care less about such things. Instead, he stopped running and held the gun out before him in his right hand, steadying himself with the left. The dark made it hard to take aim, but his now-adjusted eyes lined up the sights as best as was possible and he squeezed off a round. Bang.

The bullet missed, sailing too far to the left. Van Quan threw an arm backwards and as he did he pulled the gun from his waistband. Nagira moved back as bullets came flying his way, and he quickly flattened himself on the ground. As the sound of gunshots continued, but the ding of bullets bouncing around him stopped; Nagira risked a glance and noticed the other people. Two of them, he thought. Maybe three. The gunfight didn't last more than a few seconds at most. The one-armed wonder fired off his entire clip as fast as he could, but one of the people on the other side of Dihn had nailed him. Nagira watched as the cop-killer from the railroad station went down.


By the time Michael arrived, panting and out of breath, Van Quan was already out for the count. Daisuke had a triumphal smirk and Amaz was walking cautiously towards the body in a very police-like way. Michael staggered over to Daisuke, his legs feeling a lot like jelly, and wrapped an arm around the younger rookie. Michael's eyes traced over the tracks. The blend of gravel, metal and wood that made up the ground was stained under a pool of dark fluid.

"Got 'em." Daisuke beamed.

"Yeah, I see that." Michael panted.

Before the small talk could escalate, Amaz was shouting at someone. Michael and Daisuke both turned quickly, guns ready, at the shadows. From the distance a few four letter words were uttered and a figure rose up. He held his hands above his head, with a firearm in one of them. Amaz was being very cop-ish and yelling at him to drop the weapon. Michael squinted hard, but soon made out a familiar fur coat and he ran forward between Amaz and Nagira.

"It's alright Shonen, he's one of ours." Michael confirmed as he caught Nagira's face. Nagira was older, slightly, since the last time he'd seen him; but there was no mistake. Nagira took one look at Michael and returned his gun to his coat in exchange for a cigarette.

"Long time." Nagira muttered as he lit up.

"Mmmhmm. What were you doing?" Michael asked, stepping over the deceased.

"Same thing as you, I'd bet." Nagira took a sweet puff of nicotine and then blew out a cloud of smoke. Amaz had a look on his face as if he wished to arrest Nagira; but Daisuke was saying something to him. Michael clapped Nagira on the back once in a classic display of appreciation, and then bent down over the body.

They'd got their witch, at least.






"Maiji-sama, it's Kuro. Van Quan's signal just went offline."

A silence, then.

"Can we proceed?"

"Yes ma'am. I believe we can."

"Fine. Call the others."

"Oh, and Maiji-sama, about that other issue we spoke of?"


"Amon and Zaizen boarded the plane this morning. They're going to Germany."

Another pause.

"Are you certain it was Zaizen?"

"There is no mistake. Apparently he is alive after all."

"It would appear so. If Amon sought out someone he hated so, there's no limit to what he's willing to do to prevent our plans from progressing. He must be dealt with."

"Of course, Ma'am. I'll put someone on it."

"See that you do."



Tunes: How Am I Doing? – Dierks Bentley

Rant: Yes, I am back. I'm sure that many of you thought all those flames drove me away. Not the case. Actually I simply went on a family vacation to see my dad, which prevented me from working on this story. While there I got addicted to Flame of Recca and Detective Conan, and the rest is history. Anyway, after getting a nice email today, I decided I was going to continue this story after all.

The emailer gave me his penname on here, but I lost the letter. So if you're reading this, can you send it to me again, or review with it or something? I feel bad cause I was going to thank you personally, and now I can't.

Oh. One more thing. It seems like everyone who reads my stories either loves me WAY too much, or hates me completely. Can we just find a middle ground? If my personality or my stories bother you; then don't read them. If you're going to read them anyway, then just don't complain, k? You read it yourself. And for all those who say things like "you're the best writer on FFNet" and stuff like that; well, I'm flattered you think so, but it isn't true.

Although don't let that stop you from saying it. –wink wink-

No. That was wrong of me to say. Heheh. So?

Well, I'm off now. Enjoy the chapter m'friends, I'll have more up later!

And check out my new penname "Brandon Rice". So far there's only two stories on it, but pretty soon I'm launching some Detective Conan stories AND a new ANGSTY Inu-Yasha fic. If you're a Sango/Miroku fan, you might like it. So come check it out.

Anyway, I talk too much.