Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all related characters and terms belongs to Project Weiss. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Spoilers for first season Weiss Kreuz episodes.

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Casual Deconstruction
By Gen X

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"Why?" You look at me with curious eyes. Your eyes scan over the bruises on my face and disgust fills your expression. "Why?" you repeat, scorn filling your tone.

I stare at you. So you have a question and I guess you want an answer. I smirk. Why should I give you one?

You glare at me but I don't say a word. What would you like me to say?

Because I know all their dirty secrets?

Because I know all their personal dreams?

Because I know their biggest fears?

People try to hide from themselves, but they can't hide from me. I look up and you're still staring. So you want answers? Then how about this: Because I can.

Truthfully, there's a lot of reasons why, but why should I bother to tell you?

One thing I learned early on is that people like to delude themselves. It's just part of our social conditioning, even so it's still cowardice. Too many people would crumble if they had to face the truth. There's always a glaring difference between thought and deed. It's extremely amusing.

Sometimes, walking down the street can be a source of amusement. You can drink in dirty little secrets and little white lies. Make a suggestion here, a nudge there, and be gone without them even knowing. It's a rush and a thrill and sometimes you even come across a mind more fucked up than yours.

Look at you sitting patiently in that chair. You're not patient at all and I don't need to read your thoughts to tell. I know you, and right now you're seething. Stupid really, you simply don't care why, you just wanted to know beforehand. I nearly laugh at that irony.

Still waiting for an answer, will you never learn? I could explain it, but I'd have to take the long way around. Without perspective it won't work, and I like to draw out the suspense.

It started a while ago and even if he wasn't related, he would have stood out and not just as a target. I'll probably never forget the littlest Takatori, his mind has a distinct taste. Not easily found, or easily forgotten.

I bet you probably want to know why he's special. You always want to know everything. Controlling bastard.

But, I guess I can tell you, it's too succulent not to tell. The kitten can't distinguish between good and bad. Not like we can, not like normal people, and he's not like his teammates, who are caught up in pathetic self denial.

He's different. His mind is filled with doctrine and propaganda. Bad is simply whatever he is told it is. He can't make connections between separate actions. In his mind, people who kill people are bad, but people who kill the people who kill people are good. He doesn't register that killing people is killing people is killing people. And sometimes it can even be fun. Still, murder is murder no matter what ideals one believes. He simply doesn't get that. Quite pathetic, if you think about it.

Slowly he's starting to. He's beginning to see that the world isn't just Weiss, and that it isn't just Takatori and Schwartz. The world we live in is dulled in grays and bathed in red. Things aren't simple. Resolutions don't come easy. Answers have their price, and you still haven't paid mine yet you still want an answer.

You're staring now. Your patience is thinning. We can do this all day, and we have, countless times before. I suppose I could tell you. It's a simple shallow reason.

Good entertainment value. That's why I gave Beserker the gun. If I had your ability and knew the damn golf club was coming, I might have thought twice. Okay, we both know that would be a lie. It'd be so easy to tell you, too easy in fact.

Now, you're watching me watching you. Why should I share my reasons with you? Why should I tell you my thoughts? Why do you care if I let Takatori's daughter die.

"Mastermind," you say, your voice chilly. "Tell me why."

I'm not the one that needs justification. I smirk, the one that makes your eyes narrow and your blood boil. I'm not the one who controls this team and needs to report. I only report to you, and even that is at my leisure.

"Why?" I echo.

You nod. You smile, pleased because you think you're about to win this round.

I shrug. You'll get no help from me Brad. I smirk as innocently as I can.

"Why not?"