A Demon Like You

There is some mild M/M in this chapter that is clearly marked if you wish to skip over it.
Thanks go to anyone who is reading. Please remember to feed the author. It keeps me going.
Chapter 2

“Took you two long enough,” the blue-eyed Japanese youth grumbled as he lowered the masked form to the floor using his telekinesis.

“What’s wrong, Michio-kun,” the lanky German purred wrapping an arm playfully around the boy’s shoulders, “got a hot date tonight or something?”

Ignoring the older man’s idiotic banter, the boy turned to the boneless puddle of black cloth and pale skin stretching across the floor. “Farf, could you collect our acquisition? Darrow-san is waiting in the car and you know how much he detests waiting…” Without another word the boy shrugged off the auburn-haired man’s arm, turned on his heels and slipped out of the warehouse.

Farfarello stooped down and hefted the body onto his muscular shoulders. “Torch it,” the voice was raspy but soft as it fell from the scarred youth’s lips. He said no more as he strode from the dilapidated warehouse to the waiting Jaguar outside.

The lone figure tamped out a cigarette, lit it and took in a long satisfying drag of smoke, before flicking the still glowing cancer stick into a nearby pile of kerosene soaked rubble. Schuldig pattered along behind his Irish comrade on lithe feet, chortling softly at the impending mayhem he would never be credited for.
Inside the car, awaited a man slightly older than the others, but no less striking. The American was dressed much like his German companion in a white linen suit that fitted his tall, solid frame nicely. His hair was well-kempt and dark as onyx, bangs hanging pell-mell around the frames of wire-rimmed glasses that kept his murky brown eyes obscured from causal scrutiny. When all the team was present and accounted for, he put the sleek automobile in gear and crawled out of the alley beside the condemned warehouse. :: Schuldig, what took you so long?::

::This kid was determined not to be caught. Took a minute to pin down, finally had to force the schvienhount through the skylight.::

The American caught a glimpse of the satisfied smirk that his comrade flashed down at their prize which, after disarming, Schuldig had bound with copper wire and stuffed in the floorboard. The kid was an acquisition for Schreier, a sleeper of immense potential even though the elders claimed not to have a clue as to what abilities actually lay dormant inside the minute form. The task had fallen to Eis to acquire and train the newest operative. The kid, said to be a Yakuza assassin of considerable skill, had earned quite a name in the underworld- the Blade Dancer, wielder of both the Kodachi short sword and a set of well-bloodied bugnuks.
::So, Darrow-san, why exactly are we taking him to Yasuba? We can’t let the Prime Minister do anything to harm him, so why bother?:: Michio inquired through the open channel that the German telepath provided between the four members of Eis.

::To humor him. He thinks we are on this assignment just to protect his interests.::

The answer must have satisfied the teen because he didn’t offer a reply, just settled back into the leather upholstery of the front passenger’s seat and stared at the fast shifting scenery outside his window. The rest of the journey was made in silence.

When the carload of assassins was swallowed into the underbelly of the Yasuba Tower, the captive gave a low moan. Farfarello giggled manically as Schuldig reached into the darkness near his feet and cuffed the groggy form none-too gently across the lower portion of that infernal mask. Darrow was always one for well-planned drama and had forbade anyone from removing the accursed thing until they arrived before Yasuba, the corrupt politician that Eis currently served.

Before the car had even come to a complete stop, the two men in the backseat hoisted their slowly rousing cargo between them, eager to get the mandatory interview with the old goat over with. After parking, the four captors and their straggling victim were in the elevator and well on their way to the confines of Yasuba’s lavish office before their boneless bundle started to show any real signs of consciousness. They were deposited on the thirty-fourth floor in a garishly decorated reception room where they were ushered, without so much as a raised eyebrow from the young, well-endowed secretary, into Yasuba Takeda’s office.

Barely in the doors, the body held between them came to life with a vengeance. The teenager thrashed out sending the annoyed German sprawling on the ground.
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I had been slowly rising though the red haze of unconsciousness since we pulled into that a hollow sounding place that I could only assume was an underground parking structure. The elevator ride made my head swim, but I was not going to let that stop me from at least making a show of myself. Perhaps then they will at least award me a quick death. I hung as lifelessly as I could between the kage warrior and sword snatcher and tried to take in as much as possible through barely opened eyes. There were two more men with them now… Well, a boy who appeared to be a little younger than myself and then a rather intriguing looking older man whose gun holster was ill cut for his frame. I could see the bulge of the grip poking just above the crook of his left elbow.
We stopped and they drug me into a brightly lit space with the gaudiest carpeting I have ever laid eyes on-- a flaming orange color, 70’s retro… too bad money couldn’t buy taste.

When our little entourage was led into another brightly lit room by a woman reeking of cheap perfume I waited for the opportune moment. The soft whoosh of the door as it closed sent me into action. I lashed out with a calculated round house to the back of the red-head’s knee and smiled foolishly as he toppled to the ground, sprawling indignantly before me. Without warning, but hardly unexpectedly I felt the wire wrapped about my wrists pulled taut and the blood began to flow as I was shoved to the hideous carpet. I struggled beneath the weight of the white-haired sentry until I heard the ‘oh so dramatic’ click of a hammer being cocked and strained my neck to see the oldest man of the group leveling his 9 mm Beretta at my head. I gave one final thrash before stilling my exhausted body, the cuts on my wrists and forearms stinging. From the progression of things, I would probably be dead soon.

::You have no idea..:: The hissing tone seethed into my mind as the red-head regained his feet and helped the kage warrior wrangle me to my knees . I had paid much mind to the old man behind the desk during my bid for release, but his weathered features arrested my attention as he rose adjusting his purple tie. He strode around the desk and drew up beside the gunman as casually as if he were perusing a used car lot.
“So, this is the whelp that has been causing my company so many problems of late. Business becomes steady and then the damnable Yakuza start up. What is a respectable businessman to do, I ask you?” His voice rumbled good naturedly to no one in particular. “Take off that silly mask and let’s see what this little gangster has to hide.”

To wear my own face when others can see is forbidden…Before I could try to force my feet under me or turn away, the youth I had first glimpsed in the elevator tangled long fingers in well secured hair and yanked my head to a painful angle. I was glad I decided not to fight him for a moment later a thin bladed knife was pushed between the leather straps securing my mask and the sensitive skin just in front of my ear. I remained silent even though the blade nicked my flesh and let forth a slender rivulet of blood. The mask clattered to the floor and the face of the oldest man before me hardened. The gunman didn’t seem in the least surprised as he stepped close to retrieve my public façade, ignoring me completely he gave regarded the mask with a passing curiosity. His gun hand never wavered.

Slowly, Yasuba’s expression began to change from stern to begrudgingly amused as he knelt down before me, his soft, fleshy fingers clamping like an iron vise about my chin, forcing my neck to stretch even further. “This nothing of a girl is what all the fuss has been about?” His gasping bray of laughter was more painful than the stinging of my lacerated wrists or the shame of being trussed like a chicken. I hated him, my naked flesh reviled him. “This is the nuisance that has been mucking up my business for the past month?” I felt the two boys holding me to the floor tense as I did. Hands off, now, roared through my mind as I twitched back, gnashing in the old bastard’s hold. His dark brown eyes took on an appalled light as he lowered his face to peer hard into mine. “A jade eyed Nippon, must have dirtied blood.”

I couldn’t stand it any longer; I spat into his tanned face and grinned coolly as my spittle dripped from his graying whiskers as he sprang to his feet. I had suffered enough insults for one evening. The gun-toting gaijin handed him a handkerchief with which he scrubbed angrily at his face before attempting to backhand the smile off my lips. The blow landed hot against the left side of my face wrenching my head around with a brain sloshing snap.

:: Remain still…::

I decided it might be in my best interest to take the advice and keep my face averted, eyes cast down. The old man wasn’t the type to do the wet work himself; I could wait a bit to die if it meant not having to stare at this awful orange carpet while doing so. I could feel the blood trickling hot over my lips from where my teeth had clacked together on impact. “Darrow, get her out of here. She’s bleeding all over the carpet. Kill her and dump the body.”

The dark-haired man called Darrow holstered his gun then turned to the figurehead, who was reseating himself behind the desk before I dared to raise my head. “I am afraid that is not possible, Yasuba- san. We have other uses for her.” He shot a pointed glare in the direction of my human manacles. “Take her to the car.”

The last comment I heard as I was half-drug, half-carried from the room was, “You keep dangerous pets, Darrow.”
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I was forced to sit between the two older youths in the back seat while the gaijin gunman and the slight, Japanese teen rode in seeming silence in the front. I decided to reserve my strength until a plausible chance at escape arose; bound in the backseat of a car under armed guard didn’t make for favorable odds. Besides, the Teniawai would come for me eventually. All I need do is wait.

No one had said a word since the meeting with Yasuba and the silence continued as we pulled into the drive of a modest, two-story, Western-style dwelling and waited for one of the two garage doors to slide open. I had pictured their base of operations being a shady, dilapidated building located in the heart of Tokyo’s underworld, but this was normal, unassuming.

I was pulled a little more gently from the rear of the car than I had been at our previous locale, but the fingers at the back of my throbbing neck and blood seeping wrists were no less painful. I was forced down on the inner stoop to have my shoes removed before being hoisted up by the white-haired teen, hustled through the living room into what appeared to be a master bedroom and shoved into a glaringly white bathroom that, to my disappointment, had no windows.

“If you try to escape, Ah’ll flay ya like a fish,” without another word the boy sliced through the wires and left, locking the door behind him from the outside.

I took a shaky breath and started searching for a weapon. Just as luck would have it not even a mirror was to be found in the bathroom and I bloody well couldn’t soap someone to death. So, I took the boy’s advice. I ran a scalding bath, stripped out of my bloody, grime covered clothes and sank gingerly into the tub. The water was delicious, but soon colored a rusty brown from the blood that crept from my wrists and the shallow gash across my upper arm. My head was throbbing from the blow that the old man had landed and I was certain to have a rather livid bruise to show for my bravado. I scrubbed my skin until it was a ruddy pink, before stepping from the tub and drying off with one of the fluffy white towels I had found stacked on the floor near the toilet.
Rather at a loss as to what to do without any clean clothes to put on, I wrapped a dry towel around my chest pinning it with my hair claw as I shook out my heavy black tresses. During my searching, I had discovered a rather well supplied first aid kit under the sink. I seated myself on the closed toilet and began to dress my wounds, luckily most were superficial. Some scrapes and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t disappear in a week’s time. A few Tylenol and I will be as good as new, I told myself ripping open two of the four available single dose packets and popping the elongated capsules into my mouth, swallowing them dry.
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Farfarello leaned against the door for a moment with his functional eye closed before he felt Nagi’s and Schuldig’s presences. “Darrow never said anything about a girl,” the Irishman spat in heavily accented English.

“Orders are orders.”

“Ah dunna care, Ah’ll not work with a girl,” Farf replied opening his eye and glaring testily at his youngest teammate.

:: Schreier’s convinced it’s worth the trouble.:: Schu’s mental voice replied into both his younger teammates’ minds.

“Ah dun’t like it. What good could she possibly be? The Yakuza keep their women in the home, bellies full of babies and brains empty, their whores are on a tight leash and their assassins are ignorant, incompetent clods.”

“Enough,” Darrow commanded finding the three not five feet from his bathroom door carrying on the degenerately heated conversation loudly in English. “Michio, go gather some clothes. Your pants and one of Schuldig’s shirts.” Michio wandered off to raid closets in hopes of finding something that would suffice. After the boy disappeared out the bedroom door, Darrow turned with a glare to the remaining men. “We have orders from Schreier and we will follow them. She is not to be harmed any more than her training warrants. Farfarello control yourself.”

“Schreier be damned…” Darrow struck the white skinned youth harshly across the mouth, snapping his head back with a creak of cartilage, before he could utter another syllable.

“Don’t be such a fool,” the older man hissed straightening his shirt. “You will be her caretaker while she is here. After she is resigned to her position, we will see her properly outfitted, she’ll need clothes and things…” as if on cue the fourth member of their group appeared with a neatly folded bundle balanced on one arm. “Farfarello, go to your room and play with your knives.” The youth shrugged and stalked off, naked eye glaring hatefully ahead. “Schuldig, Michio, stay close. I haven’t foreseen any mishaps, but she is, as you put it, rather determined not to be detained.”
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No sooner had I replaced the med kit than the door swung open revealing Darrow, dressed now in a pair of dark jeans and a hunter green dress shirt opened at the neck to reveal a neutral colored beaded necklace with a cross pendant dangling from the center. Behind him stood the red-haired youth and the blue-eyed teen, holding a wad of fabric in the crook of his arm. The smaller boy was visibly blushing as I stood to face them pulling my towel tighter around me. “Why have I been brought here?” I tried my best to keep my tone even and my voice low, but being in front of strange males, one step from nude has never been my forte.

“Would you care to dress before or after you have your answer?” Darrow asked softly. Not waiting for my response, the red-head snatched the bundle from the other boy, extended the clothes and placed them on the counter to leave half a breath later dragging the still flustered brunette with him.

“Before… if you wouldn’t mind?” I raised my eyebrow to indicate my annoyance, but the man didn’t budge. “I have no intention of dressing in front of a complete stranger, now get out!” I felt my body flush with my anger and embarrassment.

“Very well. You have two minutes,” he turned on his heels and left shutting the door with a muted click. I hadn’t really expected that to work, most men in his position would have forced the issue. Odd, I mused striding hurriedly over to the countertop.

The clothes they brought consisted of black denim hip huggers and a button-down, long-sleeved, lime green dress shirt that made me appear to have raided a giant’s closet. The pants fit well enough, but the shirt swallowed me. They were far less revealing than the towel, but I still felt oddly exposed without the hateful screen of the mask that the American had carried with him from the meeting earlier.

With the last button fastened, the door opened to allow Darrow and the red-haired boy to enter. ::Schuldig is my name. Remember it…. You might be screaming it later.:: The sexy smirk on his face made something in my stomach lurch- had to be revulsion, right? Wait—he hadn’t spoken aloud… Smirk widening as my face registered surprise, he posed in the doorway, while the olive-skinned American traversed to the center of the room stopping only a foot or so away from me.

“To answer your earlier question, you have been acquisitioned for Schreier, an elite international organization that harnesses the talents of unique individuals such as those of my team-- people who have something extra to give in the service of creating a new world order… a world of peace. Of course to achieve peace, they are willing to sacrifice. However, the end justifies the means; this is the nature of the progress,” Darrow finished without so much as an inflection in his voice. His eyes were hard behind his glasses. I could tell instantly that he would be a cold master to serve… if it came to that.

“What do you mean by something extra? Like superhuman powers?”

The red-head rolled his eyes as if I had just flashed my ignorance.

“That is exactly what I mean. You have heard Schuldig speaking within the confines of your own mind. You yourself have been embraced by Michio’s telekinesis- had you not, your body would be lying broken and cold at that warehouse,” the last brought a ghost of a smile to his wan lips. Yes, a very cold master indeed.

“So, how do I fit into all this? I don’t have any “something extra” to give to your crusade. Even if I did, I wouldn’t.” At that moment the battle of the bands roared to life behind my eyes and the sudden pain sent me crashing to my knees on the now agony grayed tiles. The pain receded as quickly as it came and I took a sharp breath before raising my swimming gaze to sweep up the tall man’s solid frame. “I demand to be released! I would rather rot than help you bastards!” I hadn’t seen him move, but large, rough hands tangled in my hair and yanked me painfully to my feet, before dragging me to the doorway and flinging me across the room to land in an indignant heap at the feet of the Japanese boy. The impact with the floor sent another shock of pain through my injured left shoulder. The world tilted crazily before righting itself. I felt gentle, yet insistent hands beneath my right arm-- the boy had knelt to help me up. Looking around startled, I located Darrow across the room coolly pressing the power on the television on the desk and dialing up the local news station.

Confused, I listened through a daze as the male newscaster with the bad toupee reported a fire that had swept the warehouse district near the riverfront not four hours ago. The blaze had been contained to a small area of mostly condemned buildings.

“Investigators are still looking into the cause of the blaze. Only one fatality has been reported. The body of a seventeen-year-old female was discovered in one of the buildings. Coroners have identified the body as that of Shimazu Kyoko who is believed to be tied to the Teniawai branch of the Yakuza here in Tokyo. In other news tonight…” The baritone faded away as my world came crashing down around me. There would be no assistance- I could wait until I rotted, quite literally, for help from my organization, it would never come. I wished for death so many nights and now I had it without all the fringe benefits.

“Now, back to my earlier proposition….” the gaijin smirked lightly, again stepping within easy reach of me as if daring me to lash out. The boy at my side withdrew when I refused to rise from my crouched position, viciously tugging my arm from his grasp. “You have no where to go, no one to cry out to. Shimazu Kyoko is dead. Schreier if offering you a new life, a chance to make a difference for all of humanity- not to be the lackey of lower life forms, but a protector of a peaceful world order. What say you?”

“I say you are insane and this world will fall to ruin long before your Schreier guts it of its pain and degradation.”

Quicksilver laughter rippled across the windswept plains of my mind as the voice that intruded purred, ::You wax poetic with Lex too often and he might just cut your tongue out. It would be such a waste. Now, sleep.:: That simple command plunged me into darkness with the sickening feeling that the shadows lurking in my subconscious lay in wait to feast upon the fresh, seeping rents in my soul.
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The lean, auburn haired man scooped the girl’s unconscious body from the floor before turning to address his leader, “So, what is the plan?”

“She has no choice, Schreier will have her.” Muddy brown eyes meet icy azure as the reinforced wall of his mental shields dropped to link them, ::Over the next day or so, you will use your own particular brand of persuasion to influence her decision. Might I remind you that Schreier wants her functional and relatively sane?:: A chagrinned ‘hnn’ was all his reminder earned him, “Take her to the room that was prepared. Make sure to bolt the door and windows when you leave. I have a phone call to make, I’ll be in my office,” without another word the elder man glided out the door toward the darkened sanctuary of his study.

Schuldig watched his retreating back for a moment before smirking over his shoulder at the younger boy, “Think I’ll go get to know our new playmate on a more intimate level. What do you say, Mi-chan, feel up to a little… bonding.”

The boy’s skin flushed hotly as he spat in a low hiss, “Don’t you dare. She can’t even defend herself- it’s not right. If you try anything, I will tell Darrow-san after I have pitched you past the Yasuba Tower!”
Michio shivered as what felt like hoards of spiders skittered across his brain. He really hated it when Schu laughed inside his head like that. ::My, my…. Quite protective! Does Mi-chan have the hots for the Yakuza tart?::
:: I will not stand by and allow you to defile an unconscious girl. If she had a shot at defending herself it would be a game worth playing with you, but not like this. Besides, we will have to work with her from here on out.::

The German was leering down maliciously at the rag doll draped across his arms. Without another word, mental or otherwise, he turned and sauntered up the stairs toward the appointed room. Michio followed swiftly on the German man’s heels only to stop in the doorway watching as Schu deposited the teen at the foot of the bed before dragging back the blankets and maneuvering her under them almost tenderly. It was an odd sight, Michio mused, his often sex-crazed teammate was actually passing up an opportunity to maul a defenseless girl. Wonders would never cease. ::I am flattered that you actually think me so heartless as to assault a little girl. Not only am I a cold blooded killer and a mind-raper-- now I can add tactless pedophile to my dossier as well. Really, Mi-kun, do you think me so crass?::

The teen merely arched one smooth eyebrow in answer. Schuldig shook his head ruefully and stalked out of the room, closing and bolting the door behind him. The boy could believe whatever he chose; it was no concern of Schuldig’s. What did concern him was the no doubt tedious task of stripping down his soon-to-be teammate’s resolve to defy Schreier.
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“Yes, I understand…. She will accept the offer,” Darrow replied in a tone that brooked no arguments. “Her training will begin as soon as she is resigned to her status in Eis……. She seems to respond well to all members of the team………… No, Farfarello will not be a problem… I assure you…… Yes, Michio will see to the documentation………….. She is secure in our care.” He hung up the phone without a goodbye and stretched back in his plush leather chair before shoving his glasses back up his nose. Ironic that a clairvoyant of his caliber should be reduced to wearing glasses for near sightedness, he mused with a chagrined smirk.

His thoughts shifted to his newest team member as he turned to the softly glowing computer screen to review the mission file concerning her capture. Another point of ire lay in the fact that it was in fact a “her,” the girl had been a thorn in Eis’ side for four months. The little shadow always seemed to strike where least expected, targeting mainly petty arms deals and opium shipments. Not much of a dent in Yasuba’s vast underground industry, but still an annoyance none-the-less. Darrow had paid little heed to the gnat until an order had come through from Schreier to acquire the assassin for their personal use. Nothing had been known about her except that she was a Teniawai operative know only as Blade Dancer due to her skill with the Kodachi and the close-range bugnuks. Her style could only be described as blitzkrieg warfare- she appeared out of nowhere and left nothing but gutted corpses in her wake. It had been much easier to deal with the idea of having a fifth member when Darrow had been under the impression that “he” was male, unmasking a teenage girl before that old letch Yasuba had almost been enough to give him a migraine.

The reactions of his subordinated had been equally entertaining. Schu had looked more than a little miffed, Farfarello had retained his stoic expression, but his tensed body language spoke volumes and Michio’s characteristic blank, doll -like expression had softened around the edges as he had allowed the mask to drop to the carpet. Darrow had to admit the girl was a rare beauty despite the filth and bruises that marred her angular face and slender frame. Her eyes were an odd shade of green, the color of creamy jade, truly unusual for a Japanese. Her lips were full and pale, only a few shades darker than her skin. Her hair, as he had found out only a few minutes ago, was a thick cascade of satin that tumbled to her mid-back in unruly waves. She no doubt had foreign blood somewhere in her recent past.

Despite her heritage or her looks, her integration into the team would require some work; especially where Farfarello was concerned. The boy had already expressed a great dislike of her and a blatant refusal to work with her in any capacity. Hence his chaperoned shopping detail as soon as the girl was more firmly in hand. If the experience did not kill one or all of them, the two assassins might learn to at least tolerate one. In the end it wouldn’t matter, whether they ‘liked’ one another or not…
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The Irish youth perched on the edge of his narrow bed grinding one of his many blades along the length of his whetstone before pausing to check its edge. He kept all his equipment honed to a razor sharpness. Besides, it was a good excuse to hide from the new bane of his existence- her. She would never see him as more than a knife toting, lunatic… not with his teammates to hold in comparison. He sighed softly to himself and eased his mind back into the distracting rhythm of the blade’s manic song.
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Schuldig reclined languidly in his queen sized bed, reveling at the feel of blue silk sheets on his bath heated skin. He had been in need of some relaxation before actively tackling his newest challenge- the girl’s subconscious. She was pretty to look at, but the most interesting thing about her from his perspective was the shadow that veiled all but her surface thoughts. The smile that curved his full lips was sensual and cruel… Darrow had given him free reign to play. Besides, the American’s hold was tenuous over the German at best, and the mind was Schuldig’s playground.

Settling more deeply into the mounds of pillows, the man let his long, lean limbs stretch out from his body as he drew in a deep breath. His exhalation carried with it his probing mental flanges. He felt the quiet whirring of Michio’s thoughts before his mental shield was slammed into place- the boy was already at work replacing the girl’s stolen identity with one of his own creation. The boy was an odd beast- a silent child who dies by night and merely exists by day… The next consciousness was a maelstrom of whirling images, the blood-tears of a powerless God, the broken bodies of hundreds of faceless victims, a nun with bleeding hands…. Schuldig shuddered on the bed and hurried his unseen sensor past the violent upheaval and onto quieter territory. Farfarello’s subconscious had always been a crowed, turbulent place much to Schu’s distaste.

The girl’s mind was a silent void- the surface empty as denoted a deep state of unconsciousness. It was easy to slip into the darkness, but it took several attempts to successfully descend onto the deeper levels of her subconscious. For some reason, he had kept getting turned around in the sea of inky gloam and stumbling back onto the breezy plains of her barren awareness. No matter, he had arrived, finally, at his desired destination.

The corridor of her memory was a long winding avenue lined with innumerable doors in various sizes, shapes, colors and states of repair. Some doors were secured with an inventive array of safeguards. It might be worth my while to pry some of these open one day, lucky for her I don’t have the time just at the moment, he mused snidely before moving off down the path at a steady clip. He was brought up short as he rounded a bend and found himself stumbling onto a familiar scene-- the rooftop from earlier that night. He watched in fascination as the whole scene played out for him again as his mind moved in concert with her mental projection. For the first time he sensed the swift undercurrents of fear he had not been able to detect throughout the reality of the event. The girl was not afraid of death or pain but of the loss of control she sensed when falling through the skylight and into a state of catatonic suspension only to awaken in the clutches of her enemy yearning for the one thing she would never attain….

Schuldig snorted derisively… a childish wish, impossible to achieve. A lamb that has tasted death is twin to the wolf… it cannot return to what it once was. Separating his still questing persona from the pitiable reminiscence, he ambled off into the further recesses of the now shifting mindscape. Several mildly interesting scenes played out before him, none of any real consequence, except for the reoccurring presence of an angelic, blonde chibi with sparkling jade eyes. A name whispered about in the air, reverberating eerily off the multiplying shadows- Kayia. When the interloper attempted to reach out to the child a figure sprang from the darkness- a grotesque humanoid form, little more than a rotting corpse that snatched the cowering girl with a growl and flash of silvery glare, then vanished into a grove of skeletal trees.

A cold chill ran down his spine as he allowed his hand to drop, and looked around with the caution of a deer newly alerted to danger. Best to be done with this as soon as possible… He turned redoubling his search for a possible point of entry into the garden of the girl’s personality. As if in response to his barely swallowed unease, a slender ray of light drifted across his face, widening by the second until it framed a rather narrow entryway. Phantom tendrils wrapped about the wrists and throat of his projected form to drag him into the bluish-gray light beyond the threshold. Inside he found himself face to face with a creature made of pure energy, a blaringly bright figure against the hazy background.

:: Welcome:: The voice sent crackles of power snapping into the uncertain light of the chamber.

:: Who are you?::

::Why ask questions to which you already know the answers?:: the pressure on his throat had relaxed considerably, but his wrists were still bound securely.

::So, you are the sleeper?::

::I am, yet I am not.::

::Like to be difficult, do you?::

::Only when it pleases me.:: came the cagey androgynous reply, a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the restraints. The sensation drew a low hiss from the captive image. ::You have come to demand my servitude if I am not mistaken?::

::Direct, I like that in a …woman?::

::You tread on dangerous ground coming here. I am trying only to protect you. Now, make your demands and leave.:: The voice was firm.

::Fair enough. The Blade Dancer, we need her… your cooperation.::

::I am only a small part of the whole. A part that is still in denial…::

::So, it was useless to come here?::

::Yes and no.::

::Just like a woman. Could you be a bit more explicit?::

::Look beyond the masks that this physical form wears. She has a child’s heart despite all her transgressions and the hidden sins visited upon her. You and your companions can convince her to acknowledge me, but only if you are willing to see beyond her surface.::

::Lex is expecting results now… I don’t have the time to play nursemaid to a snot-nosed, screwed up kid. Tell me how to reach ….::

The sudden tidal wave of pain washed Schuldig’s spectral body from the chamber and spat him none-to-gently into his gasping physical form. That bitch had pitched him out! He lurched from his bed, staggered to his dresser and yanked on a pair of red silk pajama pants before striding more steadily to the door and wrenching it open angrily. He would report the incident to Darrow... then he would claw his way back into that twilight zone chamber and rip that overbearing light bulb a new ass!

He passed Michio and Farfarello’s rooms without so much as a glance, but stopped to glare daggers at the smooth natural wood panel concealing the unconscious assassin’s domain, before stalking down the stairs. He passed though the darkened living room and threw the office door open without bothering to knock. The dark-haired man was already facing the door waiting for the red-head’s storming entrance, he had removed his glasses in an effort to dampen his lust for the younger man, who as he had foreseen was enticingly arrayed. “Problems?”

“You could say that,” grated the German, “nothing I can’t handle though! That little bitch…” the mental tirade continued on far longer than his spoken vocabulary could easily sustain.

“So, she was able to repel you?” he kept his voice even, staring pointedly at the blurry face.
“I got in, ‘it’ drug me in!”

So, that was the problem… the girl had some psychic abilities after all to be able to not only withstand, but ensnare Schuldig she would have to.

Schuldig snarled, “The girl can do nothing, that thing inside her is another matter entirely.”
“What did you find out?”

“Schreier was right… I met the sleeper,” the German could feel himself calming under Darrow’s unwavering gaze. He finally stopped his pacing and moved to the edge of the desk, thrusting aside some papers that were neatly stacked on the corner before his appearance. The skin around the older man’s mouth tightened slightly, but his expression otherwise remained unchanged. “It is powerful, but it’s trapped.”

“How?”

“The girl’s suppressing it. The way the thing talked it was sealed away- a repressed memory or something of the like.”

“Did it have any suggestions as to its liberation?”

“It wants us to play nursemaid to the kid… “see beyond the masks,” it said.”

“Interesting…” not generally their style, but whatever was necessary. The end justifies the means after all, Darrow reminded himself pushing a hand through his dark-hair absently. “I suppose we could accommodate as long as results are forth coming.”

The German’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “What?”

“Simple, we rip the masks off…” a malicious smile stole over the man’s lips as he let the words trail off. He could play grand poobah of the dysfunctional Brady bunch if need be to attain his objective. He picked his glasses up from the desk and slipped them on, his stomach giving a startling lurch at the answering smirk his comment had elicited.

“Your wish is my command, poobah,” Schuldig crooned feigning a bow. Straightening, he rose with catlike grace from the desk and made for the door.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I have a light bulb to blow…”

“Let it be for now,” the American rose to his full height and stretched stiff muscles. He had been poring over files for hours and was ready to retire for the night, but not before he was secure in the fact that the German truly would stick to the plan.

“You are about as much fun as Michio these days,” his now still form by the door whined vindictively. “I have a score to settle. Gute Nacht, Lex.”

The boy never had been very receptive of his orders and positively chafed at the exercise of authority. It was a constant cycle of service, defiance and punishment with the fiery German, but the arrangement appealed to Darrow’s baser desires and was therefore tolerated. Closing the distance between them in three strides, the solidly muscled American seized the taller, rangy man by his mop of long hair and slammed his chest into the door effectively trapping his left arm between his body and the frame. “You forget yourself…” he hissed, warm breath ghosting over the smooth skin of his captive’s shoulder. He reach around the other to seize his still loose right wrist and wrench it behind his back, before settling his weight more firmly onto that arm and reaching around to secure the other wrist. Crossing the thin wrists and crushing them together in the grip of one hand, Darrow peeled the lanky man’s frame away from the door and shoved him stumbling toward the desk. The slender hips connected with the edge and his upper body was slammed down across the paper cluttered expanse, his hair spilling like fire across the stark whiteness.
[THERE IS M/M AFTER THIS POINT. NOT NECESSARY FOR PLOT IF IT SQUICKS YOU.]
Moments later, Schuldig’s pants were in a puddle around his ankles and he felt the unintentional slap of leather across his buttocks as the other unfastened his belt and opened his pants, allowing them to slide low enough to release his trapped erection. There was no foreplay, no lubricant to ease the passage of the oppressive girth, just simply a searing stab of fire and the soft hiss of his aggressor’s indrawn breath as the man invaded him. Schuldig liked it rough, sometimes he wondered if he defied his leader just so he could earn the man’s wrath and be pleasured like this. Too bad he couldn’t get it a little more often. Heaven forbid, Alexander Mason Darrow ever pull the stick out of his ass long enough to admit he might enjoy seeking frequent gratification in his long time teammate’s bed rather than sporadic tryst under the guise of punishments. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosy… One particularly brutal thrust bowed Schuldig’s back, voicing his pain with a guttural growl. The seme simply buried one hand at the back of his uke’s upraised head and slammed his face to the unforgiving surface, securing it there with a satisfied grunt before increasing the pace and length of his strokes. Ja, that was Lex for you… control freak!

The German relaxed slightly before meeting the next stroke with upraised hips. His own arousal was trapped between his body and the desk. The measured rocking of Darrow’s carefully controlled, yet brutal stabs was not enough to bring him off. The pain helped, but even that wouldn’t seal the deal… “So, you want more?” The desire colored voice growled as each word was punctuated with a push to his head.

The boy’s typical retort rang hollow in his ears, “You couldn’t handle it, Lex…” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other quirk one eyebrow. He released hold of the coppery mass of hair and removed his glasses. He looks much younger, less sinister without them, the molested youth mused shifting his face away to hide a sublime smirk.

Darrow reclaimed his hold on his victim’s neck before pulling out completely and slamming back in. Victim, there is a term that is so out of place, yet fitting when used to refer to the German… He was such a worthless, strung out whore when I found him in Berlin. Now, he’s just a troublesome slut, the American mused noticing himself start to pant, he increased his pace. His balls tightened in release as he drove as deep as possible into the other man hearing him screech his own release. Darrow let out a shaky moan before he could stop himself. He was never vocal during sex… couldn’t be helped now though. With a last brutal shove at the back of the German’s head, he slipped away to right his clothes. He retrieved his glasses and headed for the door, leaving his partner still prone on the desk. Stopping with doorknob in hand he spoke, “Leave the girl alone until told otherwise. Now, clean up and go to bed. Too often you forget yourself…” With that he was gone off to the isolation of his own bed.

Pushing slowly off the surface of the desk, Schuldig whispered into the empty office, “And you, not often enough…”
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