Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The authors claim no ownership of the characters within, nor received any compensation for this work.
Pounding music and glittery light diving through the darkness.
Swirling, gyrating bodies outlined by alcohol tang and smoky patterns in the air.
An auburn-haired young man leaned against the bar, a drink in hand as he watched the swaying crowd. He took another sip of the sweet, spiced rum and let the Coke bubbles fizz down his throat. Here and there he could pick out familiar features, the gleam of stage light on shining golden hair, black hair mixed with red with blue as three forms molded to each other as they danced. Charcoal-blue hair and powerful shoulders held a lithe, lavender haired unknown close. This was "the" club to be at, shiningly upscale and with a cover that would make your average mere mortal blanch. The air reeked of money and power, young flesh and sex. This was where all the good little heirs and debutantes came to go wild, to dance, to drink, to screw in dark back rooms far from the eyes of Mommy and Daddy. And to do it surrounded by the best security money could buy so Mommy and Daddy could pretend it wasn't happening.
He didn't want to know how Mia knew about the place, hell, he didn't want to know why the bouncer knew her. He supposed they should feel guilty for her picking up the tab for the night but couldn't manage. Two years ago today, in another city, they'd saved the world, and what better way to celebrate then a night of sheer indulgence.
He'd just deposited his empty tumbler on the bar when a gleam from the front door caught his eye. He hastily clamped his mouth shut to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. Black leather and watered silk, poured over beautiful perfection. He knew he wasn't alone at staring at the gorgeous quartet, from the tall blond whose smile was pure sex, to the athletic brunette seemingly oblivious to his beauty, to the younger blond who bled lust and innocence. His breath caught, looking at the last, as a wave of hunger hammered its way to his groin.
Crimson haired perfection, he thought as he started to move forward. Perfection in leather, chrome and scarlet silk that set off the paleness of his skin. The tall blond said something to his companions and they split up, flowing into the tide of bodies. He followed the redhead, entranced.
Cye Mouri was a very self-aware young man. He'd long since gotten past the realization that he was attracted to both men and women, though his closest ties would always be to his fellow Ronins. He'd had the occasional fling, though was nowhere near the slut Rowan could be if inspired. They'd always parted friends and he'd reimmerse himself in his lover/brother/comrades. And only with the Ronins had he felt the overpowering *need* that the redheaded bishonen inspired. Cye watched him as he came closer, etching the delicate features into his brain. Looking closer, he saw that the other boy's posture was a shade too rigid, with a trace of tightness around his lips from heavy burdens and the shadowed flicker in his eyes that sang pain. Torrent sighed in surprised wonder as he felt a response, something past body, past soul. Something stirred deep in that well of soft blue-green fire that sang in his blood and defined his very self.
Trust.
Aching need, shattered trust and broken dreams, they spiraled together so closely that Cye couldn't figure out where the strands began and ended. He only knew that for all the poise, the young man was broken inside very, very badly. He took a steadying breath to calm the wave of protectiveness fighting for dominance with lust. Pretty and a mystery to unravel... life was grand.
Cye slid into a chair next to the captivating young man. He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. He tilted his head to the side and gave the stranger a brilliant smile. "It looks like your friends abandoned you. Want some company?"
The redhead shifted a little and looked at him with glacial violet eyes. Cye was struck by the color, a richer hue than Sage's but so much colder. He gave Cye an abbreviated twitch of his head that said more clearly than words: no. He looked away, watching the shifting bodies around him, without really seeing them.
Hmph, Cye thought, it's going to take more than that to get rid of me. "So, you don't want a drink and you don't want to dance. What are you doing here, anyway? You're far too pretty to be sitting alone, looking so grim. You should at least find someone to talk to."
The redhead just looked back at him in the same manner he'd been looking at Cye since he'd sat down. Violet eyes were too narrow to be emotionless, but too flat to truly appear annoyed. Those eyes were of such startling color and clarity that one could easily believe they held no depth. Just beneath the cool jewel surface, though, Cye knew he saw something flickering. It was covered with an outer beauty, painted on perfection to deter seekers from digging and content themselves with a pretty but pointless wrapping.
Now Cye had been caught staring, mulling over the older boy's eyes as he waited for his answer. He would have none, as his companion preferred silent, stony unresponsiveness to Cye's natural verbosity. Clear eyes, as hard and eternal as amethysts, met his gaze with an unspoken challenge. Chilling. Cye looked away first, his attention wandering zig-zag down the redhead's pale neck and shoulder, down the silk-covered arm of his shirt.
Bright red, the jewel-tone was as loud as the man's shocking hair. His gaze wandered down the long, slender arm lazily, drinking up the sight. "You must be here for a reason," Cye mused out loud, though the other man gave him no encouragement. No deterrent either, though. Striking out in a new direction, Cye lowered his voice to suggest, "Maybe you know about this club's other opportunities, and are looking for someone?"
Right now, those private rooms were calling to him. Away from prying eyes, might not this reserved sculpture of beauty be transformed into something more lively, more passionate? Cye's hands could sculpt that change, he imagined. His fingers fluttered as he thought of the feel of the man's skin beneath his touch. He was close enough that a flick of two fingers brought contact with the bright red silk.
Cye smiled to himself, unwittingly dislodging a flaw in the make of the garment. "Oh, you have a thread," he murmured, curling his little finger around the errant seam's tail.
This prompted his silent companion into movement, drawing his wrist away from the proximity of Cye's finger. The thread was drawn out longer, still clinging to the silk shirt. Cye tugged, chuckling low in his throat. "You're supposed to make a wish when you pull a thread out, you know. I wonder if I can make a wish on you..."
The redhead's other hand darted over, as if to put the wish to death before it was even born. One long alabaster finger wrapped around the thread that Cye pulled taut with his own finger. A single clean, efficient jerk pulled the dangling thread free, the broken end now hanging over the other man's index finger.
For a few moments they were joined by the short red thread. Both of them stared at the tenuous connection of one snow-white digit to the other, sun-golden fingertip. Both of them looked up at the same moment to meet one another's eyes, a jolt of surprise passing between them.
The redhead broke the crystal moment first, withdrawing his hand back to himself and looking away from Cye's eyes. "Schoolgirl superstitions," he said, "do not befit grown men." When he finally spoke his voice was like a handcrafted blade, its weight even and firm, its tone deadly.
Cye raised one auburn eyebrow, "You would be surprised," he said, mildly annoyed, though none of it showed through his own careless seeming facade. If he only knew... "Sometimes even the smallest things can shake a world." He smiled again, this time one softly edged with secrets. "Even now there's still magic in the world. If you look for it." He fingered the tiny thread still wrapped around his fingertip, watching, waiting for a reaction.
~*~*~*~
"Abyssinian, plan executes in five minutes."
Omi's light voice in his ear pulled Aya out of the tense discomfort of social interaction. The hi-tech transmitter patch was well hidden just behind his ear, and artfully concealed by a deceptive fall of red hair. Its placement had the unfortunate side effect of giving him the feeling that someone was murmuring against the back of his neck, and it never failed to send a little shiver down his spine.
The persistent young man at his side had provided good cover while he waited for the rest of his team to get into position. Allowing another man to attempt to gain his favor had insured that most of the patrons tonight would not look twice at him. Women would mark him as a lost cause, and most men would be too uncomfortable with his perceived preference to meet his eyes. Aya already felt like an eyesore in this brightly-colored shirt. The fewer clubgoers who looked his way, the better. This chatty boy with the brisk accent was doing a good job of deterring anyone else who might have approached him.
An awkward silence had fallen now and Aya mentally weighed his options. Just then, Omi's words vibrated against the back of his neck, breaking the uncomfortable spell. The auburn-haired boy had served his purpose, and Aya turned away from him now. Niceties were unnecessary. He now had less than five minutes to retrieve his weapon and meet the others before Omi shut down the security system.
Leaving bar and boy behind, Aya let the crowd swallow him and guide him along to the exit. In a club where the music was throbbing and the lighting was low, eye contact was the preferred method of communication. The longer the stare, the deeper the communication. A man who met no one's eyes could not speak. He would be nothing more than a breeze brushing a back, a shoulder in a sea of hips and limbs that bumped ceaselessly. He would not exist.
Three minutes after his summons, Aya was in the alley next to the club, stripping out of his red silk shirt and tossing it in the dumpster. Behind the metal behemoth was stashed the bundle of his trenchcoat and his sheathed katana, and he armed himself quickly. Yohji waited at the employee's entrance nearby to let him in.
They fell in step, striding down the service hall toward the club's back offices. Aya had to stretch to meet his teammate's longer strides, but after months of practice they could conceal their dual footsteps as the sound of only one. Yohji smelled strongly of perfume, Aya thought distantly. No, not perfume. Something sharper -- aftershave. A stronger, clean scent of mountain water, rather than a woman's floral. He remembered something similar hanging in the air around the boy at the bar.
"One minute. Siberian confirms the targets are assembled."
Ken emerged from the shadows, as Yohji and Aya turned from the service hall into the executive hall. He nodded to both of them, and the three of them held their position to wait for the signal.
"Be careful," warned Yohji's silvery whisper. "Bombay can't be here for distance backup for at least four minutes." Four minutes of chaos without the safety of Omi's sharp crossbolts to be the eyes in the backs of their heads. Four minutes with a greater risk of death than the minutes after.
In the thirty seconds of silence following Yohji's whisper, Aya thought of the boy from the bar. How many minutes had that one-sided conversation lasted? More than four? More than ten? Could he ever imagine that Aya's life might depend on those minutes of cover that he had provided? Such a short amount of time, such a small thing, might mean so much.
"System going down. Forty-five seconds, on... my... mark!"
Aya sprinted forward, followed, after a heartbeat, by his two teammates. His katana whined out of its sheath into his fighting hand, as Ken to his left threw his shoulder-weight against the office door. The cameras were blacked out, the electronic door locks were short-circuited, and the three of them had twenty-nine seconds to get to the targets before the security came back online.
The three of them burst into the room, into the madness of darkness and confused shouts. It was impossible to tell how many were in the room with the lights out. Aya heard Yohji's wire zipper out, he heard Ken grunt just ahead of him. He slashed out at a shadow that moved to his right -- metal found flesh and the shadow fell away.
Gunfire flickerflashed through the room seconds before the lights came blaring back on, along with the loud stereo and the protesting beep of interrupted computers. In the sudden glare of electric lights, Aya counted four hired guns in addition to the three targets. As planned, they had struck in the middle of the deal between the club's owner and the two scientists, just as money was changing hands.
Aya ducked and rolled under the gunfire, his teammates springing behind him to ensnare the human roadblocks thrown in their path. The three fleeing targets were his objective, as always. The primary goal was always his first responsibility. His teammates had their roles, and their roles made them strong, precise, and efficient.
The targets were escaping out a back door just out of the range of Aya's sword. He scrambled up to his feet, intent on his goal and leaving the gun battle behind. The other Weiss would be behind him in moments, he knew without having to think. He burst out into the choking city back-alley night.
Shadows, darkness, thundering fearful footsteps on the concrete ahead of him. Blood pounding in his ears, steel in his hand. Aya poised his katana back over his shoulder, gritting his teeth against the scream longing to burst forth. At these moments he was most alive, fired with a passionate rage. At these moments, seconds before the kill, was when he best understood himself.
Killer. Fighter. Not death himself, but the instrument of it. The executioner of someone else's judgement. Warrior. Murderer.
Monster.
His blade sliced neatly through the back of the slowest. The dead man toppled, but Aya was past him before his forgotten corpse could hit the pavement. The second man fell just as easily, but the third spun on him, bringing up a gun in shaking hands.
The eyes Aya faced now were far from sane. The man's grin was crooked and broken, and he gibbered senselessly while trying to cock the gun. Aya barely heard the man's ravings as he lunged forward.
"... my destiny! You can't guide the hand of fate!"
Fate. Destiny. Predetermination. Red threads.
In his mind's eye, Aya saw a flash of his little finger joined to that of another by the tenuous strain of ravelled red thread. Sparkling blue-green eyes winked beneath a tumble of unruly auburn hair.
The target before him fell backward, choking around the obstacle of a crossbolt in his throat. Aya was frozen in place for precious seconds, katana still raised to gut and cleave. The timing had been perfect: a few seconds longer and the target would have fired. One more moment and he might have moved, catching the crossbolt in the back of his own neck. Seconds. Heartbeats. The smallest things made such a difference.
He exhaled. Seconds ticked on toward the minutes he would continue to live.
~*~*~*~
Cye made his way back to his friends, dazed and not a little hurt by the boy's abrupt departure. There had been something odd about it, as though something important happened that Cye wasn't privy to. It tugged at the back of his mind, somehow connected to the strange insight that had drawn him in the first place.
After a little searching, he found his friends. The others had managed to corner a table and drinks, taking a momentary break. Cye smiled through the contemplative haze at Ryo and Mia. The normally reserved teacher was straddling their leader, pinning his legs to his chair. Her mouth was fastened to his and Rowan, the eternal smartass, was timing them.
"Look like theah goin' fa a record," Strata smirked, shoving a drink in his teammate's direction. "What's with you?"
Cye gave one more appreciative look at the attractive and extremely short mini-skirt and sighed wistfully, "Something beautiful..."
Kento laughed, "What, we not good enough for you anymore? Shame on you, Cye, trying to pick up one of the helpless little things all around us."
As Torrent opened his mouth to remind his smirking friend that there was no such thing here, all five Ronins froze. A prickle they'd not felt in two years sent chills chasing down their spines. There was something here gone very wrong and very dangerous.
"What?" Ryo struggled to push Mia back and catch his breath. "What the hell was that?"
"Trouble," Sage bit out. They rose together, all fooling around abruptly ceased. Ryo eased Mia back into a chair with a kiss and a firm request for her to please stay put. They moved toward the back rooms, drawn by the warning that had saved them from Dynasty soldiers too often to count.
They made their way slowly through the darkened hallways, ignoring the faint gasps and moans from behind closed doors. At the end of the hall was another door with a discrete sign proclaiming it 'employee only' territory. It was also unguarded. The hair on the back of Rowan's neck rose and he flashed his concern through the armor bond. Being the eternal nuisance that he was, he'd wandered the club for a bit after arriving. Any entrance leading in or out of the public areas had at least one security guard posted. For the hallway to be empty, especially here, spoke of a very serious situation indeed.
He reached forward and tested the handle gingerly. Locked. He glanced at Ryo, then Kento and moved out of the way after their leader's affirmative nod. Hardrock set his shoulder against the door firmly and gave it one sharp, careful shove. There was a muffled crack as the latch gave and Kento eased the door open. Inside was another hallway, unadorned and painted some dark, neutral color. The five slipped inside and started for the other end, moving silently over the thin carpet.
They passed empty offices, a storeroom or two, nothing that would explain the mysterious absence of security personnel. They'd reached the innermost rooms when Ryo brought them up short. There was a peculiar tang in the air overlain by a burnt copper smell that they knew too well. Ryo laid his hand on the door handle and Kento stood ready to pull him out of the way if need be. At the gentle pressure the smashed mechanism swung open.
Carnage.
Wildfire gulped, fighting a wave of nausea. Bodies -- he wasn't sure how many -- were strewn about the floor. Even with the uncertain light some of them looked... not right. He stepped forward gingerly, avoiding the rivulets of blood drying on the floor and forced himself to take a better look.
**Sage?** he thought, **Come in here, the rest of you watch for guards**
The swordsmen made a quick job of their observations. The deaths had been brutal, messy and quick with at least three weapons at work. There were huge, clean slashes, probably from a sword. A few looked almost shredded, clawed apart like an animal had gone after them. And the worst, one poor soul's head was completely separated from the body, lying in its own pool of gore. Shaken, the two slipped back out in the hall. One look at the greenish cast to the normally impassive Sage told the other three that they *really* didn't want to go in there. Ryo beckoned for them to follow down another hall.
**What's the plan, fearless leader?** Rowan asked, for once devoid of humor.
**Find whoever did it,** came the icy reply. **They can't have gone far. There's something still moving down that way.**
The five moved as one, as silent as only magic could make them. This was a mortal crime, and a far bloodier one than they'd dealt with before, but they still fought for the Light and this was the work of anything but.
~*~*~*~
The other three members of Weiss came up behind him as Aya stood over the man with a crossbow bolt protruding from his throat. The dead man was still twitching as though trying to fire off the gun that had long since fallen from his hands. Aya stood with his katana clasped backward, the point resting against the ground and slowly dripping blood into a puddle at his feet. In the stillness of the midnight alley, the dripping was like the pound of a bass drum in his ears. Shadows hid the worst of the carnage, but nothing could disguise the slick flow of blood.
"I almost hit you!" Omi appeared at his elbow, hissing and rounding on him angrily. "What were you doing, just standing there? He was going to shoot you!" Though he didn't go so far as to shove or even grab Aya's trenchcoat, the boy's seething anger was enough to pull his gaze away from the corpse.
One look from Aya, silent and cold as ever, and Omi backed down. He turned away with a scowl, unwilling to put forth the effort it took to provoke a reaction from the older man. Ken stepped in quickly, pointing out, "They're dead, that's what matters. Now let's get out of here."
As they turned to head toward the mouth of the alley, Yohji froze, mid-step. "Scatter," he whispered, just seconds before their discovery. Seconds enough for the four of them to retreat to either side of the shadowed alley before another, unfamiliar voice reached out of the darkness behind them.
"Hold it! There're more of us than there are of you, so don't even think about fighting."
The male voice was too young to be part of the club's security, Aya reasoned after an instant's consideration, though with a tone that said he was used to command. His hunch was proved right a moment later as five young men stepped into the faint light provided by faraway streetlights. They couldn't be any older than Ken, though each of them stood with a poise that rarely graced someone with such short life experience.
From the other side of the alley, Omi spoke up, though his features were concealed by the light angle and shadows. "Just turn around and stay out of this," Aya heard the boy hiss sharply. "We don't want a fight, but you have to leave."
"If you don't want a fight then you had better show yourselves before we make you," returned the black-haired boy who seemed to be their leader. "We're not interested in more bloodshed." He was almost radiating controlled fury and the alley no longer seemed quite so cold.
Aya did not dare move, stuck staring at the one of the five who stood nearest him. The boy was poised for a fight, his chin lifted and his sea-green eyes alert and wary, but it was unmistakably the boy from the bar who had been so persistent in getting his attention. The carelessness of earlier was gone and his eyes were just as hard as those of his companions.
Fate. Aya didn't believe in it. Neither did he believe in coincidence. No one had spared so much energy and attention trying to engage him in conversation as the sweet-faced boy in the bar tonight, not in years. He should have been suspicious long before this. Yet as soon as the suspicion that he had been tricked lodged in his mind, a flare of something in his gut contradicted the thought.
Trust. It burned hot and sudden deep inside, in the same reserved well of emotion where Aya kept his rage and his hatred. Trust. The five boys were unarmed and dressed in typical club clothes, and while each was in excellent physical condition, they seemed ready to pose no immediate threat. Trust. The same licking fire of feeling that fueled his limbs when he went in for a kill now spurred him to take a risky chance and trust.
Following this instinct, Aya stepped forward out of the shadows and rounded on the five, trusting the backlight from the alley mouth behind him to mute his features. Still, when his unmistakable hair became visible, the auburn-haired boy started visibly, and stared at him. His mouth sagged open in shock and he looked oddly... betrayed? Aya said nothing, but at his lead, the other three emerged and ranged themselves at his sides.
"Drop your weapons and we'll only hand you over to the police," stated the blond one of the five, taking a step forward with an imperious lift of the chin. Aya would have been annoyed with his arrogance, if he had the energy to spend on needless emotions.
"Though we will gladly kick your asses if that's what you want," added a hulking brute of a youth, cracking his knuckles in his hand.
Aya heard a whisper of metal against leather just to his left. "If you get out of here now, nobody has to get hurt at all!" Ken hissed, clenching his fist to extend the bugnuks from his glove.
The sharp-faced youth with shockingly blue hair spat out, "It ain't quite that simple, buddy. You shudah thought ah that first."
Still, the willowy boy Aya had met earlier said nothing. He was standing there, staring at Aya so raptly that it was starting to make him uncomfortable. Though the boy's comrades were tense and edgy, anxious for a fight, this one appeared almost relaxed. Trust. The feeling flared again in the pit of his stomach. It was time to end the verbal sparring.
~*~*~*~
Cye stared into the icy eyes of the beautiful redhead. He was almost unnaturally calm, the only motion being the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the shifting of a katana in blood-streaked fingers. Torrent was long past confused, he couldn't reconcile the peculiar feelings he'd been having with the cold killer in front of him. He'd caught a flash of what Ryo and Sage had seen and was appalled. He'd seen it with the Warlords but for a human to slaughter that coldly...
He opened his mouth to speak, ignoring the angry threats the Ronins and this other team were throwing at each other. He wasn't concerned about a fight; three boys with hand weapons were no real threat, especially if the five of them were armored. He was desperately hoping it wouldn't come to that. The boy couldn't be what he seemed, it didn't make any sense.
His words were chopped off though as he stumbled forward, something having shoved him hard from behind. He fell forward into the redheaded boy who caught him reflexively. Stupid, stupid, stupid.... his mind muttered, never should have come here without sub armor. He looked up into the other boy's eyes, puzzled by the shocked violet depth; he'd just been bumped by something, after all. Cye reached a hand up, touching the soft skin of the redhead's cheek lightly. He was still trying to figure out that strange, stricken expression when the world went black.
[ on to chapter 2 ]
