Disclaimer: Weiβ Kreuz is owned by its owners (duh!)…My guess it would be Koyasu Takehito and his gang, along with An Assassin and White Shaman manga author Kyoko Tsuchiya …I do not, in any circumstances, own it. This is for ENTERTAINMENT purposes only.
Warning: This chapter contains very disturbing content. Please be reminded that this is a work of fiction.
Chapter II: Stirrings
“No! Please! Don’t hurt me!”
It was the voice of a young boy, perhaps seven or eight years old. It was a voice filled with pain, desperation and fear. There was a sudden rustle in the grassy empty lot as the young boy moved, trying to get away. The little boy could feel his heart pounding with fear.
“Little boy,” a menacing voice said from the darkness. “You’re not going to get away from me.”
“Help!” the boy cried out with all his might when he saw a dark figure, the one he feared the most, coming closer to him. Then, he stumbled, falling helplessly to the ground.
“Ha! Ha! I got you now!” The dark figure was now looming over him, a feral smile on its lips. He slowly reached out with his claw-like hands, ready to grab the boy.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a blinding light appeared. The dark figure let out a loud cry. The boy shielded his eyes, then turned to the source of the light. The little boy let out a startled gasp.
Standing a few feet away from the little boy was a beautiful angel dressed in the purest white. She had long hair, a kindly but strangely familiar face, and a pair of gold-green eyes. She gently took the little boy in her strong arms, her white wings brushing against his tired body, miraculously healing all his hurts. Then they flew far, far away from the dark figure….
“Daydreaming again, little boy?” A horrible, menacing voice rasped, bringing the boy back into reality. The little boy shot the man a look of utter contempt, for which he received a resounding blow on the face. The little boy fell back, but his eyes remained on the one who hit him.
The man picked him up by the scruff of the neck and lifted the little boy a few feet off the ground. The little boy struggled, but he kept his gaze. “A fiery one, aren’t you?” the man asked, the wicked smile the little boy so disliked appearing on the man’s cruel face again. “Should have disposed of you long ago, if you weren’t the favorite plaything of our boss.”
The little boy spat on him, eyes blazing.
Letting out a loud roar of anger, the man swung back his fist, ready to knock the little boy unconscious. The boy merely glared at him, unafraid. The man would have succeeded in his intent if it hadn’t been for the hand that grabbed the man’s fist. “What the hell–”
“That child is an asset, Morgan,” a quiet voice said from behind the man. A handsome blonde man stepped out of the shadows. “You will not do anything to hurt him.”
Morgan lowered the still-glowering child. “He’s trouble, Louis. You tolerate him too much.” Morgan gave the child a dark look, then stalked away.
The little boy watched Morgan walk away for a moment, then turned to the blonde who was now kneeling in front of him. Young as he may be, the little boy was no innocent. He knew that beneath the man’s quiet voice lay something twisted and monstrous.
The little boy felt tears spring to his eyes. How he wished he was home with his parents. If he ever, ever, got away, he swore that he'd be the most behaved boy in the whole wide world.
The blonde man smiled at the boy, the man’s fingers toying with his brown hair. “Hmm…Morgan says I tolerate you too much.” His fingers slid to the little boy’s shoulder. The boy felt a sudden feeling of revulsion and dread at the touch. The little boy knew what was coming, and he knew he was powerless to stop him. The little boy then felt a sudden blow to the stomach, making the little boy double over. Eyes glazed with tears of pain and fear, he heard the blonde man murmur, “You are mine, little boy. Mine.” Then the boy was suck into a world of darkness.
*******
Ken sneaked a glance at his teammates. Youji was busy testing his piano wire for strength. Omi was rather nervously preparing his poisoned darts. Aya was sitting in one corner of the van, gazing at his sword.
“Keep your eyes on the road, Ken,” Youji reminded him, glancing up from his work. Ken looked embarrassed for a moment, then turned his attention back to the road. He heard Youji scold Omi, “Omittchi, your darts are fine. Stop messing with them unless you want to accidentally poison yourself.” Ken hid a grin when Omi protested, resulting in another argument between the youngest member and the oldest member of Weiβ.
“Will you two knock it off?” Aya demanded, giving them a shi-ne glare. Youji and Omi glared at each other, but stopped arguing. Both knew better than to argue with Aya, especially if he was in a dark mood.
Aya was indeed in a dark mood. He didn’t like this mission, but that tomboy suckered him into it–or so that’s what he tells himself. It went against his grain, working with a Takatori. Well…Omi was technically aTakatori, but that’s a different matter for Aya.
Omi looked at Aya, a frown on his young face. He still remembered how badly the meeting between Aya and Patricia went.
The mission was simple enough. They would enter the sex club stealthily, find the bastards running it, kill them then get the hell out of the place before trouble arrives. However, since the victims–the kids, specifically the little boys, couldn’t be just left alone so some help would be needed to deal with the kids’ welfare. It came to the Weiβ members as a complete surprise when Patricia announced that, after their mission, Interpol would arrive and take care of that part in the mission.
“How did you arrange that?” Youji demanded.
Patricia, still wearing the clothes she wore the first time they met her, gave him a steady look. “The European branch of Kritiker has often conducted similar deals with the legal agents of law-enforcement. The European intelligence and law-enforcement community is one the best in the world. There’s hardly anything they don’t know or can’t do. Kritiker sort of co-exists with them, making deals that would benefit both Kritiker and the community. This is one of those deals. Interpol gets to arrest major sex offenders while Kritiker gets to kill the man it wants to eliminate.”
"I see." Youji smiled at her.
She didn't smile back. "Balinese and Siberian will be the one to free the children." She turned to Omi and casually tossed him a mini-disk. "You will be the one to handle their security and the mission's timing. All the data you will need is in that disk." She then faced the expressionless Aya. "You will be the one to accompany me in Delacroix's room," she told the redhead.
"Why me?" Aya's facial expression did not change, but his violet eyes were glittering dangerously.
For the first time in the briefing, Patricia smiled, her gold-green eyes twinkling with scarcely concealed amusement. "Because I desire the pleasure of your company, Abyssinian."
Omi felt a surge of excitement and anticipation. He hadn’t worked with a woman before–none of them did, with the exception of Youji. Manx sometimes helped but never this directly. Omi wondered how Patricia would look and act like in a mission.
“We’re here," Ken announced as he slowed the van into a quiet halt. He parked the van in a dark and empty alley just a block or so away from their target. Weiβ Kreuz members stepped out of the vehicle, all their senses alert. “I wonder where she is?” Ken murmured, also looking around.
“You’re late,” an amused voice from the darkness said. The group whirled to the direction where the voice came from.
Patricia was sitting on an old wooden box. Her hair was tied back into a low chignon and there was a serious look on her face. However, as she observed them, she lifted one slim eyebrow and a wry smile touched her lips. “Nice clothes,” she remarked, looking at them from head to toe.
“You’re not bad-looking yourself,” Youji retorted, eyeing her admiringly. Himalayan was wearing all-black clothes–a black turtleneck blouse overlaid by a leather jacket and leather slit skirt that reached up to her knees. She wore a pair of almost knee-high leather boots. To complete her ensemble, she wore a pair of black leather gloves. Youji tried to find a weapon, but she didn't seem to be carrying one. However, he spotted what appeared to be two folded fan dangling on her waist.
Her smile faded into a grim frown. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."
*******
The club was noisy today, much noisier than usual. Perhaps it was because there were so many customers today, drinking, dancing and chatting. All of them seemed to be very eager. Maybe it was because the customers knew that a new shipment of goods had just arrived, fresh and ready to be served to those who are willing to pay. They were more expensive than the usual ones, but these men were not quite troubled by that little problem.
The club, named as The Happy Hours, was situated near the end of the red-light district of the town. It had all the amenities needed by the customers–an area for dancing, for drinking, for eating and much more. It catered to the customers' needs very well, making it a popular spot for those who frequent the area. However, it was more well-known for its specialty: little boys.
The owner was a Frenchman by the name of Louis Delacroix. He was a devilishly handsome man with long blonde hair and ice blue eyes. He was also devilishly cunning. He managed to evade the law numerous times, going from one place to another to sell his goods. He had powerful connections, making it easy for him to slip away.
Right now, Louis was on the balcony of the seventh floor of the building, idly swirling the wine on his goblet. A small smile of satisfaction curled his lips. Business was good these past nights. Moreover, business would get better now that he had brought in some fresh stock.
At the thought of his newly acquired goods, Louis's smile widened. It was so easy to find them, so easy to lure them into his waiting trap. A little coaxing, a mouthful of promises of a new life and a thick bundle of money were usually enough to catch them, to control them. They were so innocent.
However, that was what drew in his customers. The innocence of his goods. A deep laugh emerged from his throat. He remembered just how much pleasure he took as he gazed into the innocent eyes of his little playmate, watching that innocence shatter as he corrupted them with each touch, nip and thrust. It felt so good to hear their cries and whimpers of pain. They were like aphrodisiacs to him, heightening his desire.
Louis gulped down the last of his wine and went back to the room, setting down the goblet on a nearby table. He picked up a crystal decanter and walked to the edge of his bed.
On his bed was the boy with green eyes. The boy may once have had a name, but it hardly mattered now. He was a recent acquisition and shortly became Louis’s favorite. Louis couldn’t quite put a finger on why he preferred this boy to the rest of the lot. Perhaps it was because of the way the boy resisted him with all his young might, his green eyes flashing with defiance as Louis violated him in every way.
The boy was now stripped naked, spread-eagled across Louis’s bed. The little pale body was red with welts from Louis’s whip. His mouth was slightly gagged; his hands and feet tied to the posts. Tear-tracks ran from his green eyes, mute evidence of the pain he suffered. However, despite the pain, the boy's eyes were bright with defiance. Louis grinned malevolently at him as he slowly poured the wine from the decanter on his body. The boy jerked, a muffled cry escaping from his mouth as the wine burned into his fresh welts. Louis felt his need rising as he watched the little boy writhe under his torment.
Then the lights went down.
“What the HELL!” Louis half-shouted, frustration and irritation evident in his voice. A blackout, of all the time in the world! And on one of the club’s best nights! Forgetting the boy, Louis groped his way through the darkness of the room, trying to find his way to the phone. When he finally found it, he picked it up, and dialed by memory the telephone number of the maintenance room. When he put the phone near his ear, it was then that he noticed that the phone did not seem to have a dial tone.
He stared at the phone in silent askance. The blackout had also affected the phone lines? Mon Dieu, what can possibly go wrong next? Irritated, he tightened the belt of his silk robe and decided to go down to the maintenance room himself. It was a disgraceful thing for an owner to do, but it had to be done.
Then, as suddenly as the lights gone out, the lights went back on, but far dimmer than moments before the blackout. Louis let out an exasperated sigh. Mechanics! They are so incompetent! He whirled around, stomping towards the phone when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
A tall redhead in a purplish-black trench coat stood menacingly a few feet away from Louis. The unexpected guest’s face was emotionless. His cold violet eyes were fixed on Louis, like a ferocious animal locking on its prey. Louis felt his blood run cold when he saw the young man was holding a katana.
“And pray tell, who might you be, monsieur?” Louis inquired smoothly, hiding his nervousness.
The cerise-haired man did not answer. Instead, he calmly unsheathed his sword and moved swiftly towards the now-alarmed Louis.
Louis sidestepped the still-unknown man's sword's first thrust. Louis immediately dashed towards a nearby table and grabbed the long, spiked whip he had used earlier on the boy. His confidence returning, he faced the young man. He smiled at the redhead maliciously. “So you want to play,” Louis almost purred. Without warning, he cracked his whip, hurling its sharp, spiked edge towards the redhead.
K’so! Aya swore to himself as he swiftly dodged the attack. The whip smashed into a table filled with expensive vases, sending bits of wood and porcelain flying through the air. Aya hated fighting with whips. They were just too difficult to fight with. Aya gripped his katana tightly, eyes trained on the man.
Louis cracked his whip once more. Aya evaded it, then moved in. Aya’s katana found its mark, Louis’s arm.
Louis screamed as excruciating pain followed the wounding of his right hand. Blood spurted from the wound, spilling on the plush carpeted floor. Now it would nearly be impossible for him to wield the whip.
Louis glanced up. The redhead was advancing towards him, cold violet eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” Louis demanded, voice hoarse with fear. Louis glanced at the door. Surely, someone must have heard–no, it was impossible. Louis had soundproofed the room so that he would not be disturbed by the noises coming from downstairs and vice-versa. He had thought it was a clever idea back then, but now, at this moment, he didn’t think it was clever anymore. Louis could scream as loud as he can, but no one would hear him. “Do you want money?” Louis rasped to his soon-to-be murderer. “I have much. I will–”
“I don’t think he would be interested in your money, Delacroix,” a familiar voice suddenly said harshly. Louis shook his head, trying to clear his blurred vision. He saw a figure step out from behind the titian-haired young man. His eyes widened in recognition.
“You!” Louis shouted when he saw who the figure was. It was a young woman holding two folded fans. “I should have known!” Rage welled up from inside him, making Louis go beyond rationality. With an animal-like cry, Louis launched the whip towards the girl, forgetting his own wound.
With a flicker of annoyance crossing her face, the young woman evaded the whip. In a split-second, she was beside him, her fans unfurled and glinting against the light. Eyes glazed with pain, he stared at the girl. Her gold-green eyes took on an amber hue in its coldness. He instinctively flinched from that gaze. Then there was a soft whistling in the air. Louis looked up to see a flash of light.
It would be the last thing he would ever see.
*******
The head and the body dropped with a soft thud, with the head rolling a few feet away from Louis’s headless body. The plush carpeted floor was quickly soaked red with blood.
Patricia loomed over the body, observing it with clinical detachment. Then she glanced at Aya, whose face was as impassive as ever. She then touched her earring. “Siberian, this is Himalayan,” she said to Ken, who, along with Youji, was somewhere in the lower floors of the building, taking care of some of the guards. “Mission is completed.”
“Got that. Balinese and I are through as well,” Ken replied. “Bombay tells me we have to move fast. Cavalry’s coming,” Youji suddenly informed them, breaking into the conversation.
“Roger on that one.” Patricia turned to Aya, who was busy wiping off the blood on his katana. Patricia heard a soft groan. She turned to its source. She gave a sharp hiss of breath when she saw the spread-eagled boy on Louis’s bed.
“Bastard,” she whispered softly to herself as she bent over to pull out a small sharp knife hidden in her boot. She stared at the boy for a moment, taking in the wounds on the boy's body. He was mercifully unconscious. She wordlessly began to cut the ropes that so cruelly bound the boy to the bed. When she was finished, Patricia turned to a disapproving Aya. “Find something to cover him,” she told the redhead in a quiet voice. Aya stared at her for a moment, then went in search for a coat or a towel. In a few seconds, he returned with towel in hand. He silently handed it to her.
Patricia gently wrapped the boy, careful not to harm his wounds. Then, she scooped him up and carried him in her arms. "Let's go," she said in the same quiet voice.
*******
"Looks like this one's a success," Ken said to Aya and Patricia when they arrived at the rendezvous point located a few blocks away from the club. From there, they heard the sudden wail of sirens. “You’re late, though.”
“That was a close one,” Youji remarked. “What took you so long?” Then he noticed the bundle Patricia was carrying. Youji's eyes widened slightly. "Who the hell is that?"
“He's a boy in Delacroix’s room,” Patricia replied blandly, looking straight at Youji. “He needed help.” She did not bother to elaborate.
“Oh.” Youji flicked a quick glance at the boy. The kid was sleeping peacefully against Patricia's shoulder. Judging from his appearance, the boy would be around six or seven. "Cute kid," Youji remarked lamely.
"His name is Jonathan Pryce," Patricia said quietly, running her fingers through the boy's damp brown hair. "He's a distant cousin of mine. He's also my godchild."
"What?"
She smiled slightly at them, noting the stunned look on their faces. Only Aya remained impassive. "He was kidnapped from the local playground two months ago. I never thought I'd see him here. We thought the kidnappers killed him." Unconsciously, or perhaps not, her gaze shifted to Omi. Their gazes held for a moment, until the boy's stirring broke it. "I should be going now. He needs to have his wounds treated." Her smile widened into a sudden pleased grin. "Thank you for your help. It didn't go as bad as I expected it too. Au revoir. Until we meet again." She bowed at them, then turned, and slowly walked away.
They watched her retreating back for a moment, until Aya said, "That's enough. Let's go."
*******
It had been almost a week since the mission on Louis Delacroix. His death had been on the front page of newspapers for the week, filling in the people of the grisly details of his death. There had been subsequent investigations on who killed Delacroix but as usual, the investigators found themselves at a dead end.
No new missions were given to Weiβ after the mission on Delacroix. For the rest of the week, they did not see Patricia, causing Omi some degree of confusion and worrying.
It was another beautiful morning when the Weiβ members opened their flower shop on wheels, as Ken put it once. The sky was cloudless and the weather was finally warming. And as usual, a horde of girls was around their van, some of them buying flowers but most of them were just there, staring and squealing at the sight of the boys.
“Are you going to buy or not?” Aya demanded irritably to a bunch of squealing girls. They girls just squealed harder.
“Now, Ayan, that’s not a nice way to treat young ladies. They’re potential customers, you know,” Youji pointed out as he handed a mixed bouquet of flowers to a pretty young woman. Youji whispered something to her, which made the girl laugh. When she handed her payment, Aya noticed a strip of paper among the bills. Aya just shook his head in exasperation. He didn’t need to be psychic to figure out what was on that paper.
“Can I have a dozen white roses?” a disturbingly familiar voice asked. Aya’s head snapped up. He then found himself staring at a pair of gold-green eyes.
“Well?” Patricia Deschanel prompted, looking expectantly at Aya. Aya narrowed his eyes, discreetly studying her. She was wearing a cream-colored, flower-printed dress that fell just above her knees paired with a knitted white cardigan. She wore her hair down, her hair falling into soft black curls down to her waist.
Aya turned his back to her. She turned to Omi, whose face suddenly brightened up as she smiled at him.
Out of nowhere, Youji appeared with a flourish, handing Patricia a red rose. Patricia thanked him, then she turned to Aya. “Can I have a dozen white roses?”
As usual, Aya gave her a death glare, which she ignored. Aya had a feeling she was deliberately trying to irritate him–and she was succeeding. He took out a dozen white roses, carefully wrapped it and then wordlessly handed it to her. When Patricia was about to pay, Aya said curtly, “It’s for free.”
Everyone gave them an odd look. Patricia appeared puzzled for a moment and then she gave Aya a knowing smile. “How gallant of you, Fujimiya-san,” she murmured dryly, as she took the blooms. Aya merely gave her a cool look, not wanting to be goaded into a word fight with her.
“Your favorite flowers?” Ken inquired as he handed an adoring but annoying girl her change.
“Iie. It’s for something else.” She sniffed the flowers. “They smell nice, don’t they, Manx?” she asked, whirling around to face the surprised redheaded woman.
*******
“What’s up, Manx?” Youji asked, plopping himself on the couch. “You didn’t have to come here, you know. All you have to do is call me if you want a date with me.”
“In your dreams, Balinese,” Manx retorted sweetly. Behind her, Patricia laughed.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Youji muttered in an injured tone, shooting Patricia an accusing look. Patricia merely laughed harder.
“Let’s get to business, shall we?” Manx said in her characteristic brisk, no-nonsense voice, sitting on a nearby wooden chair.
They were back in the apartment now, ready to hear what Manx had to say. It had been quite difficult for the Weiβ members to close down the flower shop because many of the girls complained on how early their closing was. The group had to fight its way towards their van and it took several minutes to disperse the crowd.
“This must be very important,” Ken grunted, seating himself beside Youji. Omi sat on an armchair. Curiously, Aya and Patricia remained standing.
“It is.” Manx turned to a suddenly quiet Patricia. “You’ve heard?”
Patricia nodded. “Just this morning.”
“Heard what?” Ken demanded, noting the sudden mood change in Patricia. He marveled at that ability–the ability to shift moods rapidly. Patricia wasn’t alone on that. Both Birman and Manx were capable of lightning-fast mood changes–from being cheerful to being dead serious in a blink of an eye. What is it, some kind of standard operating procedure for women agents? Ken mused. Or is just a girl thing?
“A European Kritiker agent was killed,” Manx informed them.
“Nani?” Omi’s eyes widened. “Since when?”
“A few hours ago,” Patricia supplied in a calm voice, her gold-green eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Everyone turned to look at her. "Do I have any orders?"
“You are to stay in Japan for an indefinite period of time.”
A wry smile twisted Patricia’s lips. “Big surprise. What am I to do while I'm here?”
“You are to become the newest member of Weiβ Kreuz.”
T.B.C.
Ahhh...finally fixed this one...hehehe...
