Weiß, Schwarz, Akai, Aoi   von Crion_dm459
                    (A Weiß Kreuz - Get Backers Crossover)
================================================================================
                 Kapitel 2: Night 1: Gathering Around the Fire
                 ---------------------------------------------


The bar was relatively empty on this night. Then again, bars almost always
tended to be empty in Japan, especially those of a western design. Every so
often, you would find a random businessman drinking a few back before returning
home to a rather unsatisfied misses after a day at the office, but that was the
extent of the archetypes of customers. It was very rare to find a woman in a bar
this late at night, much to Youji’s dismay.
	Tonight was a bit different than the other nights though. The snow was steadily
rising outside as the night air was dropping to freezing temperatures. Most
“normal” people would have decided to stay indoors with this strange pace in
the weather. Then again, Youji was not a normal person.
	And neither were the people in the bar.
	The bar was a small place that was not frequented often by anyone except a few
usual customers who came in no matter what the situation. With this in mind,
Youji found it odd to see a group of new faces.
	The first new face was that of a woman. The sheer fact that there was a woman
in the bar was surprising enough, given the circumstances for the weather and
how unknown the place was. The appearance of the woman was what created the most
shock.
	Her body was entirely disproportioned. Her large chest was barely stuffed into
a leather halter top, and her leather skirt was nearly non-existent. Her curves
may have proven to be perfect to some, but there was just something about her
body that appeared fake. She wore heeled shoes, which surely did not make any
sense to Youji, even after he had a few drinks. Her long blonde hair fell far
past the center of her back. Judging by the way she was sitting with her drink,
Youji was assuming she was drinking gin after what appeared to be a long day.
	But shouldn’t a girl like her have a long night?
	The other new faces weren’t very appealing to him, and were apparently not so
to her, either.
	The most notable of the new group was a standard hired suit. The large man was
wearing a suit, not far from a tuxedo, and large sunglasses. He had a piercing
in his left ear, just a small stud. His hair was cut extremely short. Even
wearing the suit, it was easy to note that this man worked out many hours a day.
Youji found it odd that such a man would be dressed in such a manner, especially
with his other features.
	Youji couldn’t be certain what the man wanted in this place at such a time,
but it was not any of his business. At least not yet.

	The “Honky Tonk Café” had the sign turned to say “Closed,” but
Schuldig could tell without stretching his senses or looking through the still
lit windows that the owner was still awake and waiting for something.
	Schuldig let his hand fall onto the cold handle of the door and remain there
for a moment.
	Never once in his life did he doubt Crawford’s judgment, but things were a
bit strange. Crawford was hiding something again, but this wasn’t like the
usual “someone is going to shoot you tomorrow” sort of bit. This was
something that was a bit more far fetched.
	And why this place? Schuldig had his doubts about this being a normal café in
Shinjuku, but he didn’t expect it to be a place for information gathering. Or
even a place to have anything more than good coffee.
	But it was what Crawford had told him. And as always, he’d follow it. He’d
always been correct in the past, and if he was wrong this time, it would be the
first.
	Seeing his breath for longer than he wished, he opened the door and walked in.

	As the night crawled on, the businessmen began to crawl out. At least they
would have been actually crawling if they had any more to drink.
	Men, she thought to herself, taking a drink.
	Hevn had been waiting in the bar for hours, and was beginning to wonder if she
had been stood up.
	“At least he paid,” she muttered to herself.
	Hevn had been a mediator for Ban and Ginji long enough to know what jobs they
could and couldn’t do, and continued to place the hardest, high paying jobs
onto them in hopes that they would someday be out of debt.
	But that won’t be anytime soon. She almost smiled, but suppressed the urge as
to not receive unwanted attention. As the hours moved on, there were only two
other customers left in the bar. The first was a man that was here long before
her.
	He was a strange sight to see. He wore a long sleeved shirt with no apparent
design and blue jeans. She could not see his eyes well with the distance, and
even if she was closer, he had a small pair of sunglasses that brought the
memory of Ban to the front of her mind. He had curly, shoulder length hair that
was a very light brown, almost blonde. He was one of the few attractive people
in the bar that night, and she assumed that he must have had some access to a
large amount of money with his drink selection and the watch that he wore. She
also assumed that the long blue coat hanging by the door was his as well.
	He was sitting at a table away from the center of attention. Apparently, he was
either a regular customer with a regular seat, or just someone who wanted to get
away. Hevn assumed the first by the way he sat and called the barkeeper for his
drinks.
	The other customer was someone who entered shortly after she did. He had the
appearance of the standard hired muscle that she saw in the business far too
much. She found it rather odd that through the entire night, he had not even
touched his drink. His large hands were sitting on the bar in front of him. Even
though she had no proof, she had the strange feeling that he was watching her.
	It was almost 11pm, and there was still no sign of her client.
	The least she could do was wait until the bar closed. Besides, he was paying
the tab, so it was well worth it. She ordered another drink and something to
eat, and continued to play the waiting game.

	The foreigner walked into the café after waiting outside for a short time.
Paul wasn’t sure if the man was just testing the waters or if he was having
second doubts.
	He quickly dismissed the second though. This was no ordinary customer. This man
was one who made life or death situations on a whim. There was no room for doubt
in this business, and Paul knew it.
	At one point in his life, Paul would have been the man to ask about any sort of
movements within Shinjuku. It was said that if a dog had fleas, Paul would know
how many there were and where they originated from.
	Even now, Paul knew the entire information network of Shinjuku and kept in
touch with his contacts. One would never know when information would have its
uses again, as the recent nights have been proving.
	Paul didn’t look up from the newspaper, and gestured for the red haired
foreigner to take a seat at the bar.
	So he thought to himself, folding the newspaper, this is a member of Schwarz.
	Their eyes met for just a single second, and it was already understood. Paul
began to make a cup of coffee while the second placed his handgun on the
counter. By the time Paul was finished, the weapon’s magazine was nowhere to
be seen. With a nod, Paul placed the cup in front of the foreigner.
	“It’s on the house,” he said, leaning back against the wall.
	There was another moment of silence between them. Each one was testing the
waters in their own way.
	“What do you know,” Schuldig began, “of local murderers?”
	The question was blunt and to the point, but was said with a slight laugh
hidden deep under the tone of seriousness.
	“Enough,” Paul replied.
	“How about,” Schuldig continued, swirling the coffee by moving the cup in
circles, “a murderer with a calling card?”
	Paul shrugged at this.
	“Depends. Are you looking for a phone number?”
	“Maybe a room number,” Schuldig responded with a grin.
	Deep within himself, Paul felt a slight pang of uncertainty. He shook the
feeling as quickly as it came before speaking.
	“The two of you had quiet a conversation earlier, didn’t you?”
	“Perhaps,” Schuldig responded, taking another sip of the still warm
coffee.
	“It seems,” Paul said, scratching his chin, “that you are looking for a
doctor.”
	“I think someone will be looking for one soon enough.”
	“The description your friend gave me would be ‘Dr. Jackal,’ also known as
Kurodo Akabane.”
	“Description?”
	At this, Paul lifted a single scrap of paper. Written on it was the letter
“J,” with a small note under it that was covered by Paul’s fingers.
	“When did…”
	“It was on the bill,” Paul replied.
	Paul did not mention that it was handed to him with the paper bills Crawford
has used earlier, but he believed that some secrets were necessary.
	He did not know of Schuldig’s talents, and his curiosity when it came to
secrets.
	“Sly fox,” Schuldig muttered, taking another sip.
	Without knowing it, Paul’s mind was entered and exited within a single
moment. Schuldig had a piece of information he wanted. Now he just had to wait
to confirm it from Paul’s own mouth.
	“Akabane is the one placing the kills before you all,” Paul said, picking
up the newspaper once again.
	“Where can we find him?”
	“You can’t,” Paul said, opening to where he left off. “More than
likely, you’ll have to meet on the job.”
	Schuldig was swearing inside of himself. Apparently, this information broker
didn’t have all the information. Schuldig knew the man was not lying just by
the tone in his voice, and did not see a reason to probe his mind again.
	“Any idea who is hiring him?”
	“Just as much of a clue as to who is hiring you.” 
Schuldig immediately saw this as “not a damned clue.”
	“And what is keeping him from killing us in our sleep?”
	“The same reasons that you members of Schwarz haven’t killed Weiß,” he
responded, turning the page. “It would be boring to just kill you that way,
and you have your uses to him.”
	Schuldig finished the coffee and stood up from the stool. He removed his gun
from the counter and replaced it in the holster under his coat.
	“Thanks for the drink,” he said as he walked to the door.
	“Two words of advice,” Paul said as Schuldig’s hand fell one the handle.
“The clients may be more dangerous than the killer, as I am sure your friend
has realized today with his computer.”
	“And the other?”
	“Akabane is only having fun.”
	With that, Schuldig opened the door and left the café.
	That last line was something that worried him. If Akabane did this for fun,
then he may not be too much different than a borderline-sane Farfarello.
	Schuldig really hoped that it wasn’t like that. Just the idea alone would
give him nightmares for the rest of the week.

	The six men were walking silently down the halls of the apartment building.
They each wore a black bullet proof vest, black clothing, and night vision
goggles. The men were armed and apparently well trained by the way they carried
their weapons.
	They had been following the trail of Schwarz for most of the week, and finally
believed that tonight would be the night. While they believed that each time
before, they had evidence for feeling it this time: no one would leave in this
snow.
	Silently, like a group of panthers, the reached the hall of the fourth floor,
where the room of their targets would be sleeping.
	They fanned out, three to each wall, and cautiously walked to the door. Before
they even reached the door, all six turned to face the direction that they had
come from.
	At the end of the hall stood a single man. He was tall, almost impossibly tall
for a Japanese man. He wore a long trench coat that reached to his ankles and a
large hat, which he held as he walked, almost as if he were afraid that the wind
would remove it from his head, even though he was indoors.
	“I am terribly sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice low and speaking in
perfect keigo, “but I believe that you may be causing a nuisance this
night.”
	The two in the rear raised their guns…
	To find that the man was no longer there.
	“I am sorry to say that this was not very amusing.”
	The six men fell to the ground as quietly as they had walked into the building,
each one had a red “J” appearing through their black clothing, their weapons
sliced into unidentifiable fragments to litter the tiled floor.

	It was getting late, and if he waited any longer, he would lose his chance.
	Even though he hoped for an empty bar, the one bystander showed no sign of
leaving until the bar closed, and he did not want to leave a mess outside in the
snow.
	Wordlessly, he stood up and walked to the woman. At first, she did not seem to
notice, but after his second step, she appeared to grow nervous. The man who sat
alone had his feet up on the table, a near empty bottle of alcohol and an empty
shot glass contrasting his black boots and wooden table.
	Three steps was all he needed to stand besides the woman. He did not act at
first, but only stood there until she acknowledged his presence.
	“Is there something you need?”
	Her voice showed an air of haughtiness. Either she was too drunk to notice the
situation she was in, or she really didn’t know of the situation. It didn’t
matter as long as the job was done.
	“Would you be Hevn?”
	She gave him a coy, sidelong glance.
	“I think that is the worst pick-up line I have ever heard,” she said,
turning back to her drink.
	“I have a message from my client,” he began.
	“And that would be?”
	“That we no longer need your services.”
	He raised his fist and was bringing it down to her head.
	The next thing everyone in the bar realized was the large man was on the
ground, a string leading from his wrist to the other customer, who was now
standing on the table.
	“Didn’t your mother ever tell you,” he said, stretching a string in his
hands, “not to hit a lady?”
	The large grunt stood up and looked to Youji.
	“Rejection is no reason to get violent,” the small man said with a grin. In
the light, one could see a slight hint of a smile on his face.
	The larger man removed his now broken sunglasses, and quickly charged the
instigator.
	Youji waited until the last minute. As the large man threw another punch, Youji
leapt just high enough to clear the man. In the air, Youji turned and stretched
his legs to apparently kick the back of the man.
	What was not easy to see was the set of strings that Youji had wrapped around
both of the man’s wrists. When Youji kicked the man, he pulled both strings.
	Even with the difference in strength, Youji had the leverage to pull the
man’s arms across his chest. It was easy to tell that the wire was cutting
into the man’s flesh.
	“I think,” Youji said with a grunt, “you owe the lovely lady an
apology.”
	With that, Youji shifted his weight and pulled one last time. Using the
momentum, he rolled on the ground and let go to the strings.
	The man was sent rolling into the bar, not far from where the woman was seated,
casually watching the fight as if it were a scene from a movie.
	Before the man could rise, he found himself wrapped entirely in strings. Youji
tightened them by stretching them between his fingers.
	He tugged with all of his strength before the man could react, and removed his
grip from the strings. With every ounce of strength he still could find in his
alcohol affected body, he snapped a kick to the grunt’s head. The man fell
with a moan.
	Youji laughed slightly and took a seat next to the woman at the bar.
	“Hevn, huh?”
	She favored him with a smile.
	“Is that your name or where you fell from?”
	Might as well try, eh?
	“A little of both.”
	“So,” he said with a wink, “would you like an escort home tonight?”
	She was about to answer when the bell at the entrance sounded. An elderly man
walked in, followed by the butler who held the door open for him.
	She glanced to the newcomers and gave a smile to Youji.
	“I think I’ll need to take a rain check Mr…”
	“Youji,” he said with a grin. Apparently, he was too drunk to notice the
amount of grinning he had done in the past two hours.
	As the old man walked in, Youji walked to take his coat from the rack. The
owner here already knew what to do with the unconscious man. He had done it
hundreds of times before when Youji would fight anyone who even looked at him
the wrong way when he was drunk.
	He walked out silently in the gently falling snow.
	The white in the darkness reminded him of the name that he followed. Weiß,
those who would commit crimes would be punished. Using the snow as a symbol of
his goals, he trudged through the beautiful white powder to return home. He knew
he would catch hell in the morning, but at least it was fun.

	Farfarello woke up when the men reached their floor. He quickly drew a single
knife and listened intently, away from the door just enough as to not catch a
bullet. While it may not hurt him, it would surely kill him eventually if he
took too many.
	Mentally, he calculated twelve feet. A short moment later, he changed that to
fourteen. He found it odd that a group of assassins would work in an odd number,
and have one trailing behind that far.
	He then heard a voice speak. He questioned what was said at first, since the
voice was quiet distant and quiet. He then thought he heard a fast beat of
footsteps, and the sound of metal against flesh. The second sound he knew well
from experience.
	He heard the voice once more, and recognized that the man was speaking in a
very polite form of Japanese, something about being “boring.”
	At this, Farfarello moved.
	He opened the door and looked down the hall in both directions.
	There was no one there. At least, no one alive.
	Six bodies with scattered chunks of metal were in the hall. The lights were
cut, apparently, and each of the bodies were wearing a set of night vision
goggles.
	The most disturbing thing of the scene was not the blood covering the floor or
the smell that would stain this building for days, but the way the bodies were
mutilated. Each one had a cut out of the letter “J” on their torso. And
apparently, someone had enjoyed doing this more than Farfarello could have.
	This man enjoys inflicting pain upon God.
	Farfarello turned his head slightly to look down the other side of the hall.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
	It took a moment, but Farfarello recognized it as the footsteps of Schuldig.
	When Schuldig was in view, Farfarello waved slightly, and brought a hand to his
lips. Schuldig already knew what Farfarello was thinking, and walked over the
bodies to the door.
	Farfarello had not noticed before, but there was a piece of paper on the door,
held in place by a scalpel.
	Schuldig removed the note and the weapon, and the two walked into the
apartment.
	Schuldig did not ask questions, and Farfarello gave no explanation. In the
kitchen, they read the note together.
	“I have the most sincere hope that one day we can have more fun together.
J.”
	“He’s playing,” Schuldig muttered. It was at this time that he realized
that Paul was right.
	Farfarello was silent, his one eye looking at the scalpel. It was odd, seeing a
blade made of ceramic…
	“Now what?” Schuldig’s question was more to the air than to Farfarello.
	Much to Schuldig’s surprise, Farfarello answered.
	“Call the police,” he said, turning to the main room. “We are just normal
citizens, finding a brutal murder scene in front of our door.”
	Schuldig had no response to this. He had seldom heard Farfarello speak a few
coherent words, much less complete sentences of good advice.
	Something must be off he though, checking the connection of his cell phone.
Crawford’s surprised, Nagi gets beaten by a hacker, and now Farf’s saying
full sentences. What is the world coming to?
	The answer didn’t come to him as he informed the police of the situation. It
also didn’t come during his restless sleep, haunted by dreams of a coherent
Farfarello-like killer that was only out to have fun.

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