The redheaded woman sat alone in her unlit apartment, staring at the television that choked out static as her video recorder rewound shrilly, scolding her for letting the tape run until the very end.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she clutched shaking hands together, trying to reconcile what she had seen with the world around her. She couldn’t, it was too horrible. The world was far from a wonderful place, at times it rivaled one of the Seven Hells, but she could not believe something so sinister would be allowed, even among the deepest pit. Was nothing beyond reach?

Beside her, her cellular phone began to ring, the midi-esque strands of "Ode to Joy" startling her into sliding off the cushion of the black leather couch. Taking a deep breath, she turned it on. "Hello?"

"Hanae-chan, are you all right?"

Kitada Hanae shook her head forcefully. "Absolutely not." Her voice trembled, and she was furious at it. She had more control than this.

"You watched the tape, didn’t you?" The gentle, lilting pitch of her best friend’s voice sharpened with concern. "Dammit, I told you to wait for me."

Hanae shook her head, angrily rubbing at her eyes. "I thought I could handle it, Kyoko." She said quietly. "I had no idea…."

On the other end of the line, Takaoka Kyoko sighed. "I’ll be home in a minute."

"All right, I’ll wait up." Hanae turned off the phone before uttering a farewell, and tossed the tiny electric device across the couch to the farthest cushion. Slipping off her smartly shined patent leather heels, she curled up against the couch’s arm, folding her stockinged feet under her.

The lights remained off, she didn’t want to see the rest of the world just yet. In the dim light provided by the white noise coming from the television, she noticed the black stains her mascara left on her fingers. She stared at it, momentarily fascinated. In the dark, who could tell it from any other liquid?

~*~

"I want you to know that I was against giving you this mission, but Persia-sama insisted." Manx bit out, her tone clipped.

"Is it that bad, Manx-san?" Omi asked, wide eyed. Persia’s secretary was paler than he could ever remember seeing her and all the make up in the world couldn’t hide the bloodshot in her vibrant green eyes.

Ken shifted in the couch. "If our targets are that awful, then we should take it!" He said forcefully. "Before someone else gets hurt."

Manx shook her head. "I wouldn’t be so eager, Ken." She held up a black, unlabeled video tape. "I have a little movie to show you. After that, you will receive your orders." She slid the tape into the player and waited for it to cue. She eyed all four of them in turn. Ken and Omi on the couch, watching her intently, Yohji sprawled in the armchair, Aya silently watching by the wall. She hoped they were up to what Kritiker demanded.

"This is an infiltrate and destroy mission, and it cannot be turned down."

Yohji waved a dismissive hand. "Stop the theatrics, Manx, and just play the mission tape."

Manx’s indulgent smile was bitter. "The theatrics are just beginning, Yohji."

The tape began, and she dimmed the lights. Standing in the back of the viewing area, out of sight, she turned away as the screaming started.

She could picture it in her mind: the young woman having sex with a masked man while a gun was pointed at her head. The tears, the look of panic on the girl’s face as the man climaxed and then shot her in the stomach while he was still inside of her was etched in Manx’s memory.

The tape finished about seven minutes later, with the girl still screaming and pleading for help. The room beneath Koneko was absolutely silent. Manx walked stiffly to the light switch and faced the four exceptionally shaken men in front of her.

"What," Yohji began, licking his dry lips. "What the hell was that?"

"That was a short feature film from the Saoshin Production Company." Manx was amazed that her voice wasn’t shaking. Perhaps she had cried it all out the night before when Birman had returned to their apartment and made her realize that nothing was beyond the reach of the dark beasts.

"It sells for sixty-three thousand yen.

"And it’s one-hundred percent real."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

e.n.d.p.r.o.l.o.g.u.e

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