The sky was overcast as the two woman drove up the Aoyama-Dori. Both windows were down; the radio was on. The weather was breezy, slightly humid, and both had thrown their over-coats into the backseat of the red Porche. Sporting loose fitting tank tops and long matching slacks, the two were comfortable save the slight sheen of sweat sprinkled across their shoulders. The interior smelled of masked gunpowder and artificial pine thanks to a green cutout dangling from the rear-view mirror. In the background, muffled by sporadic bouts of static, played a sad rendition of Yoko Kanno’s Paradiso. The atmosphere within he car was solemn, grave, almost bitter.

“What a waste of time.” A hand waved before a set of cerulean eyes. A five-fingered shadow stretched slowly across a red-lipped snarl. Hanae Kitada, a strong, overly made-up woman boating a thick mane of scarlet red hair, sighed and leaned her arm on the window’s ledge. A cigarette hung out her lips, the butt smeared with lipstick.

“I thought you were excited about this.” The woman beside her chided. She glanced sideways, only to have a mess of brunette hair whip against her cheeks.

“I was,” Hanae mumbled as she flicked the edge of her cigarette out the window. Her manicured fingers flicked against the red filter, clearing the tip of ash. “Weiß already found everything Persia needs. I don’t see the point of us going out here.”

“Weiß is on holiday.” Kyoko Takaoka replied, her voice pensive. Auburn eyes scanned the road before her, checking for the turnoff not to far in the distance. “There was no one else to do it other then us.”

Hanae stayed silent.

“Are you scared?” Kyoko asked gently. She took a few quick glances towards her partner before switching on her blinkers and inching across the road. “You have nothing to worry about, you know that right?”

“I guess.” The redhead forced a smile at how ridiculous she sounded. Instead of dwelling on the overwhelming itch within her mind, she straightened, wound her window down and leaned her arm out further. Her hand flattened against the wind, and she felt it lift her forearm skyward. “Hirofumi isn’t supposed to be home, ne?”

“We planned this so that Hirofumi would be at Reiji’s funeral when we stopped by his house.” Kyoko pulled to the side of the road, slipping down a less traveled path along the Aoyama Cemetery. “The whole house will be ours.”

The air around them was silent except for the random screech of crows and cicadas. As the tires crunched down the gravel drive, the outline of tombstones swept over the hood of the Porche. Hanae leaned out the window, one hand holding her hair snugly behind one ear. Gawking at the house beyond the graveyard, she accidentally let the cigarette slip from between her lips. It tumbled away from her, scattering ash and sparks against the rock lined pathway. She watched it roll away helplessly.

“Last one.” She mumbled under her breath and ducked back into the car. Her fingers felt the small pockets of her pants, only to touch an empty cigarette box and an used packet of matches.

“I’ll buy you more after this.“ Kyoko said after parking a fair distance away from the cemetery’s gate. The car was hidden behind a thick overhang of brush and crumbled gravestones, neatly stored away from the unwelcomed sight of others. Along with the cloud cover and the gloomy, heated haze that lined the graveyard, their presence was nothing more then a fleeting shadow to any suspecting witnesses.

“Ready, Manx?” Kyoko unbuckled her seat belt, touched the warm leather of her holster, and glanced into the worried eyes of her partner. In her fingers, the keys dangled faintly before being shoved into her left pocket. “Han-chan?”

“All we have to do is find out who Hirofumi is thinking about selling some chemicals to, ne?” The redhead asked hesitantly. She followed the older secretary out of the car, stretching her legs uneasily as she glanced out over the headstone spotted hill. “Just get a list of names and we’re out?”

“Yes, they should be in his office.” Kyoko said with a smirk. She moved out away from the car, starting towards the old, iron fence that encased the entire estate. “Simple, ne?”

“As long as I get home in time for tonight.”

“Oh? Date with Kudou-san?” Kyoko asked with a smile as she easily hopped the fence. She turned back and outstretched her arms to Hanae. With a solid grip, the redhead was over and standing safely beside her.

“Date?” The two started across the field, making sure to use the larger stone monuments as cover. “I guess you could call it that.”

There was an unnaturally cold draft within the house that morning. Wafting down from the higher stories, the breeze smelled of must and old, stale linens. Unsurprisingly, all the windows were closed, locked tightly with shades pulled. A fine gloss of dust littered the surface of chairs, desks, tables, even the stair’s banister. But, apart from the darkness and claustrophobic calm, the dimly lit living room was unexpectedly tranquil.

“The office should be on the third floor.” Kyoko whispered as she made her way through the room, making sure to keep herself close to the wall. Her hand brushed lightly against the gun latched to her thigh. In one fluid motion, the buckle popped free and the pistol slid out into the free air.

“What do you think that Hirofumi is doing with those chemicals?” The redhead asked as she turned her back towards her partner. Staring behind her, she continued after Kyoko. “Weren’t they a project of Reiji’s?”

“Well, now that Reiji is dead, Hirofumi gets the rights to everything.” Kyoko stopped and slowly glanced around a corner. “It was in his will.”

With her hand touching the cold surface of the plaster, she stepped into the kitchen. Beyond that, visible by only a few dirty rays of sunlight, was the flight of stairs that led to the second story.

“It’s kinda sad that Reiji died.” Hanae said after a few moments. She touched the surface of the kitchen table, running her hand over the dust covered face. After rubbing her fingertips against her shirt, she glanced around at the relatively unused room.

“You miss him?” Kyoko couldn’t help but glance behind her. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” They started up the stairs, their weight causing the floorboards to moan underneath them. “He was always the antagonist in one way or the other. It seems like Kritiker will have nothing to do now that he’s gone.”

“There will be others.” Kyoko paused at the top of the steps. She quickly scanned the hallway. A reassuring smile grew on her lips as she stepped up, gun still in hand, and started down the corridor. “Hirofumi will probably take his place.”

“He won’t be as interesting.” Hanae pressed her back against the brunette’s, thankful for the encouraging warmth she felt. She made sure that she kept pace with Kyoko, taking a single step back every time her partner took one forward. The darkness had become even more foreboding now without any windows or transparent shades to filter in the light. Blotches of colors played before Hanae’s eyes as she continued forward. She tried to blink them away, only to have them burn into the undersides of her lids. With her hand reaching up, she slowly massaged the skin between her brows and blinked again. Nothing. Fingers now curled in fists, she softly rubbed her eyelids and --

The warmth was no longer pressed against her back. The slight sound of her partner’s breathing was no longer in her ears. She turned.

“Kyoko?”

Nothing.

Her hands immediately reached for her gun. Buckle up, safely clicked, loaded and cocked.

Nothing.

She turned once, scanned the area she could see, then turned back. She was positive no door had been opened. She was certain no one had been hiding along the way. She had seen nothing, heard nothing, sensed nothing around her. There was nothing behind her, nothing before her, nothing to either side--

Hanae suddenly paused. Slowly, she arched her head towards the ceiling…

Nothing.

Did she go on ahead? Hanae asked silently. Kyoko had done that numerous times during past assignments, so why not now? Did she--

There was a sound, and a movement, up ahead. A black silhouette glided swiftly between two rooms.

“Kyo--”

Hanae reached out a hand, but stopped short. Something nagged her, pulling her back to her senses.

The stairs were a few feet away, she knew this well. She realized that it would take only a few seconds to run to them, to scale down them and run out the side door they had broken into. Though, the only thing that was keeping her sane at the moment was the fact that she stayed stationary. Any quick movement, any frantic rush, would tip the level of reason within her mind.

Instead, she pushed forward.

Hanae, this is a mission, she said to herself receptively, And no matter how much you want to flee, you mustn’t.

She ran the facts back through her head. Hirofumi was at his father’s funeral at the moment. Hirofumi lived alone. Hirofumi never supported any sons or daughters, no nieces or nephews, and he was too young a man to have grandchildren. That forced the redhead to come to one conclusion.

That understanding restored a sense of bravado within the young woman, and she found herself nearing the end of the darkened hallway, gun slightly lowered to her side. Glancing both ways, she touched the metal inlay on the sliding door and pushed it open. With a hard grind, the door skipped and jumped against its tract. Hanae peered into the empty room, but was unable to make out anything that looked Kyoko.

It could have been an optical illusion, She thought to herself, The stairs are right next to this door. Perhaps she went up there instead.

So, with a chest growing from renewed courage, Hanae took to the stairway. She was quick on her feet, and made it up to the third floor in seconds. With her hand leaving the banister, and a quick, exhausted breath, she glanced around the final floor, thankful that there was a dusty skylight that let in some sunshine. At least she could make some things out. At least it was a bit warmer as well.

Office is the last one on the right. She hummed in her mind. Last one on the right.

She passed closed door after closed door, making sure to keep against the wall. Her hand danced against the wooden tiles, bracing herself as she neared the last room. The door was open, thankfully, and it took only a few quick, nervous peeks into the office to assure her that no one was around.

Now, where would Hirofumi keep a list of names?

Her teal eyes scanned the small office, gliding over a small, cluttered desk with a desktop computer atop it. Beside that, practically buried within a mound of paperwork, was a small picture frame holding a few tattered, old family photos. Unable to quell her curiosity, Hanae reached over and lifted the metal frame to her face.

In one picture, an overzealous Hirofumi, his eyeglasses creating a glint against the camera flash, shook his father’s hand at an awards ceremony. His dark hair was perfectly slicked back, his tan vest and beige undershirt were perfectly pressed and straightened against his thin body. Beside his son, with a smirk on his face that suggested otherwise, stood the infamous Reiji Takatori.

Hanae set the picture frame down after a few more seconds, and concentrated her energy on filtering through the mass of papers lining the desk. She leaned over on one foot, then the other, then tapped the toe of her shoe against the wooden floor. Flying through pile upon pile, she was able to find a scrap of paper with a few anonymous phone numbers scribbled down on them. That gave her a brilliant idea and, as she turned towards the edge of the table, pushing a small amount of documents to the side, she felt the cold plastic of a phone.

They must have called you, She guessed. Squinting through the darkness, she pushed up on a plastic tab and the front of the phone swung open. Inside, fitted into a small, white compartment, was a miniature disc.

Caller ID, She thought to herself, Hopefully you have something good in here.

She pushed the lid back on and pressed a small button labeled “Menu” a few inches down. Immediately, a slew of names scrolled down the display screen, all business men, all easily identifiable.

“Mission Accomplished.” Hanae said jokingly to herself. Flipping the lid up once again, she pressed the lower edge of the disc down, then dug her nails underneath the top side to pry it lose. “I think I smell a pay raise…”

Quickly, she tucked the disc into the underside of her bra, patting it down to insure its security. She turned to the door, her mind now set on finding Kyo--

A footfall sounded down the hallway, faint, yet distinguishable. Hanae’s heart leapt as she rushed to the doorway.

“Bermen, why the hell did you--”

What she saw was a tall, thickly built man at the end of the corridor. His body, completely encased by the choking darkness, moved swiftly down towards the office room. Something glimmered in his hands. It took Hanae only seconds to realize what it was.

I thought he was at the funeral! Hanae screamed to herself as she threw the door closed, locking it quickly despite the shake in her fingers. Immediately, it rocked back on its hinges from a force pushing it inwards. She screamed despite herself and backed away. The door suddenly splintered and with a sickening crack, she saw a small cloud of cedar dust fly into the air.

How the hell did he-- Missing the desk by inches, she took to the back of the room, her fingers curled around her gun. The lock rattled violently, the door practically derailed. Her back hit the far wall, the edge of the windowsill pressing painfully into her side. With a wince, she pulled the pistol to eyelevel.

Come on! She yelled in her mind. Try to get in!

Her finger pressed against the trigger as the pounding became louder. The edge of the door cracked open, the bottom suddenly fell forward. In a blur of taupe dust, the door finally collapsed.

Silence.

There was no one standing on the other side.

Wha…? She kept the gun level as she took a step forward. With her head weaving to one side, then the other, she saw that no one was standing beside the door either. There was a fine film of dust on the floor immediately behind the broken door, but no footprints had been stamped into the surface. She was about to lower her gun, but a sudden thud jerked her arms back up. She watched as a blackened figure fell against the far wall. It hunched over, limp, then slide over on itself. Eyes widening, with pupils the size of saucers, Hanae took a step closer to the figure. Something wasn’t exactly right about it. It was smaller then the one she had seen before. It was shorter and--

She couldn’t even scream at that moment. The sound caught within her throat, and all she felt was a piercing force in her chest.

“Kyoko!” She gasped and ran towards the body. Her gun clattered to the floor as she fell beside her friend. Kneeling, she felt the first wave of blood hit her knees. Slipping slightly, she threw her hands towards the brunette’s neck, her vision blurring as she felt the deep gash against the base of Kyoko’s throat. She tried to plug it with her palm, but the liquid failed to cease. It washed up over her fingers, down her wrists, and dotted small patterns against her thighs.

It was hopeless, the body had already started cool, the eyes had already hazed over. Kyoko’s face was already pale, her lips already tinted with violet. Her shirt was now a deep crimson, no longer the summery peach that it had been earlier. As Hanae knelt there, her head tilted forward, silent tears washing down her cheeks, she took within her arms the body of her dead friend. She held it softly, but tight enough not to let it slip away.

“Please tell me this is a joke.” She whispered. The shock had overtaken her body, and the tears stopped. She just sat there a few more seconds, silently, until the flow of blood ended.

Her eyes slowly shifted upwards. She could see the hallway leading down to the second flight of steps. Urgency started to grow within in her. Her arms tensed, her legs started to itch, her stomach cramped and flexed.

She slowly, carefully let Kyoko’s body fall away from her. Eyes paralyzed from blinking, Hanae pressed her bloodstained hands to the floor, and gently pushed herself off her knees. She leaned back, caught her balance on the tips of her feet, and straightened her back.

She scooped up the gun before she stood.

She couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t move, her arms would just hang beside her body. All she could do was take small steps forwards. Every movement brought a pang of fear to her stomach.

The fog started to lift off her mind as she took a step over Kyoko’s corpse. The buildup within her muscles started to leak.

She took down the hallway, swinging her arm painfully to catch herself from falling down the stairs. Taking them two at a time, she leapt onto the second landing, swerving her body around with the head of the banister. Her breathing remained dangerously shallow as she continued, and she found herself suffocating from the exertion. Down the second floor hallway she sprinted, not caring whether her footfalls would be heard or not. She hit the first floor, gasping for air, and twisted her body around. The speed caused her to back up into the following wall. Clutching her chest, she slide down to the floor, and looked up the steps.

There he was.

Without air to scream, Hanae choked back a gasp and stumbled into the kitchen. She reached out for the table, scraping a line of bloody fingerprints against its white surface. Once in the dining room, she curled her shoulder in front of her and plowed through the side door. The flood of sunlight caused her to stammer forward. She was completely blind. As she raised a hand over her eyes, she started to weave through the hills of tombstones and monuments. The fence at the end of the cemetery was easily scaled, and she finally found herself sliding to a half on the gravel drive. Still gasping for breath, one hand opened the driver’s door, and the other threw the gun into the passenger’s seat. Once inside, she locked the doors and reached for the ignition…

Her stomach sank.

A moan tore from her lips as she felt around her pockets.

Empty.

Keys. Keys Keys. Her mind replayed the word over and over in her head. Keys. Keys. No, please…where are they!?

Suddenly, within the small, quiet car, she heard something jingle beside her ear.

…then a laugh.

“Forget something?”

The interior of the red Porche lit up with a single, muffled gunshot. Through the tinted windows, an arm reached forward, fumbled slightly with the front of the woman’s shirt, then slowly retracted. Amidst the overcast, yet warm, day, the backdoor of the car slowly opened. Sighing over the small splatter of red on his suit, Brad Crawford shook his head and pushed the door closed. In his hand, after a swift wipe on the back of his cuff, was the small, scarlet-stained phone disc. He flipped the CD into the air, smiling as it fell back into his fingers. Pocketing it, he calmly started back towards the mansion.