Pyrokinetic Prologue

Don't fret precious I'm here ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "Yohji-kun, there's a call for you!" Omi yelled up the stairs to the lanky blond man. "Who is it?" the lazy response drifted down. Omi rolled his eyes. "Some girl you met in a club. You expect me to remember her name?" Yohji appeared at the top of the stairs, chuckling. "There are so many of them, true," he said, walking down to grab the cordless phone off Omi. "Thanks, chibi," he said, ruffling Omi's hair. "Yohji-kun!" Omi squawked, batting the hand away. "Don't do that!" Yohji just laughed and strode up the stairs, putting the phone to his ear. "Kudou Yohji here." "Kudou, long time no see." Yohji stopped dead. That was no girl's voice. . . . "Who is this?" "I'm insulted. You don't recognise the voice of your most reliable source?" He froze. After a moment, he spoke again, and his voice had quietened considerably. "How did you find me?" "Now that really is an insult." Abruptly the voice went serious. "You know you can trust me, Yohji." Yohji slumped back against the wall, grateful there was no one else around. He remembered the infrequent phone calls in his PI days from the source who never identified himself but always had the big break he needed and was never, ever wrong. "Yeah, I know." The voice took a deep breath. "You're in deep doo-doo, Kudou. I can't say anything more than that right now, but you've got yourself caught up in something big without even knowing it and it won't be long before the shit hits the fan." Yohji stared at the opposite wall, not speaking. "Look, you need to get out of there as quick as possible. Leave Weiss before you get them caught up in it as well and you all get killed or worse. I'll help you - I'm in the same situation as you, I just know more about it." Yohji looked down. His hand was shaking. Why was his hand shaking? Because this source was never wrong. Never. There's always the possibility. . . . Yeah, right. He even knows I'm in Weiss now. I need a fucking cigarette. "Yohji? You there?" He took a deep breath. "I'm here." "Y'know, my safety rides on this too - look. I'll meet you in that park just down from that favourite bar of yours tonight at eleven. Pack light, we'll need to travel fast. I'll explain when you get there." "What-" The line went dead. Yohji slowly pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it like he'd never seen it before. His hand clenched tight around it until his knuckles shone white. Then he went to go pack. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The orange-haired man dropped his head back against the sofa, rubbing at the pained crease in his forehead. "Well, he's coming," he said. "Good. Is the venue secure?" The man waved a negligent hand. "Sure, sure, what do you take me for?" "Nothing less than you are." The redhead snorted, then sighed. "I don't like this. I really don't." "We don't have to like it. Orders are orders. For now, we will follow them." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ What the fuck am I doing here? Yohji folded his arms, tucking his gloved hands up into his armpits. The trench coat provided some warmth, but it wasn't much. On a mission, the physical activity and adrenaline kept him warm, but just standing around waiting didn't do much for his extremities. Dammit, he said eleven, where the hell is he? Yohji snarled to himself, checking his watch for the umpteenth time and resisting the urge to rub his forehead. He'd been getting some odd headaches for the past week and a half, and they'd been getting progressively worse recently. If this is some kind of joke- A twig snapped behind him. Yohji swung around- -just in time to meet the fist coming the other way. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Schuldig had decided he had the most unpleasant duty of all of them. Not only did he have to invent a fictitious source from Kudou's PI days to convince him to come to the park when the man was one of the most stubborn bastards he'd ever met - bar Fujimiya, who took single-minded to a new extreme - but he had to be the one to go conk him on the head and knock him out. "Oof!" Yohji passed out with surprising ease. Schuldig hadn't been expecting such an easy collapse, so he barely had time to react before the man's full weight landed on him. "Dammit Kudou, you weigh a ton," he grumbled, regaining his balance and hoisting the tall blond up into his arms. [Mission accomplished, oh Magnificent Leader,] he sent out to Crawford. [Kudou must eat like a pig.] [Don't call me that,] Crawford snapped at him, his mental voice vibrating with tension. [Just bring him to the venue, and get here fast. You know what will happen when he wakes up.] [Yeah, yeah,] Schuldig muttered, awkwardly manoeuvring Yohji's body into the front seat of his car. "Why do I always get stuck with the crappy jobs? Why couldn't Nagi do this? He could have just levitated the damn heavy bastard. . . . Can't even mess with his head, since it won't matter in about half an hour. . . ." Still grumbling to himself, he shut the door and trotted round to the driver's seat. With the way Schuldig drove, he got them to 'the venue' - an old, abandoned warehouse - in about half the time it would have taken had he kept to the speed limits and plain common sense. The others were waiting outside. "About time," Crawford said. Schuldig snorted. "Nagi, get Kudou." "Do it yourself." "Just do it, Nagi," Crawford interrupted, sensing a time-wasting argument if he didn't interfere. Schuldig could feel a low thread of irritation in Nagi's thoughts even as, face impassive, he moved to do as Crawford commanded. He smirked at the boy as he passed, the smug expression serving to annoy the telekinetic further. Ah, hormones. Nagi held Yohji in the air ahead of them as they walked into the warehouse. The place was falling apart, smashed windows and rotting floorboards the most common features. Schuldig kept his eyes on where he walked, not wanting to step in the wrong place and fall into the basement. Knowing Crawford, he'd probably leave him there until the whole place was burnt down. Farfarello had been surprisingly quiet throughout the whole meeting, eyes fixed on Yohji's unconscious form. For once, however, he didn't seem to be itching to cut up that smooth skin. Schuldig, with the innate curiosity of a cat, skimmed the surface of his thoughts. . . . pretty angel going to fall little black angel hurting God can't do anything about it no no pretty little fallen black angel. . . . The redhead wrenched his mind away from the psycho's, reminding himself once again that Farfarello's mind was dangerous because there was something so appealing about it, that sucked you in and didn't let you go. And anyway, he should have known that the Irish idiot would have been thinking something along those lines. Farfarello had his moments of astonishing lucidity, however, which sometimes made Schuldig wonder if he'd misjudged the extent of the one-eyed man's madness. "Put him here, Nagi," Crawford said abruptly, and turned to leave without watching to see if the boy did as he commanded. Doesn't need to, Schuldig thought sourly. He's Brad's darling little lackey, after all. He gave Kudou one last look, and swung around to follow his esteemed leader out the door. Soon all of Schwarz was standing outside several metres away, watching the building with great interest. "How long before the fireworks start?" Schuldig asked Crawford, smirking to cover his nervousness. After all, Yohji was old enough to have developed a considerable power, and considering what that power was supposed to be. . . . Crawford didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed minutely at the warehouse. BOOM! In a sudden explosion of heat and noise, flames burst out of the building. It shattered what glass was left in the windows and turned the air around to the building into a roaring furnace, hot enough to melt glass. Schuldig hadn't expected an explosion. He didn't know why he hadn't, since it was a fairly obvious assumption to make, but done was done and the force of the blast was rocking him on his feet and he had to concentrate of staying upright more than wondering why he'd not expected something. Crawford, of course, had expected it and was standing perfectly still, the bastard. Nagi . . . well, nothing seemed to really move Nagi. Farfarello was cackling, the hand on his leash the only thing stopping him from running into the blaze. . . . little fallen angel bringing hellfire little fallen angel must touch must burn little fallen angel. . . . "Did we really have to bring him along?" Schuldig asked in disgust, having caught the line of Farfarello's thoughts. "He's about as much use right now as a pink chihuahua on Prozac. When the hell are we getting him some medication, anyway?" "Shut up, Schuldig," Crawford replied, staring at the blaze. "Be ready to move . . . now." And just like that, the flames were gone. Schuldig felt his eyes widen involuntarily. "Fuck," he breathed. "He's gotta be pretty damn powerful to do that." He shivered convulsively in the too-suddenly cold night air. "The later the power emerges, the stronger it is," Crawford recited. "Let's go." Farfarello ran ahead of them into the charred cavern of the warehouse, chanting something about angels and hellfire. Schuldig rolled his eyes, knowing the psychopath now looked on Yohji as one of them. Well, to be blunt, he was. "A pyrokinetic," he mused out loud, then smirked. "What an interesting addition." Besides, it would be good to not be the only smoker around the house. Although Yohji would probably end up smoking more than just cigarettes. . . . They found Farfarello cradling Yohji's unconscious form, rocking back and forth while gently petting the blond hair. "Little black angel, gonna hurt God, bring hellfire to His Earth," he was muttering over and over again. Crawford made a disgusted sound. "Schuldig, bring Farfarello and Kudou," he said, and turned to leave. "Make sure he doesn't cut anything." Schuldig cast his eyes heavenwards. "Yeah, sure, leave all the crappy jobs to me why don't you," he muttered. "Fucking asshole." He paused, and smirked. "Now there’s an idea. . . ." He puffed idly on his cigarette, gaze fixed on the body supported in the Irishman's arms, gears turning behind his eyes. His abrupt grin was decidedly nasty. "Don't fret, precious, I'm here," he sing-songed. "Come on, Farf, let's get our newest addition settled in." Farfarello stood, cradling Yohji as though he was something precious. "Will he scream when you wipe his mind?" he asked, something reminiscent of a child staring in fascination at burning ants in his gaze. "Probably," Schuldig said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. It dangled limply from his lips. "Can I watch?" "Sure, if you bring Kudou to the car and don't cut anything," he drawled, stalking out of the warehouse with Farfarello following. The madman's thoughts were the only thing to listen to, and they kept intruding in his mind. . . . pretty little angel full of fire belong to us now little angel little angel little white angel stained black burning burning burning gonna burn you all up burn up the kitties black angel hurts God my black angel hurt God together. . . . That's just disturbing, Schuldig thought, and tried his best to ignore Farfarello's thoughts all the way home.

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