Intro: An AU set before Kapital (Weiss Kreuz first series), in which Omi and Nagi meet, Omi is more than he seems, and Masafumi has nasty plans for them both. Warnings for H/C, violence.
Glancing down at the small photo, Nagi compared it to his target. Blond, small (though still a fair bit larger than himself, dammit), with quick, long-fingered hands and wide blue eyes set into an innocent round face--the boy sitting outside the cafe seemed to fit, even given the grainy nature of the surveillance photo he'd been given.
Tsukiyono Omi. If Crawford had told him the truth, this boy was anything but an innocent.
Tucking the picture away, Nagi watched him covertly from his position at the bus stop. The boy seemed oblivious to his presence, and was pecking away on a laptop with a distracted air. He had chosen a table next to the building, with good lines of sight--but it was still out in the open, next to other, busier tables and an equally bustling sidewalk. Not that Nagi was going to complain. Hopefully the setting would keep the Kritiker assassin from creating too much of a fuss. Nagi checked his watch, and grimaced. There wasn't much time left...he had to work fast.
Omi kept typing, fingers moving with surety over the keys, but he would never be able to recall what random websites his current searches were dumping him at. All of his instincts were screaming; someone was focusing on him. He was in danger.
I'm not on assignment. The assholes know better than to spring anything 'last minute' on me after Hidori, and everyone from the last debacle is dead. SHIT.
Probably this 'crowd protections' strategy needed revamping; he was going to have a different class of targets now, and BE the target of different people. He should have thought of that! Dammit dammit dammit...
Moving decisively, he shut down his laptop mid-search and stood, cheerfully offering his table to an approaching couple. Then he took advantage of their movements to duck back into the building, away from the sense of being watched. Three routes away from the back door, and one good even if there were others...
Dammit. Apparently his target hadn't been totally oblivious. Nagi moved to intercept, crossing the street casually and approaching the cafe to stalk his prey. There were too many people here...he couldn't get a good sense of where Tsukiyono had gone. But he'd ducked inside the cafe, so unless he planned to stay there, that only left a couple of options--and they both led to a back alley/parking lot area, if memory served.
Nagi glanced through the big front windows of the cafe--no sign of his target--and continued towards the alley mouth, hoping he was right. This wasn't his turf, unfortunately, and he needed a good line of sight on the back to be sure. Once in the back, he quickened his pace, dropping his casual pose and moving silently, ears and eyes open for signs of movement.
After easily dismissing Oenda-san's with a vague wave out front and a cheeky "Late homework!" Omi ducked out of the cafe. He could hear the cook clucking about careless schoolboys who had to run from their teachers as the door swung shut with a clunk.
The boy winced, scanning the area rapidly. He couldn't see anyone, didn't feel eyes on him, but he'd made noise. By now, not knowing what he was reacting to -- or even if it was really there in the first place -- Omi just wanted away, and some time to pull himself together.
He dodged to the side, ending up partially under the dumpster as he began prying the manhole lid up. The sewers were disgusting, but safer for that very reason. No one ever thought of using them to move.
His ears picking up the scrape of metal on metal, Nagi darted over to the dumpster. Closer, he could see the edge of a laptop case and a pair of familiar legs.
Gotcha.
Keeping his hands open and to his sides, Nagi moved into Tsukiyono's line of sight deliberately, footsteps slow. If there was going to be an attack, he wanted to be ready--but he also didn't want to provoke one unless it was absolutely necessary.
"Tsukiyono-san." He made the name a statement, not a question. After waiting a couple of beats for the other boy to register his presence, he continued, "You need to come with me."
FUCK. Sewers were out; couldn't get in without exposing his back.
As soon as his pursuer had spoken, Omi had rolled just enough further under the dumpster that he faced out, throwing arm free. The boy? He sounded young, anyway, was just standing there, only his feet and lower shins visible. Aww, man, ankle shots suck. He'd better have good circulation.
He pulled the most lethal of his darts out and readied it silently. Why the hell does he know my new Kritiker-name? No code word. . . fuck no, I'm not going anywhere! When he answered, his voice was strong and confident. "I so do not think so. Why don't you get lost?"
Nagi's response was both prompt and chilly. "I don't take orders from people hiding under dumpsters. I don't plan on wasting time arguing with them either." Great. Couldn't make it easy, could he? He glanced at his watch again. One minute, twenty-two seconds. Damn. "We need to get out of here. Now."
Omi didn't know what the boy was talking about. He didn't care. He was a stranger, and Omi didn't trust the people he damn well knew. One flick of his wrist, and the lethal projectile flew out, course true to bury itself in a thin, sock-covered ankle.
The young assassin didn't bother watching the follow through; he grabbed his laptop and recklessly rolled with it towards the other side of the dumpster and a way to run.
A dart came flying from behind the dumpster in response, and Nagi reacted instinctively, slapping it down and away with his telekinesis. The dart bounced hard against the asphalt, its needle tip breaking and spilling a yellowish-clear liquid. Angry now, Nagi grabbed for his fleeing culprit, sending a tangle of telekinetic force around Tsukiyono's legs and sending him back down to the ground within two steps.
"Moron," he hissed at the other boy, stalking around the dumpster to where Tsukiyono lay. I try to help, and you want to run right into the ambush? "I told you. We didn't have time for this!"
None of his training had prepared Omi for anything like this. He'd assumed some sort of rope; that he'd let himself be herded into a trap like a rank amateur. A slim throwing knife was in his hand before he landed, but there wasn't anything to cut!
He didn't have the intel to analyze the current mess, so Omi fell back on instinct and training. By the time Nagi rounded the dumpster, that throwing knife was on course for his heart.
Nagi was growling audibly by the time the throwing knife had spanged off of his shield. Disinclined to waste time, he trapped both hands around the falling knife, flipping it around to point at its former owner with casual expertise. Fine. We do this the hard way. Eyes hard, he 'reached' for Tsukiyono's neck, feeling for the carotid artery. A little pressure there, and the other boy would become a lot more tractable--
--then he froze, attention switching to his surroundings as the hair prickled on the back of his neck, standing on end. Something's wrong. Someone's moving in. He brought the knife up and angled it for defense, reaching out to feel--multiple movements, closing in--and backing against the cafe wall. They're early! Damn...Crawford was *wrong*...how could he be wrong?
Considering this was his very first encounter with an esper power, Omi reacted fairly well to seeing his knife bounce off an invisible wall or something. Less to his credit was the reason; the boy was too weirded out to think about it.
Instead, he fell back on the analytical mindset they'd been pounding into him lately. Ticking off that his opponent knew how to handle a throwing knife, that he was younger by at least a year and more likely two, and that having attempts made on his life didn't phase the other boy, Omi gloomily concluded that he was facing another professional.
Then he felt something on his neck, pressure like fingers. Invisible or not, Omi wasn't going to take that! His body reacted automatically, feet wriggling in their bonds, testing them like rope while he tensed the muscles in his throat. The struggling boy was so focused on the weird kid in an unfamiliar school uniform that he didn't register more foes approaching until Nagi turned away. Struggling to his knees despite the restraints, Omi filled his hands with more projectiles and crouched behind the dumpster again.
The first shot was an oddly dull *thwok*, not the flat crack he was used to. It bounced off of his shield as he backed toward the dumpster, trying to cover himself even as he searched for an avenue of escape. The first man stepped into sight--suited and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. Then the second, and third...all identical to the first. Nagi's face twisted into a snarl as they leveled odd-looking pistols at him and his target.
Trapped. Not good. Crawford hadn't mentioned killing--but he hadn't said Nagi couldn't, either. And Nagi wasn't about to let himself die just because he couldn't stop one stupid brainless boy fast enough.
Suddenly Omi was free, and the threat had his back to him. He was a heartbeat away from slicing through the boy's spine when the first man came far enough down the alley to be noticed.
Omi almost dropped his weapons. Only years of having the possibility beaten out of him by a grimly determined sensei saved him, as he went cold, then hot, vision blurring out for a few precious heartbeats. Then everything snapped into sharp focus.
One part of the young assassin's mind distantly noticed that the weirdo was under attack now. The enemy of my enemy doesn't have to die right now, he decided coolly, and can be a good decoy. Omi had no idea why, but he knew that he must not let that man. . . those men touch him. More lethal darts flew through the air.
Two of the men shot most of the projectiles down, rather than deviate from their fixed course towards the two boys at all. The third ignored the attack, letting a dart bury itself in his arm as he pulled the trigger, aiming at Omi this time. That boy choked on an exclamation of disbelief when the target kept right on advancing instead of dropping like the proverbial felled ox he was supposed to be mimicking right now.
Face white and set, Nagi in turn ignored the darts flying from the assassin to his rear. Instead he moved to set his back firmly against the wall, and turned his palm out, baring it against the flat of the blade. Die! A rippling wave of force answered the mental command, sweeping down the narrow alley like a self-contained tornado. The dumpster, several crates and all three men were swept away, slamming against each other and the building walls--one man dropped to the ground with a sickening crunch as a sharp corner of the dumpster landed on top of him. The other two splattered less creatively against a wall...and Nagi's eyes widened as they immediately began struggling to their feet once more.
What...? Nagi hastily readied another attack, newly afraid as one of the men reached into his jacket.
Omi was deeply afraid as well; he had been since seeing the first man over Nagi's shoulder. He didn't know why, just as he didn't know why he wasn't surprised when they got back up.
Mind, he was surprised by what they were getting up from. Between the incomprehensible things that weird boy was doing, and whatever the hell those creeps were, Omi decided enough was enough. He spun on one heel and took off down the alley.
Three steps later, he ran right into the two other men, identical to the first three, who had approached them soundlessly from behind.
As soon as their hands closed on him, Omi went more than slightly mad. Everything he'd learned from Kritiker or out on assignments came into play as he twisted, clawed, slashed with his remaining knife, kicked, and even bit. No matter what he did, the ones holding him never flinched; they didn't even really bleed.
Nagi backpedaled furiously, throwing the man into the wall once more. He staggered, then got back up and pulled a small canister from beneath his coat. He pulled the pin and threw, his bloody face immobile under the tilted and half-broken sunglasses. The canister landed in the middle of the alley, spewing a smoky fog as it rolled.
Nagi gulped in a deep breath, glancing back and forth frantically as he looked for a way out. There were men advancing from all sides now, seemingly unbothered by whatever gas was fogging up the alley. No. NonoNO. With a purely internal cry of panic, he picked the ones closest to the mouth of the alley and threw everything he had at them. Bricks cracked and fell in the wake of his effort as he ripped and tore at their bodies without finesse and a bare minimum of control. Need out!
He ran toward them as the first man collapsed, a thick ichorish blood oozing from his mouth and eyes. Then the first dart hit, the razored spike sinking into his side. He faltered--and the second hit came from behind, throwing him forward. His saved breath whooshed out as he hit the ground. Without thinking he inhaled--and the gas seared its way down into his brain. He spasmed from it, the combination of drugs fogging his eyes as he tried to crawl away.
...away. Need to hide....
Omi saw the uniform-clad boy go down through an oxygen-starved haze; one of his captors had wrapped an arm around the boy's throat and begun to squeeze, undisturbed by the blade frantically sawing through his wrist. The hand was almost completely severed by the time the panicking kid finally passed out.
Stepping forward, burden dangling limp, the man nodded silently at one of his doubles. The other picked up Nagi and all of the forms began moving soundlessly down the alley, ignoring the sounds of pounding from the inside of the cafe door, now barred from opening by the remnants of one alley wall. As they approached the street, an anonymous dark van pulled up, pulling away sedately into traffic as soon as all were inside.
Behind at the scene of the kidnapping, the splashes of ichor began to steam and burn. Chemical flames slowly spread, charring all evidence of the weaponry used beyond analysis before dying down to ash.