Sunlight crept into the office, striking Tatsumi across the face.  He groaned his displeasure, rolling around to bury his face in the couch cushions.  He had gotten, at most, three hours of sleep and was, quite frankly, not looking forward to another day of work.

 

            Not that he was one of those who enjoyed their work, though – steering the Shokan Division away from the red was more a hassle than anything else.  However, this was the first time that he had ever dreaded doing what he was paid to do.

 

            “Tatsumi!”  Watari’s genki voice was soon followed by the scientist himself as he leapt onto the couch and, inevitably, Tatsumi.  The secretary emitted a muffled groan into the couch cushion before giving up.  There was no way he was going to get anymore sleep, anyway.  Lifting his upper torso, he twisted as best he could to give his most fierce glare on the person who dared to intrude on his coveted naptime.

 

            Watari’s enthusiasm dimmed only slightly, strongly reminding Tatsumi of a child at Christmas time.  His eyes were shining in gleeful triumph as he clutched a black, leather-bound book in his hands.  The secretary allowed his companion’s insane babble to wash over him like warm ocean waves.  His face was schooled to a perfect calm, but the flickering shadows gave away his annoyance as he idly contemplated revenge.

 

            “ – they’re us!” Watari finished triumphantly, 003 hooting as she danced victory circles around her master’s head. 

 

Tatsumi nodded impatiently.  “That’s all well and good, Watari-san. Now – ” he paused, the tail end of the scientist’s babbling filing itself away in his brain.  “What?”

 

“They’re us!” The blond repeated irritably, shoving the book into Tatsumi’s hands.  Bemused, the secretary’s hand fumbled around the nightstand for a few moments in search of his glasses.  Still frowning from being ignored, Watari snatched them off the table, handing them over without preamble.

 

“Thank you.”  Balancing the glasses on his nose, Tatsumi stared at the book, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

 

The resemblance was indeed frightening.  A man with a large braid and a phoenix perched on one shoulder grinned cheekily from the page.  The faded ink did nothing to dim the exuberance and energy that seemed to flow from him in waves.  White wings arched gracefully over his unkempt golden hair, the appendages standing out from the slightly scorched lab coat.   He was Watari-ish from his head, to his toes, to the suspicious looking liquid he was holding in one hand.

 

His arm was wrapped around someone who, at first glance, looked like Hisoka.  The differences between his co-worker and the angel drawn on the page were subtle, as if they were related somehow.  The figure’s features were sharper, losing most of the baby fat that Kurosaki-kun was forced to wear for an eternity.   Comparing the two, Tatsumi would place the look-alike around the ages of 19 and 20.  Aside from the wings that softly framed his figure the only other difference between Hisoka and the doppelganger were the bangs hiding the angel’s right eye from view.  Other than that, from the slim, feminine figure to the wide, startled eyes, Tatsumi would believe they were one and the same.

 

But what did this mean?