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Chapter I: This Is Your Life
Part A: Midnight’s Monologue
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There are many reasons behind what paths we end up walking, what ways we take and what roads we drive. You could end up rich, wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, or dead, nothing but a rotting mushy bunch of flesh, because of one whimsical choice. That guy you picked on in highschool could be your only chance for survival years later in adulthood. Could be the medic or the doctor that saves your life. Or possibly the homicidal maniac that put you there in the first place.
Jack Peterson is walking the sharp edge of the knife that separates life and death. Why? Because he was in a car accident. Why was he in the accident? Because he happened to be going threw a mostly empty intersection when a murderer on the run had slammed a brand new magma red Ford Dakota into his Lexus driver’s side door. Why had he been going threw that intersection? Because he had stopped at a Ben and Jerry’s to get ice cream before going home. He had stopped there because there was a parking space right in front of the JC Penny’s right next to it, a few feet away. There was a space because Morgan Thompson had decided against the blue dress and thus it had taken her a mere few second less to leave the building and get into her car before driving away. Giving Mr. Peterson the parking space and inevitably leading him to his death.
What seems like the smallest choice could end up spirally you into oblivion or nothing at all could happen. We may never know why Mrs. Thompson decided against the dress. Does fate exist? Does anything really exist? Why do people refuse to question things such as religion or the paranormal? Are people of high-ranking intelligence levels afraid that something is out there that simply exists? With no reason behind it at all, is this what they are afraid of? If there were a God, why does he exist? Why is his power so great? Where did he get it? How did he obtain it or was it simply always there? Do things of unknown power and life lurk deep within the shadows? Or do the shadows lurk deep within them?
Reasons are what people of any intelligence want. Not the all out bloody chaos that covers our world like a silken sheet. Yet most refuse to admit this because they fear it makes them weak and in truth, when your are learning and absorbing knowledge, you are at your most vulnerable and gullible.
This has nothing to do with the work of fiction you are about to read. Nothing to do with the plot, with the characters, it is simply a statement which I, the author, wished to make. It holds no special place anywhere. Is there a reason behind that?
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Part B: Meeting Sense
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The night was a cold bitter one, clouds swarming over head, the moon just barely breaking threw them with an eerie silver brilliance. A figure of majestic speed and agility darted threw the bushes and foliage surrounding a large mansion that rested atop a hill, covered in reds and golds.
The figure squatted down with a grace that few possessed, sharp violet eyes catching every movement, stretching his human senses to their breaking point. He reached deep within, to that small gleaming place within and pulled his power to the surface, guiding it threw the area surrounding the magnificent home, picking up every living thing.
28 guards, 30 servants, 46 guests and 1 target.
Sense felt his pale moonlit skin prickle as adrenaline surged threw his veins in a rush of power. His heartbeat went from leisurely to a fast dazzling pace. Under his gloves, his knuckles were white due to the force with which he held the hilt of his katana.
With the same liquid, haunting movements of before, he slipped threw the shadows. The darkness of the night was his domain, trained for years to work with the empty night as a musician would with an instrument. That’s what the rippling of his sleek, powerful almost feral muscles was. His slender body was an orchestra just beginning into the first few cords of a ballet that which left the audience quiet with awe before waves of applause broke out.
He stole across the yard, pressing heavily against the stone wall; fire engine hair doing nothing to hamper him as it flailed into his almost inhumanly violet eyes. He knew without wondering that there was a guard walking to turn the corner. He crouched down and listened with hearing that just wasn’t normal.
The guard was about six feet tall, probably taller, about 200 pounds, most of it raw muscle. He probably wore a suite of sorts to blend in easier with the ball taking place inside. A walkie-talkie pounced lightly against his hip while a gun was holstered in his suite. The cracking of paper told Sense he was eating some sort of snack food, probably a Twinkie.
Sense’s flower petal lips pulled into a thin line as he swiftly and silently unsheathed his katana; the cold merciless blade cutting threw the chilly night air.
Suddenly, the guard’s walkie-talkie crackled to life. He mumbled lightly to himself, swallowing his Twinkie before answering.
“Yo?”
“Anything to report?”
“Nope. Everything fines here.”
“Al’ight. Let’s keep it that way gentlemen.”
“Whatever.” He re-holstered the small device before shoving the rest of the small cake into his mouth. Sense was on him in a ruffle of black garments.
He tore from the shadows with a panther’s speed, sweeping the weapon threw the air in a horizontal arch, severing the man’s head from his body. By the time the figure had fallen to the ground, his killer had already slipped into the shadows.
Sense slipped across a clear open field of grass without once making an audible sound. He cut down two more guards before crouching down behind the rose bushes that surrounded the great ball room, stealing looks at its occupants between not only the roses and thorns, but also the great white pillars that held up the dome shaped roof with steady hands.
The red head’s plum eyes scanned the party, picking his target out easily. His target, Victor O’Brien was holding a large celebration for the marriage of his young daughter to a rich businessman from England. He also ran a child prostitute ring in which hundreds of children ranging from 5 to 17 were beaten, raped and mercilessly slaughtered each year.
With quick, precise backtracking Sense concluded it was about 10 PM. He had to get this done quickly and effectively. He shot forward as a blur of red and black, crouching behind a pillar. His target was ten to 15 meters away, laughing and joking with one of his business partners. In his hand was a nearly empty glass of champagne and his cheeks were a rosy red color.
In short, his target was totally sloshed.
This just made everything all the more easily. The assassin quickly darted from pillar to pillar, before he was standing behind one directly behind O’Brien. He again pulled the katana from its sheath with an almost melodical fashion.
He set himself in a running stance, ready to attack as soon as he could. He saw his chance and tore threw the party so quickly all the rich, preening women saw was a mere blur of black before O’Briens blood decorated the bride’s wedding gown in a sea of red.
Sense broke threw the forest surrounding the mansion once again, ran threw it with such animalistic grace one would have thought there was a wild panther roaming threw it on the hunt. He didn’t stop until he had reached his silver Porsche parked near the road with its emergency lights flashing their buttery yellow light. He yanked open the door, got in and closed it shut with a sharp snap.
The entire affair had taken less than half an hour.
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When Sense got home, all he wanted to do was curl up under the covers of his large bed. After all, even the bitter and bitchy get cold. He let his katana fall to the ground in his room, the weapon clinking against the wooden floor with an almost musical effect. He stripped from his trench coat and simply let his clothes leave a trail towards his bathroom, where he intended to shower before crawling into bed.
As he scrubbed his pale skin, he couldn’t shake the feeling of somebody’s eye’s being on him, that familiar instinct that you were being watched. As he reached for his Herbal Essences rose scented shampoo, he slanted his purple eyes and saw the last rustlings of a black cloak on his neighbor’s roof. His eyes narrowed down and he quickly finished.
He dressed with watery grace into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a faded gray tee shirt with the words “I laugh at cheese” splayed across the chest in navy letters. He silently opened the refrigerator and pulled out the red and white milk carton before pressing the play button on his answering machine.
As the squeaks and squeals of the tape being rewound was heard; the red head leaned against the counter. He opened the carton and smelled the milk to insure its freshness before drinking it straight from the container.
“Hi Ran! This is Serry! Oh my god, you’ll never guess what happened!” His adoptive younger sister babbled from the small mechanism. “Kowaru proposed!” The milk shot half way across the room. “Anyways, I gotta go! Bye!” As he digested this news, the next message played.
“Hey Ran! Just called to tell you that essay for Tomokazu is due Tuesday!” The slender red head cursed vehemently under his breath, laying the carton on the marble counter. That was the end of the tape and he put the milk back before heading up to bed. When he reached the top of the stairs, he froze.
Hot, breath smelling faintly of mint rolled over his ear; curling about the lobe as arms circled his waist, trapping his arms to his sides.
“My dear little poison rose...” A voice whispered, lips brushing against the red head’s ear. The grip was iron tight and he couldn’t even struggle. In a sudden flash of brilliant clarity, he rammed his ass right back into the man, hitting him in a spot that caused him to cry out.
The assassin whipped around, sliding with an acrobat’s skill into a fighting stance. But nobody was there. He ran into his room, grabbing his katana and unsheathing it in one movement. He stalked threw the building, a simmering glittering rage crashing in his plum eyes like the ocean waves that smash together.
When Ran was sure there was nobody invading his home, he quickly picked the cordless phone off its cradle before quickly and precisely dialing a number.
“What is it Sense?” A flat female voice asked, not flat, just confident that nothing was wrong.
In a cold voice Ran replied, “There was somebody in my house. Somebody who could sneak up behind me without making a sound.” He heard a sharp intake of breath from the woman.
“Did you see him at all?”
“I didn’t see anything and he was whispering when he spoke.”
“What did he say?”
“My little poison rose.” The red head sounded extremely annoyed and tired.
“Alright. I think I should send a team over. Okay?”
“Alright.”
He heard the faint sounds of a car engine in the background and knew she was probably just on her way home from the office. “Did the mission run smoothly?”
The assassin answered curtly in a style all his own, “Yes.”
“Well, I’ll let you go to bed. You sound tired, get some fucking sleep!” Ran’s lips twitched, just so faintly, almost unnoticeable. It was a very rare thing in its self, even so small. A faint flicker of happiness bloomed inside him before the bitter darkness barreled down upon it.
“Night.” He said in a warmer voice before pushing the power button and laying the phone on the cradle again. He locked the door and made sure all the windows were safely fashioned tightly before wearily making his way to his room.
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Part C: Roses, roses, and death
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When Ran and his best friend Setsuna reached the small Café they usually hung out at after all they’re classes; Ran looked ready to drop. He had learned very quickly that being an assassin, going to college and working full time at Hot Topic wasn’t a good thing. But it had to be done.
He leaned back into the padded both and slowly, and rather clumsily, took off the leather dog collar, not being very mind-full of the one-inch spikes that prodded from it.
“You look like shit.” Setsuna stated out of the blue. He was of small, short, slender build with rather pale skin. His hair was a deep mocha brown, thick and very healthy, cut at his chin. His eyes, hidden mostly behind the bangs, were a deep smoky gray. His looks were a mix of boyish cuteness and a aristocrat’s regal elegance, the two waltzing together in perfect form that left the young man with many female (and some male) admirers.
“...Okay...”
The brunette smiled boyishly. “Coffee?”
“Yes.” Ran muttered, bringing his bag to sit on the tabletop.
“Al’ight.” The smaller man sprang out of his seat, hopping over to the counter. The red head merely shook his head slightly, wondering where in hells name he got all that energy.
Suddenly, a fierce nervousness overwhelmed him, adrenaline streaming into his blood, anxiety swirling in his mind in a hurricane of unknown worry. And then, he felt those eyes on him again. They burned into his skin, touching every piece of his being, melding into the very core of his existence. The feeling tore right threw him, reading every thing, absorbing his every thought and memory like air threw a vent.
With swift, unnoticeable movements his stole a look around the coffee shop and the surrounding area. He caught a flash of brilliant fire orange, crackling against the dark red brick, before Setsuna’s arrival shook the mood from him entirely.
“Dude, you okay?” The smaller man cocked an eyebrow at him, placing an espresso down in front of him.
“I’m fine.” Ran answered leisurely, playing it easily. “Just tired.”
Setsuna plopped down across from him, a large grin plastered across his face. “Ah, the life of a college student ne?”
“All fun and games.” Ran murmured under his breath. Setsuna smiled faintly, sipping lightly as his own hot cocoa. He had known Ran for about four years, and though that wasn’t the longest of times, he was one of the few who *knew* Ran. Sure, there were people who talked with him. Well, rather, talked at him. He wasn’t the most conversational of sorts, and most thought him shy. He wasn’t shy, merely living two lives at once. Setsuna didn’t know what the other one was, but was content mending wounds whenever his friend needed it or simply being there to sit in total silence while the red head let emotional waves roll of him like water off a duck. He never asked questions and told Ran he didn’t want to know.
Suddenly a short rather plump woman walked up to their table. She was the owner of the Café and went by the name Mary. She was a kind woman in her mid thirties, dark black hair streaked with bits of silver.
“Ran, somebody left his for you.” Her lightly painted lips curled up into a smile as she handed him a small pink envelope. The smell of roses rolled off it, so strong Ran smelled it before she had walked half way across the café.
“Ooooo, love letter!” Setsuna smirked, full, rose bud lips snaking upwards.
A fire engine eyebrow raised but Ran slowly opened it anyways, almost wrinkling his nose at the over use of the scent. As he pulled out the card and opened it he asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Who left it?”
“Oh, a rather tall gentleman with long orange hair and such pretty green eyes. Sort of pale and very thin.” She frowned. “He didn’t seem like the normal sort, so to speak. Gave me the chills.” She padded the red head’s shoulder. “If he’s trouble, just tell me, an’ I’ll send Jake after him.” As she walked back behind the counter she called into the storage room, “Right Jakey!?”
From the room a voice replied absently, “Whatever you say mama.”
Setsuna chuckled lightly. “So what’s it say?” He asked, turning back to his friend.
“Its Latin.” The answer was short and clipped, but not meant to be cold or harmful. Most people would have taken offense, but Setsuna knew it was just Ran being Ran and didn’t notice.
“Let the pimp see it.” Setsuna snatched it from him.
Again, a flaming brow raised. “You read Latin?”
Setsuna banged his arm against his chest in the classic retard motion. “No shit Sherlock.” He grinned and brushed non-existent dust off his shirt. “We rich bitches have to know it.”
Ran’s eyes went to half-mast as he leaned back into the dark red padding again. “Are you going to translate it?”
“Yeah yeah, gemmi a second.” The brunette’s forehead crinkled as his concentrated.
“Don’t strain to hard there.” Jake, a tall muscular man, said as he walked passed their booth, padding Setsuna on the shoulder.
Setsuna merely flipped him the bird. Once again holding the pink paper in both hands, he began to read. “To my love, my only love, I give this gift of passion, my heart simmers with unlimited care and adoration, in the place which you reside, I give the present of my heart, on the wings which you fly, I lay kisses of roses and-“ Setsuna blinked.
“And?”
“-kisses of love and death.” The smaller man shook his head and lay the pink paper down, still staring at the black ink. “That dude is a crack freak, I wouldn’t go near him.”
“I wasn’t planning on it anyways...” The red head ran threw the words again. “The place which you reside...”
“...You think he left something at your house?” Even as Setsuna spoke the two were gathering up their schoolbooks and supplies. Ran pulled out his wallet and left a ten-dollar bill before tearing out of the café towards his Porsche, Setsuna roaring along behind him.
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The two figures were completely silent as they walked up the stairs, one with a dark, merciless liquid grace darting in his steep, the other with a steel will to hold against whatever awaited them. The jingle of Ran’s keys seemed to echo on forever like the large bells the church a block away rang every day.
The door swung open on silent hinges too the two young men. Ran took a step inside, Setsuna hovering behind him, and took a look around. Ran’s face was blank, whipped clear of any sort of emotion, while Setsuna’s tattled to the world of his surprise and wonder.
Covering everything in Ran’s house, from the floor to the couches, the counters, the kitchen table, even the small nightstand sitting plump against the hallway, were rose buds, rose petals and roses in bloom.
They littered the entire house in shades of red, pink and white. Even yellow was found among the mass of floral décor gone horribly wrong.
“Ran, go get your stuff.” Setsuna’s smoky gray eyes were full of fear and worry. “I don’t think you should stay here tonight.”
Though he had to strain to hear it, the brunette heard his red headed friend mumble “thanks”. A shunting of breath. So very Ran.
As he waited for his friend to return, Setsuna stole into the living room. He stared long and hard at the coffee table and the things set upon it. A large black box, more commonly known as a coffin. It was lavished in silver and red and set upon its lid was a brilliant design. An angel in fight, two wings spread in all their greatness. Yet it had a more modern feel, for the angel was clad in a pair of tight pants that looked to be plastic while adorning his chest was nothing but a strand of elastic, crisscrossing it and tied at the back of his neck. What were really odd were the extra wings. One large one sprouted from the small of his back, while two small ones lived on his shoulders.
Setsuna jumped when he was shook from his stupor. He had finally noticed Ran was also in the room.
“Jesus Christ man!” The brunette cried. “Don’t fucking do that!”
As Ran made his way towards the coffin, Setsuna asked in a nervous tone: “Ran...what are you doing?”
“Looking.” Was the short answer. The red head let his duffel bag clomp to the ground and with a mighty heave, which took strength most thought he didn’t have he was so Goddamned anorexic looking, he flipped the lid clear off.
Lying side by side in a haven of red velvet were two dead roses. Placed onto of those was the corpse of a dove, its once pristinely white feathers dyed crimson with its own blood.
“All right, we’re outta here!” Setsuna grabbed Ran’s wrist, the taller man’s duffel bag and tore out of the building.
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End of Chapter 1.