Portrait of a Psycho

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Note: These characters are not owned by me. They are owned by Takehito Koyasu and Project WeiB. Since I've given them credit, don't sue me! It's not like you'd get very much out of me anyway.
Warning!
This story contains: violence, shonen-ai, and a bit yaoi. If you don't know what the last two are, please refer to this handy dandy page.
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        The limousine pulled up to the corner and stopped. The window hummed
quietly as it rolled down. A young boy looked out, his harsh blue eyes searching
for something. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and frowned.
	"I don't see him."
	"Then try again."
	The boy, who looked to be about seventeen years old, nodded and closed
his eyes. His brow wrinkled in intense concentration, and perspiration began
to stand out on his face.
	Suddenly, his eyes flashed open and he pointed. "There! That one!"
	The boy he pointed to walked down the street without noticing them. In
fact, he didn't notice very much. His clothes were grubby and his face was
streaked his mud. His white hair had turned a sickly shade of light green.
His golden eyes watched the ground as he navigated around mud puddles. They
dotted the street after the heavy rain. Overhead, the sky hung like a leaden,
gray weight, ready to drop more rain on the people below.
	Choir singing could be heard echoing through the streets. Jei looked up,
his golden eyes fixing on a church. His hand went to finger the small blade
that hung from his belt.
	"God," he whispered. His eyes widened slightly and his hands
began to shake. "God!" he said with more force. He began to draw
his blade. How dare God ignore him like this! 
	A flash of memory rose in his mind. His family, all dead. He looked in
at them. They lay, scattered like pins. His sister looked like she was smiling.
And she would have been if it hadn't been for that ugly red slash across
her neck. His parents, loving and kind, lay broken on the floor. 
	Jei's body shook with the anger of the memory. How dare God ignore his
plea! How dare God ignore him when he needed him the most!
	"You're angry at God?"
	Jei turned to look at the person who had spoken. A boy about his age, fifteen,
stood next to him. He had orange hair, the color of a beautiful sunset.
He stood facing the church with Jei. His hands had been shoved deep within
the pockets of the white coat he wore. 
	Slowly, he turned to regard Jei. A smirk formed on his lips. "You're
angry at God?" he repeated.
	Jei made no answer. He stared at the red headed boy, frozen in place. Shakily,
he turned back to stare at the church. The door had been cracked, and he
could see in. The golden light spilled out on the mud stained street. Inside,
a choir dressed in the purest white robes sang a hymn to God. His hand tightened
on his knife. He would destroy God's home!
	"We can help you get back at God."
	Jei turned once more to the stranger. Who was he and why was he talking
to him?
	The boy gestured to the limousine. "There. Come with us and we'll
help you get back at God. I promise you that we'll succeed." He looked
with distaste at the church. "You can't do much by yourself. With our
help, you'll be able to strike at the heart of God."
	Slowly, Jei sheathed his blade. He looked curiously at the boy next to him.
Even though he was jaunty, he sported a dark ring around his right eye,
evidence that someone had hit him. 
	"Who... are you?" Jei asked softly. He voiced cracked, dry from
not being used. These days, Jei had nothing to say to anyone.
	The boy's smirk grew. "My name is Schuldich. Join us, and I promise
you the power to get back at God."
	Jei's anger died down. He glanced at the church. Destroying that wouldn't
be enough. That wouldn't hurt God enough. If he could learn how to strike
at God through his heart, where it would hurt the most... He looked with
interest at Schuldich. 
	"What do I have to do?"
	The boy shrugged. "Not much. We protect a prominent businessman. But
the training..." He leaned closer, his breath brushing against Jei's
ear. "The training will make you powerful enough to get back at God.
All those years... You'll be able to make him pay for those that you've
lost. And I know the secret to God. I know his weak spot."
	Jei blinked, slowly, languidly. His bright golden eyes stared into the
bright green of the red head's. Schuldich, despite himself, shuddered under
the scrutiny. 
	"Well?"
	Jei turned to the limousine. "I'll come with you. For now," he
added, as they walked back to the car.
	The door opened smoothly, and they crawled in. Jei sat in the lush interior
with his arms folded across his chest. An older boy with glasses looked
at him coolly, surveying him. 
	"His name?" the boy asked. He adjusted the large glasses that
sat on his nose.
	Schuldich closed his eyes for a moment. "Jei," he said finally.
	Jei looked from one to the other, his expression remaining unchanged. These
people, he thought. They knew his name, they knew his aim. They must be
able to help him if they knew all this. 
	Schuldich pulled off his coat. He pointed to the older boy who sat across
from Jei. "That's Crawford. He's American. From now on, the three of
us will be working together."
	Jei turned his cool eyes on Schuldich. "If I decide to join you. I
want to know if I can really get back at God."
	"You can."
	The three boys turned to the fourth figure in the same compartment with
them. The light revealed him to be an older man. The light reflected off
his glasses, obscuring his eyes from Jei. He wore a business suit and looked
very professional.
	Schuldich's smirk faltered a bit. "This is Mr. Takatori. This is the
man we're hired to protect."
	Takatori leaned over to look at Jei. His intense eyes gripped Jei and held
him there. "You'll exact your revenge on God. You have my promise."
	Jei nodded. "Then I join you."
	Takatori nodded, sitting back up. He pointed at Schuldich and Crawford.
"This is Schuldich, a German. He can read people's minds. That's Brad
Crawford. He's an American who can see the near future."
	Jei was intrigued. He was in with a bunch of psychics. He wondered if he
had some hidden power that would emerge. His mind flamed. Then he could
use it against God and repay him for the torture he had put his Son through.
	The four remained quiet. The limousine traveled out of the city and out
into the countryside of Ireland. They drove through rolling fields that
were bordered with trees. 
	Jei looked up, opening up his eyes. He had dozed off for a moment. "How?"
he asked in his whispering voice. 
	Schuldich yawned and opened his eyes. "How what?" he asked. Crawford
kept his eyes closed and his chin rested on his chest. Takatori didn't say
anything.
	"How will I get my revenge on God?"
	Schuldich reached to the side and hit a button. Above them, the sunroof
slowly slid back. Shooing Crawford to the side of the car, Schuldich stood
on the seat and lifted his head and shoulders out. He beckoned to Jei to
do the same.
	The car was traveling fast and a swift breeze struck the boys as they stood
up. The wind took hold of Schuldich's long hair and made it stream out behind
him like a brightly colored banner. Jei leaned against the car, folding
his arms over his chest.
	Schuldich grinned merrily and swept his arms out to feel he wind rushing
under them. "I feel like I'm flying," he commented. 
	"How?" Jei repeated.
	A look of annoyance spread across Schuldich's face for a moment. "We'll
strike at God's heart."
	Jei leaned forward eagerly. If he could just learn the secret weakness
of God...! "How?" he whispered tensely.
	Schuldich swept his arms out to indicate everything. "Look around."
	Jei complied. He saw fields that rolled over the horizon, and trees that
formed a far off border. The sun glinted off the ocean far away, and he
could smell the faintness of salt on the wind. Here and there they passed
farms that maintained the land. Flowers sprung up along the road, lining
it with brightly colored petals.
	"We'll strike at the heart of God. This is the heart of God."
	"This?" Jei questioned. He frowned slightly. He began to doubt these
people. Could they truly help him in his quest?
	"Of course this is the heart of God," Schuldich said, raising
an eyebrow at Jei. He gathered that this boy had been raised religiously
for most of his life, and he didn't know this? He smirked broadly. "Beauty,
life, creation." He pointed to where a couple sat beneath a tree. "Love.
These are the heart of God. These are what God loves more than anything.
To hurt God, you must hurt his heart."
	The unholy light returned to Jei's golden eyes. He nodded slowly, a small
smile touching his lips. 
	"Yes," he whispered. "I must hurt everything."
	Schuldich nodded. Now he was getting it. "Because God loves everything.
You must hurt God by hurting those he loves. And he loves everything."
He glanced a bit warily over at Jei. "Even you."
	Jei nodded. He drew his small knife. "I must hurt God by hurting those
he loves." He placed the blade at his temple. Schuldich watched, his
eyes searching Jei's face as he tried to figure out what he was doing. "Even
myself."
	To Schuldich's horror, Jei pushed the blade deep into his temple and drew
it down diagonally across his face. The blade bit deep into his flesh, bringing
blood to the surface to flow down his cheek. His blade drew a crooked line
down his forehead to his eye. Schuldich turned pale as the knife hit the
eye and popped it like a bubble. 
	Scrambling over to him, Schuldich jerked the knife away from the pale boy
and flung it out into the fields they passed. He turned back to look at
Jei.
	His hair and face were both pale as powder. Down his left cheek ran a river
of blood. White fluid and thin blood seeped from his ruined eye, dripping
off his face to his chest. There the blood joined the other stains on his
shirt.
	"Mr... Mr. Takatori," Schuldich sputtered. He ducked back down
into the limousine, pulling Jei with him. Crawford looked up and gaped at
the bloody boy that sat next to him. Jei showed no sign of pain and he acted
as if the wound was nothing.
	Takatori reached over and pulled Jei to his side. Getting out his handkerchief,
he put it gently against the cut on Jei's forehead. Since the boy was on
his right, Takatori pulled the boy's head down to rest on his arm. He gently
mopped at the blood, quietly telling the driver to drive to a hospital.
	"You are going far from home," Takatori said in the silence that
reigned in the small compartment. Jei stared ahead at nothing, seeing nothing,
thinking nothing. Crawford and Schuldich sat close to each other, watching
in horror as the blood kept coming. "You have been pushed far away
from God."
	Jei's right eye twitched. His tiny fists clenched. God would pay for his
suffering! This was only his first step in exacting his revenge on God.
More destruction, more pain, more death would follow this!
	"So far from God," Takatori repeated softly. He turned Jei's
face to look at him. "Therefore, from now on, you will be called Farfarello.
Far from God, far from home. My poor, wayward, far-forgotten boy..."
He trailed off, pulling Farfarello's head back to rest on his arm.
-------------------------------------------------
	Farfarello was slammed back into the wall. The vision before his eye
danced and swirled. He wondered for a moment if God felt his pain. Then,
slowly, he staggered to his feet.
	"Come on, Farfarello!" Crawford looked into the little room from
a closed off booth high above. He frowned darkly, crossing his arms over
his chest. "You're not fighting very well."
	Schuldich stood beside him. He frowned more in concern. "Don't you
think we're working him a bit hard?"
	Crawford turned his angry glare onto the red head. "Of course not.
He'll learn. Look, he's almost immune to pain anyway, so it doesn't matter
how long we make him go. He's got to learn how to fight like this, or he'll
be killed in one of his first skirmishes. He doesn't have our advantage."
	Farfarello gathered the blades that were scattered on the floor. With the
back of his hand, he wiped away the blood that dripped from the corner of
his mouth. His eye glowed with an unholy, golden light. 
	He turned to look upwards, seeing Crawford in the window. He cackled softly,
held up his blade and licked it. He watched in satisfaction as Crawford
shuddered and turned away.
	Farfarello turned as the sliding metal doors opened once more. Six fresh
men walked in. Each one sported his own unique weapon, from swords to knives
to gloves. Chuckling, they circled Farfarello, holding their weapons at
ready.
	"Come on, Farfarello," he heard Schuldich say. "We've done
the same drill for weeks. You can pass it!"
	Farfarello directed his small, warped smile to the men surrounding him.
He let his arms hang loose as he crouched down. He cackled again. Little
did Crawford and Schuldich know why he was prolonging this. He was always
beaten up, every time they ran this drill. Farfarello would try to fight
back feebly, but he usually ended up being beat to a pulp.
	At first, it had hurt. But Farfarello was determined to feel pain no more.
He was determined to end his pain, his suffering. He would kill off his
emotions if he had to. If he did that, then it would be easier to strike
at God. Slowly, day-by-day, he distanced himself from God even more. If
he could feel no more pain, then he had achieved freedom from God. No longer
would he be subjected to the pain that the other creatures of God felt.
He would be free, free to inflict pain into the heart of God and get his
revenge.
	But now was the time. Now was the time to see if his training paid off.
Now he would show Crawford that he could fight. 
	The six men charged at the same time, each nearing Farfarello. They began
to beat him, throwing his thin, unresisting body around. 
	Schuldich watched with a sigh. Farfarello was failing again. Schuldich
knew that he could pass this simple drill. He and Crawford had passed it
within two weeks of their training. Farfarello had taken six months. The
German began to turn away, disgusted with the pale man far below.
	"Wait," Crawford whispered, grabbing Schuldich's wrist. He pulled
the red head back to watch at the window. Schuldich's green eyes searched
the American's face and saw it light up in triumph. He quickly turned his
face to the action below.
	With a high pitched battle cry, Farfarello charged into the gang of men.
They beat on him mercilessly, but Farfarello couldn't feel it. With his
blades, he began slashing about. He spun quickly and lightly on his toes,
his flashing blades gutting deep into the men. He was greeted by screams
and howls of pain.
	The painful cries made him smile. They felt pain. God felt pain. He was
hurting God! He leapt forward, pouncing on another man and slitting his
throat. He sat on the man's chest for a moment. If he kept that up, he wouldn't
be able to hear the beautiful screams of pain. He looked up. The other three
men banged frantically at the door they had come through.
	"Don't let them out," Crawford commanded to the man who held
the door controls in his hand. The man nodded, his eyes wide. Crawford and
Schuldich stared in rapt fascination at the bloody spectacle down below.
	Closing in on them, Farfarello could feel their fear. He sensed it, smelt
it, and tasted it. He licked his lips. How wonderful. God would be hurt
tonight. Farfarello leapt forward and cut down one man and then another.
The third and final man tried to fight back. With one keen swipe, Farfarello's
blade traced a line from neck to crotch. The man's body fell backwards,
sprouting blood. 
	Blood splashed on Farfarello. He stood, holding his blades at his sides.
He hadn't broken a sweat, nor was he breathing hard. His pale face had flecks
of blood on it, and his pale white hair was streaked. He looked up and his
gaze centered on Crawford.
	The older man stood there, grinning triumphantly. "Good job, Farfarello,"
he yelled down to his partner. "You've finally passed the first test!"
--------------------------------------------------
	The three boys sat on the hill together. Farfarello lay on his back,
staring up at the sky. Crawford and Schuldich sat with their shoulders pressing
together, each holding the other up. Their hill sloped down for about a
mile before joining a forest of trees. In the distance, the mountains of
Japan could be seen, hemming in all that was below them.
	Farfarello unconsciously adjusted the eye patch that sat over his left
eye. He refused to get a false eye. Crawford had tried to press the issue
once, but both Takatori and Farfarello had disagreed. 
	Farfarello had been away from Ireland for seven months. It had been seven
months since he had first met Takatori and his two young bodyguards. Six
of those months had been spent building up his resistance to pain. The last
month had been filled with tests, trying to find if Farfarello had any special
hidden powers. No one was quite sure why Takatori had chosen this boy to
help guard him.
	"Do you miss your homeland?" Schuldich suddenly asked. 
	Crawford opened his eyes and looked at the red head leaning against him.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw once more that Schuldich had a bruise
on his jaw.
	"I do," Farfarello said quietly. Both boys turned to look at
him. He turned his head slightly so that he could see them with his one
golden eye. "How were you two chosen?"
	Schuldich looked up in surprise. "You... want to know?" This
was surprising to him. Farfarello had never shown an interest in his comrades
before. A sad smile touched Schuldich's face. "Do you really want to
see what happened?"
	Farfarello's one eye looked longingly at the red head. "I do."
	"Hold still," Schuldich commanded, closing his eyes. His mind
connected to Farfarello's and Crawford's. With a muffled cry, he brought
the vision forth.
	"There were many secret organizations in Germany still," they
heard Schuldich say. Their minds hovered over a small village. "There
were many groups, from political to abnormal, and they all wanted to reunite
and control the country. There was a group called the Paranormal Police
who searched out people who had strange abilities, like mine."
	They saw a small red headed boy surrounded by other children. The boy looked
nervous being cornered by so many other kids. 
	"Read my mind, Schu!"
	"Do me!"
	"Mine!"
	Schu, the child, laughed nervously, and began to do what they wanted. Each
time he was right, and he amazed the children.
	Crawford picked up the memory with his mind. "We heard about him."
They flashed to a scene where two children stood on a street corner. They
talked loudly about Schu and how he could read minds. Near them stood two
men. One was a man that all three of them didn't recognize. The other was
Crawford.
	Crawford, several years younger, still looked the same. The serious expression
on his face barely changed as he listened to the children. The man next
to him also took a great interest in their talk. 
	"We later learned that the man next to me was one of the Paranormal
Police. He had plans to go to Schu's house and take him away from his parents.
Since Takatori was interested in people like him, I was also to follow,"
Crawford said.
	Night crept over the sky. A tiny cottage sat a little outside of the village.
Crawford and his two guards pulled up in front of the house. They got out
and knocked on the front door, which was opened by Schu's younger sister.
	Calea, Schuldich thought, and Farfarello and Crawford heard him clearly.
They sensed that Schuldich closed himself off from these memories, leaving
the other two to view them.
	Crawford sighed softly. "Calea led us inside," he said, the action
taking place as he said it. They walked down a narrow hall, bordered on
one edge by a wall, a steep staircase on the other. At the end of the hall,
sitting at the bottom of the steps, was Schu. He looked up as Calea led
three strangers behind them.
	"Who're they?" Schu demanded, standing up. Although only thirteen,
Schu thought he made an impressive and intimidating figure. 
	Crawford smiled down at Calea and patted her head. Handing her a piece
of candy, he gently pushed her back the way they had come. "You can
go. Schu'll take care of us from here."
	Calea smiled, pure and innocent. "All right!" she cried and
skipped off down the hall. Schu watched her go, and then eyed the three
again warily.
	Crawford directed his smile to the boy who was two years younger than him.
"Schu, those men in there. Do you know who they are?"
	Schu shook his head, his red hair whipping his face and neck.
	"You've heard of the Paranormal Police, right?" Schu nodded.
"That man is an agent for them. They want to take you away."
	"No!" came a voice, muffled slightly by the closed door. "You
can't have him!"
	Crawford looked knowingly at Schu. "You see?" Schu's eyes had
gone wide.
	"Why do... they want me?"
	"Because you can read people's minds." Crawford came closer,
standing in front of Schu and placing a hand on his shoulder. "We also
want you."
	Schu looked desperately at the door. "But... my family..."
	"You'll have to leave them."
	Before anything else could be said, a scream echoed from the closed room.
Then a blasting roar filled the house and faded away quickly.
	"Damn!" Crawford cried, rushing to the door. But Schu beat him,
throwing open the door in time to see his father fall to the ground, wounded
fatally.
	The Policeman turned. "You!" he cried, pointing at Schu. The
other man, who was tall and lanky, turned to Schu and reached out to grab
him. Before he could, Crawford pulled the red head out of the way. One of
his guards stepped up and sunk a knife into the lanky man's chest. 
	The remaining Policeman turned his gun on Schu's mother. "Give me
the boy!" he cried. "Or I'll shoot her!" 
	Crawford put his hand over Schu's eyes and restrained him. "We won't
give him up," he said softly. He felt Schu tense in his arms as another
shot rang through the house. A thud soon followed, and Schu tore himself
from Crawford.
	"Noooo!" he screamed, seeing the dead bodies of his parents on
the floor. 
	"What's going on?"
	They all turned to see Calea skip in. Schu reached a hand out to her, as
if he could stop her with his action alone. "No!" he cried shortly. Calea
stopped short and saw the bodies, the blood, and the gun. She gasped, her
eyes wide.
	The Policeman turned the gun on the small girl. He grinned triumphantly.
"Even you can't let her die," he said, smirking at Crawford. 
	Crawford walked to Schu and pulled him to his feet. "I'm truly sorry,"
he whispered to the German boy, and then turned back to the man. "Do
what you will."
	"No!" Schu threw himself in front of Calea as the gunshot rang
out once more. In pure irony, the bullet skinned his shoulder before flying
past him and hitting his sister. She cried out shortly before Schu heard
even her body hit the floor. He turned, gathering the small girl to him.
	"Calea... Not you too..." 
	Crawford pointed at the Policeman. His two guards advanced. "Kill
him," he ordered sharply. The two guards slowly approached the man.
	Meanwhile, Crawford pulled Schu slowly away from the body of his sister.
"Let's go," he said coldly.
	"Let go of me!" Schu cried, throwing Crawford off. "You
bastard!" He turned to the American, angry tears in his eyes. "You
let my family die! I'm not coming with you!"
	One of the guards, now finished disposing of the Policeman, came up behind
Schu. Crawford nodded, and Schu was promptly knocked out.
	Later, when he woke up in the car, his arms and legs were bound. He struggled
against them, calling out loudly. "Calea! Mama! Papa!" 
	A man towered over him. Light reflected off his glasses and his blinding
white hair. His mouth scowled sourly. Reaching out with his fist, he slapped
Schu in the mouth.
	"Shut up," he ordered quietly.
	Schu looked up with shiny, bright eyes. "You'll have to kill me,"
he growled. 
	"You will serve me. You will serve me willingly. I won't take this!"
The man set forth to pummeling Schu, hitting the German child repeatedly.
Still, Schu would not stay quiet.
	"Mr. Takatori," Crawford said quietly. He sat in the other corner
of the car. "Maybe we should just get rid of him."
	"No!" Takatori said, knocking Schu once more unconscious. "I
need his powers. I won't lose him now."
	Without meaning to, sudden images of the present time flashed through Crawford
and Farfarello's minds. Each time, Takatori struck down Schuldich for something
he had said or done. This was the reason he had so many unexplained bruises
and cuts all over his body most of the time. He was still defiant towards
Takatori. 
	"Stop," whispered Schuldich. "Stop it..."
	Crawford, on the hill once more, put his arm around Schuldich. "Just
disconnect your mind from it."
	Tears leapt to Schuldich's eyes and he shook his head. "I can't forget..."
	"I'm not telling you too." Crawford leaned his head against Schuldich's.
"I'm surprised you don't hate me for it..."
	Schuldich bowed his head, tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks. "I
blame Takatori for it. Not you."
	Farfarello lay in the grass, watching this display of emotion. So naked
and pure, this pain was. It was like a live wire. You only had to touch
it to cause pain. Farfarello wondered if God hurt because of this pain.
This great pain must also hurt God. A small, secret smile spread on his
lips. God was hurting because of him. 
--------------------------------------------------
	"So, you understand, right?" 
	Crawford looked from one to the other. Schuldich leaned against the wall,
his eyes closed, his face calm. Farfarello checked the blades at his waist.
They both nodded.
	"We get the disk and then leave. We leave the family in tact so that
they can be ruined." Crawford looked pointedly at Farfarello. "Don't
touch anyone."
	Lately, Farfarello had been getting harder to control. When he spoke, which
was rare, he mumbled about his revenge on God. He wanted to hurt people,
to hurt the creation of God. His eye held that wild, fanatical glow when
he mumbled his phrases of ruin. 
	They snuck through an open window into a library. Books lined the walls,
and the great bookshelves cast huge block shadows on the ground. They stalked
across the room. One moment there were three figures running in the dark,
the next thing they knew, only two were there.
	Crawford and Schuldich looked at each other. "Where'd Farfarello go?"
Crawford asked. Schuldich shrugged. Sighing, Crawford shook his head. "We'll
get the disk and then find him."
	They retrieved the disk as planned. As they stalked quietly back to the
library, they heard a woman's scream up above. Crawford looked at Schuldich
with a worried expression. Abandoning all stealth, they shot up the steps
to find out what had happened. 
	They traveled down a hall, brightly lit now. Several people grouped around
a door at the end of the hall. All of the men and women there looked pale
and sick. Pushing through them, Crawford stood in the doorway to see what
had happened.
	Farfarello sat among the covers of a bed. With one of his knives, he slowly
carved open the body of a dead woman. The bed around him was soaked with
blood. Another body lay on the floor, also cruelly gutted. 
	"Farfarello!" Crawford snapped. Schuldich looked at the bodies,
he himself beginning to get sick. The stench of death and drying blood hung
heavy in the air. Crawford grabbed Farfarello's arm, trying to pull him
away. 
	Whirling, Farfarello flung his knife out. The blade swept past Crawford,
cutting his cheek in a fine line. The blade flew over his shoulder and buried
its point in another man's heart. 
	His eyes wide, Crawford reached up to touch the blood that seeped from
the cut on his cheek. Slowly, his face reddened. "Fine!" he yelled
finally. "Have it your way. If you're caught, we're not associated
with you!"
	Turning, he grabbed Schuldich and propelled the German out of the room.
They left, walking back downstairs and climbing out the window. They entered
the car. 
	"Where's Farfarello?" asked one of the guards who sat with them
in the back. 
	"Coming later," Schuldich said, laughing nervously. "Ahh,
we hope."
	Crawford pulled out a handkerchief, pressing it to his bleeding cheek.
"The bastard can stay there for all I care."
	Suddenly, a thump was heard on top of the roof. Something knocked on the
sunroof. Schuldich and Crawford looked at each other.
	"If we open it," Schuldich whispered, "We're like fish in
a barrel. He can't miss us."
	Crawford snorted, reached over and hit the controls. "Who else could
it be but Farfarello? No one else has the brains to follow us."
	As the roof slid open, sure enough, Farfarello, blood covering his clothes,
dropped in on them. His golden eye gleamed shiny with the excitement of
the hunt.
	"I hurt God," he explained briefly. 
	"Did you kill them all?" Crawford asked coldly. He fixed his
eyes on the Irishman and glared at him. Schuldich took the handkerchief
from Crawford's hand and gently dabbed it himself against the American's
cheek.
	"Not all of them. But I hurt them all." Farfarello smiled, a
ghostly smile in the half dark. To frighten the others even more, a sliver
of moonlight peeped through the clouds, sending it's light down to shine
on Farfarello's pale face and wicked smile. "I hurt God," he repeated.
"God is howling in pain because I hurt his creation."
	Crawford winced slightly as Schuldich pressed the cloth against his cut.
"Listen to us next time. There's a time and place for getting back
at God, and tonight was the wrong time and the wrong place."
	Farfarello shrugged. "It's been done."
	"The will of God?" Crawford asked, laughing harshly. Schuldich
pulled away, his eyes concerned as he looked from one killer to the other.
They were both out of their minds.
--------------------------------------------------
	They sat once more on their hill. Farfarello lay in the tall grass,
squishing ants with the handle of his blade. Schuldich and Crawford sat
back to back, looking over the forest that spread itself out below them.
	"Crawford," Schuldich said softly. The American opened his eyes
and turned his head slightly to see the red head. 
	"Yes?"
	"You never told us your past..."
	Crawford smiled slightly. His hand reached out, his finger gently tracing
patterns on the back of Schuldich's. "How long have we been together?"
	Schuldich's brow wrinkled as he thought about that. "You've been here
four years. And I've been here almost four years. Farfarello's been here for two."
	"And in all that time, I've never told you?"
	"Never." Schuldich turned, getting onto his knees. "Tell
us Crawford. You know our pasts. We want to know you."
	Crawford's eyes smiled slightly as he looked teasingly at Schuldich. "We?"
	Schuldich blushed and sat back down, pressing his back hard against the
American's. "Tell us," he demanded, like a sullen child. 
	Crawford sighed, becoming serious once more. "Link our minds,"
he commanded softly. 
	Schuldich did just that, linking the three boys together once more. First
they saw through Crawford's eyes in the present, before, slowly, having his first memory
 reconstructed around them.
	A busy street filled with people and cars came into view. The air was hot
and hard to breath. People rushed by, paying no attention to the small child
that sat against a building. The boy was grubby and thin. He hadn't eaten
in days. He held his tiny hand out like an old man had taught him to do.
He didn't understand why he did it though.
	Crawford sighed softly. "That's me," he pointed out. "I
was an orphan. I remember nothing about my parents. This is the only thing
I can remember about my early childhood. Watch."
	Exhausted from hunger and lack of water, the little boy slowly collapsed
onto his knees and then fell to his face. A man passing stopped and watched
impassively. Then, hurrying over, he picked the boy up.
	"Hey. Hey!" The man wore a black trench coat and black glasses.
He shook the little boy in his arms. "Hey, kid!"
	The boy didn't respond. After enough shaking, his eyes fluttered open slightly.
"Food...," he whined. 
	The man nodded, hefting the little boy into his arms. The vision faded
and when it came back, the man and the little boy sat side by side at a
diner. The grubby boy attracted looks from people, but then, so did the
mysterious man next to him. The man generously bought food to feed the boy
with, who quickly downed everything he saw. 
	After the bill had been paid, the man stood to leave. He looked down at
the child, and saw that he had fallen asleep. The man smiled. The child,
in a safe place, filled with food, finally happy, had given way to sleep.
Picking the boy up again, the man carried him home.
	"That man was Mr. Crawford. He raised me, gave me his surname. I had
no name that I could remember, so he named me Brad. Bradley Crawford."
A picture of Mr. Crawford filled their minds. He was a kindly looking man,
older in years. His face was lined with wrinkles, but wrinkles that had
come with smiling over the years. 
	Crawford continued his narrative. "Mr. Crawford was the second in
command to the New York Mafia. He took me in, and I became his son. Therefore,
I had to be taught in the ways of the Mafia."
	The Crawford in the memories was now a young boy, about thirteen. He was
pulling at the sleeve of Mr. Crawford. "Dad! You got to get your men
ready! Another gang is coming to attack!"
	Mr. Crawford tried to shrug the boy off because he was in a meeting with
another man. "That's nice, son. Go handle them yourself." He turned
back to the other man. "You'll have to excuse him. He gets so excited."
	Crawford snorted and ran off. His father had given him men under his control,
so he took those few out to combat the coming gang. 
	"That was the first time I had used my powers like that," Crawford
said softly. "Once Dad realized what I could do, he promoted me to
his second in command. The Mafia grew considerably just because of me in those
two years. And then..."
	Crawford was fifteen, standing behind his father at attention. The car
in front of them opened up, and Takatori stepped out. They all felt the
anger and pain Crawford felt when Takatori stepped into the picture.
	"Crawford," Schuldich whispered. "I didn't think it ever
bothered you..."
	Crawford didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did, he just continued
his narrative. "Takatori was associated with a political gang in Washington
D.C., a gang that had ties with ours. When word traveled down to him that
I could predict the future, he came at once."
	Crawford, a determined look on his young features, lugged along a suitcase
behind Takatori. His father followed, tears in his eyes.
	"Brad! Don't leave! You don't have to go!"
	Crawford turned, adjusting the glasses on his nose, looking like he was
about to give a lecture. "Now, Father. I told you why I'm leaving,
and so I'm leaving. I'll be back now and then to visit, don't worry. You
know you had to give me up sometime later anyway." A look of sadness
swept his face for a moment, and he reached out to take his father's hand.
"Thank you... Mr. Crawford. For everything you've done."
	With no more words, Crawford climbed into the car behind Takatori and they
sped off, leaving a weeping Mr. Crawford in their dusty tracks.
	"What was your reason for leaving?" Schuldich asked. He slowly
eased them out of Crawford's mind back to the hill they sat on. 
	Crawford sat with his knees pulled to his chest. His face was unreadable
as he gazed at the horizon. "When I reached Japan, I felt complete.
I was foolish, being so young, but I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought
that I wasn't happy in New York. So I left. I still feel... complete in
a way. But, I miss... my family..."
	With a soft sob, Crawford pulled off his glasses and buried his face in
his hands. His shoulders shook with their force. 
	Schuldich watched him in surprise. They had never seen their leader cry
before. Even Farfarello showed a little emotion at that. In a rare moment
of understanding, Farfarello walked over to Crawford and placed a hand on
his shaking head.
	"We all understand," he said softly. Turning, his face once more
unreadable, he left, leaving Schuldich to comfort the crying American.
	"Hush, Brad," Schuldich whispered. "We understand, like
Farfarello said. We really do." He reached over and pulled the older
boy to him. The dark head rested back on his shoulder, the tear streaked
face now exposed. Crawford closed his eyes tight, as if ashamed to be seen
crying.
	Schuldich pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at the tears. "So young
for nineteen, but still so old." On an impulse, he leaned down and
kissed Crawford's forehead. "We understand," he repeated softly.
--------------------------------------------------
	"Where's Farfarello?"
	Crawford opened the door to the Irishman's room, but no one was there.
The room had very few belongings in it, and it would have been hard to miss
the man. Schuldich stood behind the American, watching him with wide eyes.
	"I haven't seen him," the red head said. 
	Crawford turned and put a hand on the side of Schuldich's face. He sighed
and closed his eyes. "I'm worried about him."
	Schuldich leaned his face into the gentle hand that held it and kissed
the palm. "Worried about Farfarello?"
	Crawford put his other hand on Schuldich's hip. He smiled slightly as he
looked at the man he cared for. "You've seen the way he's become almost
emotionless. He's slowly killed himself off. All because he wants revenge
on God."
	One of the numerous guards on the compound turned the corner and ran down
the hall towards them. "Sir!" the man called. Immediately, the
two boys parted and Crawford became professional once more. 
	"What is it?"
	"We've found Farfarello."
	Crawford nodded and grabbed Schuldich's arm. "Right. Let's go."
	They were led to a church.
--------------------------------------------------
	Crawford and Schuldich walked warily into the Roman Catholic Church.
Light filtered in through the stained glass windows to create a hazy atmosphere
as it reflected off the polished pews and mingled with the incense. 
	In the center aisle, Farfarello slowly walked towards the altar. Soft organ
music filled the holy room and put Farfarello in a dreamy state.
	There in the front pew sat a small child. A smile graced Farfarello's lips.
His sister. Yes, there she was, sitting there like a good girl praying to
God. Just like how the nuns taught them.
	In front of the altar, a basket of flowers sat. Roses, white roses. The
new Farfarello looked at the sharp thorns while the old Jei looked at the
beauty and craft God had put into it. 
	Slowly, a white clad nun swept into the room and came to Farfarello. She
smiled, a beautiful smile. She held a hand out to Farfarello. "Would
you like to pray here?" she asked softly. Her voice echoed throughout
the room though she had barely spoken above a whisper.
	Farfarello, his golden eye glowing, reached out to take the nun's hand.
It was like a dream. He was once again seven, reaching out to take Sister
Ruth's hand. She was going to lead him through their prayers again. And
over there, his sister still sat in her prayers. He smiled, a happy, childish
smile. This was how it had always been, and it always would be. God was
good to those that He loved. 
	Crawford and Schuldich stood watching for a moment. "Do you think
he's realized what happened?" Schuldich whispered.
	"That he himself killed his family? I doubt that he'll remember that."
Crawford shrugged and took Schuldich by the arm. "Let's wait outside.
We don't belong in a place like this."
	Farfarello nodded. "Yes," he said softly. "Sister Ruth,
will you pray with me?"
	The nun nodded, pulling Farfarello to a pew. Other nuns filed out of one
of the back doors, all coming out to pray. The setting sun cast red sunlight
into the room, painting everything. The nuns now looked like they wore orange
robes instead of white.
	The nun took Farfarello to the front pew where the child sat praying. The
Irishman sat next to the child and clasped his hands above the pew, beginning
to pray. In a soft voice, the nun next to him led him.
	Farfarello felt good feelings and happiness flood through him. He felt
this way as a child, as if golden light was being poured through him. Love,
that's what Sister Ruth had called it. The love of God was what he felt.
	He turned to smile at the child next to him. The child, dark haired and
pale skinned, looked up. From within a dirty, grubby face, two large blue
eyes stared up in curiosity. A small, uncertain smile graced the features
of the small child. 
	Farfarello's face stretched oddly into a grin. His sister sat beside him,
Sister Ruth on the other side. He was a child again, with all his childish
dreams and hopes and faiths. He looked back to his hands as he incanted
his prayers.
	Suddenly his golden eye snapped open. He felt dread seep into his soul.
He turned and grabbed the child, picking him up until his little legs dangled
in the air. The sister beside him cried out for him to put the boy down.
	The eyes. Farfarello glared into the eyes. His sister's eyes were golden,
not blue. His own golden eye widened further. He wasn't a child anymore.
His sister was dead. Sister Ruth had gone away. They had all left him alone.
Even God. 
	Farfarello dropped the child back onto the pew and his head whipped to
glare at the altar. Above the platform, a huge cross hung. There, hanging
on the cross, was the ever-present battered figure of Jesus Christ. Farfarello's
eyes fixed on it. God had left him, left him to hang like that poor soul.
He had to have his revenge!
	Farfarello turned to the young nun next to him. His hand strayed to his
blade as he licked his lips. "I must have revenge on God," he
said quietly. On the other side of the main aisle, three pews were filled
with nuns dressed in white.
	The setting sun lowered itself even more. The walls now looked as if they
were painted with blood. Screams echoed in the vaulted chamber meant for
praises sung. Whimpers, screams, and maniacal laughter filtered under the
crack of the heavy door and reached the ears of Schuldich and Crawford.
	Schuldich pulled away from Crawford, stilling their kisses. "Listen,"
he whispered.
	Crawford caught Schuldich's lips with his own again. "I only want
to listen to you." His hands roamed over the red head's body that sat in his lap.
	Schuldich pushed him away more roughly. He frowned as he looked out the
window of the car. "I think something's happened in the church."
	Crawford pulled his glasses back on. He too heard the laughter. "Farfarello,"
he said tightly. They scrambled out of the car and threw open the door to
the church. A sickening sight greeted their eyes.
	At their feet lay three nuns. Their eyes were blank and glassy as they
stared at nothing. A large lump showed that they had had their necks broken,
and that they had died shortly after that. Their white robes were streaked
with blood and torn into tatters. 
	Crawford and Schuldich let their eyes travel down the main aisle. On either
side of the aisle, resting on the pews, were nuns. They looked as if they
had been scattered by a fierce wind. Their arms, legs, and necks all hung
at odd angles. Here and there, one or two of them still whimpered, not having
given in to the pain. 
	Schuldich put a hand across his mouth and nose to avoid the stench that
wafted through the room. No longer did incense burn. Farfarello had taken
the ornamental drapes down and lit them on fire. Thrown into that fire were
two nuns, and their charred bodies smoldered slowly. Even Crawford was affected
by the smell of burning corpses. 
	Schuldich leaned closer to Crawford. "I think I'm going to be sick,"
he whispered hoarsely. Their eyes were locked on the crucifix.
	Farfarello walked to and from the crucifix, his mouth stretched wide in
a smile. The large portrayal of Jesus had been taken off the cross, thrown
in the fire with the two burning nuns. Now on the cross hung the young nun
who had first talked to him. She was stretched out on the cross in an imitation
of Jesus.
	She drifted in and out of consciousness, whimpering from the great pain
she felt. She knew she wouldn't live much longer, not after what she saw
all her sisters go through. Her large, scared eyes fixed on Farfarello,
who smiled at her. His smile was blank. It held no emotion, no sanity. She
was scared of the light that gleamed in that golden eye. 
	The young nun slowly became used to the pain, and soon she was numb from
it. She looked down, her eyes dazed at what she saw. Her belly had been
jaggedly ripped open, and now her innards hung down her legs and dripped
onto the floor. A pool of blood grew beneath her feet the longer she hung
there. Her mind began to swim. She didn't feel the pain. She felt light
headed. She knew God would not let her suffer much longer.
	"Do you hear me, God?" Farfarello chuckled as he walked back
and forth from the nun to the white marble step that led to the altar. He
dipped his knife in the nun's blood and walked back to the pure white marble
step. Coating his finger with the blood, he wrote on the step. 
	Crawford and Schuldich watched in morbid fascination as Farfarello made
many trips back and forth to the pool of blood. They watched as the nun
finally stopped breathing, after whispering, "Save me, God."
	Farfarello heard her words and turned, his eye wide with rage. "God?!"
he screamed. "You ask God to save you?" The nun had died. She
could not hear him. He leapt forward, brandishing his blade. "God will
save you?!"
	With a fierce cry, he threw himself on the body of the nun and began to
hack and slash at it. Pieces of white robe and chunks of flesh rained about
him. Soon he had hacked himself through most of her flesh and body, so he
turned to the bones. 
	Schuldich turned and ran out of the church as he heard the crack of bones.
Farfarello, in a mad frenzy, had started to tear those apart. His blades
and hands ripped deep into the nun's body as his teeth snapped at her face.
	Crawford strode out of the church, thoroughly disgusted by the bloody spectacle.
He patted Schuldich's heaving back, looking away politely as the German
emptied his stomach. He waited until the German stood back up and wiped
his mouth before walking away to summon the guards from the car.
	"Get Farfarello out of there. He's gone berserk, so be careful."
The guards nodded and rushed off into the church. Crawford held up the weak
Schuldich. As they waited, they heard the thumps and groans of pain that
issued from the church. 
	Finally, three guards emerged carrying an unconscious Farfarello. They
had tied his arms behind his back with a shred of white robe from one of
the nuns. He hung limply in their arms, covered in blood. Blood and flesh clung to his
 mouth and body. Three more guards limped out painfully, one nursing a broken arm.
	One of the guards came up and saluted to Crawford. "It's done. He
had just finished writing some words in blood on the step..." The guard
trailed off as Crawford looked inside the church.
	He tugged at Schuldich. "Come on," he commanded softly. He supported
Schuldich until the red head began to walk for himself. They stepped over
a few bodies of dead nuns to get to the front. There they stood, staring
down at the marble step.

	Suffer God!

	In the silence, they heard the crackle of the dying fire. Schuldich listened
closely. The other nuns had all died, but he still heard a soft weeping.
He turned away from Crawford and looked around. Where was it coming from?
	Schuldich turned to walk down the center aisle but stopped. Looking to
his right, he saw the body of a dead nun lying wedged between the seat and
the kneeler. Behind her lay a tiny body that was curled up on itself, shaking
with quiet sobs. 
	Schuldich stepped over the nun and picked the child up in his arms. The
body tensed, and then began to flail about.
	"No! No! Put me down!"
	Schuldich gently put the child down on his feet. Crawford came over to
watch silently. The child slowly raised his head to look at the two boys.
His eyes lit up with hope.
	"You're not that crazy man!" he cried thankfully.
	Schuldich smiled and wiped the boys tears away. "No, we're not. What
are you doing here anyway?"
	The boy began to look about, but Schuldich grabbed his face and made the
boy look into his eyes. "My mommy left me here. She told me to be a
good boy and to stay. So I've stayed ever since."
	Crawford's face was unreadable as he crouched down to look at the boy.
"How long ago was that?"
	The boy thought for a moment. "Ohh, I think it's been over two years."
	Schuldich dabbed at the child's face with his handkerchief. As the dirt
came away, they saw that the boy was not as young as they thought he was.
His small stature and thin frame belied his age. "How old are you?"
the German asked.
	The boy thought for a moment. "I'm eleven," he finally decided.
	Schuldich looked at Crawford. "We have to get him out of here without
him seeing the bodies." Crawford nodded and glanced back to the crucifix.
	The horrid mass of flesh and bone still hung there. It couldn't even be
called a human anymore. Chunks of flesh littered the ground in the pool
of blood. Bone chips poked out of the red mass and there was even bloodstained
chips on the floor. Crawford shuddered and looked away.
	Schuldich picked the boy up in his arms. "Now I want you to look into my
eyes. It's a game," he explained as the boy looked doubtful. "I
want to see how long you can stare at me without looking away. If you look
away, then..."
	The boy nodded, a determined look coming into his big blue eyes. "I'll
beat you!" he cried. His stared intently into Schuldich's bright green
eyes as he walked down the aisle. 
	Then the boy's face became curious. "What happened to all the nuns?"
he asked. "I heard them screaming for God..."
	Schuldich looked worried as he trotted alongside Crawford. "The nuns,
they... uh, they went to Heaven."
	The boy smiled over at Crawford. "How nice. I heard that that was a
nice place where only special people got to go. They told me that my mommy
was probably in Heaven." He smiled more sweetly. "I hope I get
to go to Heaven soon."
	Crawford smiled back at the boy. "No, you won't be going to Heaven
for a long time."
	The boy sighed. "That's what the nuns told me too."
	The sun had all but set as they made it out of the church without any mishaps.
The boy was cheerful and sweet. Schuldich promised the boy that they would
take him to a nice place where he could stay. 
	"Sir?" a guard asked. The three uninjured men still held Farfarello.
The Irishman was still unconscious. "What do you want us to do with
him?"
	Crawford put the boy down and looked distastefully at the golden-eyed psycho.
"Put him in the trunk," he said dispassionately and got into the
car, followed by Schuldich and the boy.
	They sat in silence for a while. "How old are you?" the boy asked
the two. Schuldich smiled at the boy.
	"My name's Schuldich and I'm seventeen. That's Brad Crawford. You
should call him by his last name, because he won't acknowledge his first
name. He's nineteen." Schuldich looked closely at the boy for a moment.
"What's you name?"
	The boy smiled and put his hand out. "I'm Nagi Naoe."
--------------------------------------------------
	The next day, Schuldich took Nagi on a tour of the compound. The young
boy was delighted by everything he saw, from the gardens to the opulence
of the Takatori mansion. Takatori saw the boy briefly, but didn't comment
on his presence. 
	Crawford met with Takatori in the gardens. Together, they walked towards
the training building. As they walked, Crawford described the events of
last night. Takatori stayed silent.
	They reached the training building and entered. Crawford led Takatori down
to the basement. They stopped outside of a barred room. Inside the large
prison, Farfarello sat against the wall. He wore a white straightjacket.
His one golden eye was fixed on the ground, never blinking.
	"We should terminate him," Crawford finished. "If he keeps
going on these berserk rampages, we won't be able to use him. He tore that
girl up with practically his bare hands!"
	Takatori motioned to the guard to open the barred door. "Sir!"
Crawford cried as Takatori entered the room, walking to Farfarello.
	The Irishman raised his head, looking dispassionately at Takatori. "Yes?"
he asked in a sibilant whisper. 
	Takatori squatted before him, reaching out to touch the cool, pale forehead.
"Can you obey orders when you're in such a state of madness? Do you
feel pain?"
	"I don't feel pain anymore."
	Takatori pointed to a bandage on the side of Farfarello's face. "What's
this?"
	Crawford stepped forward. "When the guards tried to subdue him, he
started cutting himself up."
	"I have to hurt God. I hurt God through hurting myself. I have to
strike at the heart." Farfarello whispered these words over and over
to himself, punctuated occasionally by a "Suffer, God!"
	Takatori nodded, leading Crawford back to the sunny garden. "We can
still use him."
	"But, sir!"
	"We'll use him!" Takatori interrupted Crawford. "No more
argument. Next time you go out on a mission, make sure to take him. And
start training that boy you found!"
	Crawford stared in surprise as Takatori walked away. Train Nagi? Crawford
shrugged. It was all the same to him. Nagi would probably end up being another
Farfarello. He watched as Schuldich and Nagi walked over to the training
building. 
	"This is where we train," Schuldich explained to the younger
boy. Nagi pulled his hand away from the German's and rushed into the building
and down the steps to the basement. Schuldich followed, joined by Crawford.
	"Farfarello's down there," the American explained softly. Schuldich
nodded. They both wondered if Nagi would have a reaction to seeing the Irishman.
	"Ahhh!" The reached the bottom of the steps and saw the confrontation.
	Farfarello had not moved. His golden eye was focused on Nagi this time
though. Nagi stood, his hands clenched on the bars. 
	"You hurt Sister Celia! You hurt her!" Nagi accused. He pointed
an angry finger to Farfarello. "How dare you hurt her!"
	Farfarello pulled himself to his feet. He lumbered across the floor, and
through a small patch of sunlight that was admitted by a tiny window. He
leaned forward, thrusting his face in front of Nagi's.
	"I hurt her, and I hurt God. I hope God suffers!" He titled his
head back and began to cackle madly. His laughter rose to a high-pitched
scream and his eye widened to an impossibly large size.
	"Noooooo!" Nagi cried. He closed his eyes tight and he clenched
his tiny fists. A surge of invisible will burst forth from him and slammed
into Farfarello. The startled man was hurled back through the air and crushed
against the wall. 
	Nagi stood there panting, staring angrily at the dazed Farfarello. "How
dare you say that about Sister Celia!"
	Crawford touched the boy's shoulder. Nagi turned. "What did you just
do?" Crawford asked.
	The boy looked up at him, wide eyed. "I used my will," the boy
explained simply. 
	Crawford nodded and smiled thinly. "I think you'll be able to help
us a great deal. I don't think you'll become another Farfarello."
	Schuldich slipped his arm around Crawford's waist. "We certainly don't
need another of those."
-------------------------------------------------
	A flash of insight.
	His body became tense and tight as the vision played out in his mind. A
young boy, blond, no more than seventeen. Dressed in black on a recon mission.
	His breaths slowed and almost stopped as he watched the play unfold. The
boy crouched behind some bushes, turning in surprise to see Farfarello sitting
there. The boy and watcher stared at the golden-eyed man as he charged towards
them. Eye alight, blade drawn.
	They clashed, Farfarello and the boy. A second of Farfarello's knives flashed
past the boy's cheek, leaving a thin cut that began to ooze blood. They
parted. The watcher shuddered as Farfarello licked the blood off his knife
with relish.
	They clashed again. The boy jumped down upon Farfarello. His flailing feet
caught Farfarello in the chest, knocking him backwards. Farfarello's arm
was extended, and the boy's weight landed upon it. All flinched as the bone
snapped.
	Pinning him down with carelessly thrown darts, the boy jumped away to hide
in the shadows. Farfarello pulled himself free and looked at his broken
arm, which stuck out at an odd angle. He pulled the arm roughly to him,
and the watched gritted his teeth as he heard bone scrape on bone. Farfarello
crouched to spring forward, to follow the boy. Only, the hand of Crawford
stopped him.
----------------------------------------------------
	The vision overpowering him, Crawford's eyes rolled back in his head.
The arms that held him up above Schuldich wobbled and he collapsed onto
the red head. 
	He came to a few moments later. Schuldich's green eyes watched him in concern.
Crawford raised a shaky hand and touched his lover's face.
	"Schu... I'm sorry," he whispered. Schuldich nuzzled the hand
that cupped his face. "I'm sorry that the vision had to come now...
during our..."
	Schuldich leaned down and kissed him quickly. "Hush," he said
softly. His face had flushed slightly. Crawford saw this and smirked.
	"You're afraid to say that we were having sex?"
	Schuldich's face turned bright red and he turned his back on Crawford.
Crawford pushed himself up and put his arms around the German, running his
fingers down the smooth, naked skin. He kissed Schuldich's neck.
	"I'm sorry," he repeated. Although they had been this intimate
for a couple of years, Schuldich was still easily embarrassed it.
	Schuldich stroked Crawford's dark hair, running his fingers through it.
"What did you see?" he asked.
	Crawford opened his mind and let Schuldich take the vision from him. "Someone's
coming to oppose us?" the red head asked. He laughed shortly. "At
least Farfarello will take care of it."
	Crawford lay back in the bed, resting his arms under his head. His dark
eyes became serious and his mind raced as he planned. "We'll have to
send Farfarello out. I don't want to send Nagi and have him get hurt. Even
if Farfarello gets hurt, he can't feel it..."
	Schuldich sat above him, tracing patterns on Crawford's chest. His green
eyes tried to catch his lover's blue ones. "Bradley," he begged.
"Don't think about it. You'll have plenty of time to take care of it
later."
	Crawford looked at him in surprise. His eyes traveled down the red head's
slim body. He smirked, pulling the German to him. His hand slid down between
Schuldich's legs. "That's right. I can do it later." He kissed
Schuldich. "I have something more important to take care of now."
---------------------------------------------------
	Farfarello crouched on the ground. Crawford had told him to stay here
and wait, and soon someone would be coming along. Someone that he could
hurt. He sat motionless, waiting. His golden eye darted back and forth,
watching for movement.
	Finally, a shadow detached itself from under a tree. Farfarello's eyes
sharpened as he watched the boy creep towards him unknowingly. He was blond
and young. He wore black clothes to help him blend in, and his large blue
eyes scanned the ground for anything that might make a sound.
	Omi crouched behind a row of bushes. He peered through the branches and
watched as a guard made a lazy circuit on patrol. Once this guard passed,
Omi had twelve minutes to get in and out of the mansion before the second
guard came. 
	He sighed silently. He hated recon missions. All he had to do was get a
feel for the first floor. Then, at a later date, he would come back and
start the real mission. He checked his pouches, making sure that nothing
would make noise to give him away. As he did, he thought about his present
position. Although he had the help of Kritiker, he had no fellow teammates.
	He felt a prickling sensation on his neck, and slowly, he turned his head.
Sitting right behind him, like an obedient dog at a master's side, was Farfarello.
Omi turned in surprise, losing his balance on his crouched feet and falling
hard on his rear. 
	With an excited yelp, Farfarello burst out of his position, drawing a blade
in each hand. He clashed with Omi, who met his blades with darts. The blade
neared his face, and Omi's arms began to shake as he tried to push the deadly
tip away from his face.
	One arm bothered by Omi, Farfarello flung his other out, complete with
dagger. The blade flashed by Omi's startled face, cutting his cheek in a
fine line. Blood began to slowly seep out. Ducking, Omi rolled away from
Farfarello.
	Farfarello stood to his full height and gazed at Omi. Omi rolled back to
a standing position. He gripped his darts tight, ready for the next attack.
	He looked so familiar. Farfarello took a staggering step forward. His blade
dropped. "Ki... Kiara," he whispered. His golden eye enlarged
and became glassy. Memories once again flooded through him. 
	The same scene, years ago. Kiara stood before a low ridge of bushes, looking
golden in the sunlight. She wore her hair short like a boy, and her eyes sparkled like 
pure gold. She laughed easily and often. Farfarello neared
her, holding his arms out to her.
	"Kiara," he repeated in awe. She was alive! She was here!
	Farfarello, his eyes alight with madness, neared Omi. Omi ran a few steps
away, pulling himself into the lower branches of a tree. His short height would
not let him complete the jump he had in mind. Omi watched in curiosity as
Farfarello acted out his demented daydream.
	"Kiara, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice soft. She had
run away from him. She laughed lightly like a child. He smiled and chased
her. 
	He stopped suddenly as the world began to blur slightly. "Kiara, wait!"
he called. The world righted itself in a moment, and everything was fine.
He smiled up at Kiara, and as she smiled back, something seemed different.
As he watched, her eyes slowly turned from bright gold to the deepest blue.
	"Kiara...," he whispered in shock. He reached out to her, but
even her body began to disintegrate. Pulled by the wind, her figure slowly
dissolved in front of his eyes. She was lost to him. Again. For the third
time, she was lost to him. 
	It was too much to handle. His shaking hands came in front of his face,
his one golden eye wide. God was taunting him. Playing silly little games
with him. He watched his hands tremble. Kiara was lost to him forever. She
wouldn't be coming back again, he knew now. The tears, the screams that
he hadn't let out before suddenly came to the surface. 
	"KIARA!!!"
	Farfarello drew a third blade and charged at Omi. Omi was ready himself,
leaping from the tree. Farfarello slashed the air with his knife, a bit
premature. Omi landed his flailing feet on Farfarello's chest, pushing the
wide-eyed psycho to the ground. As they landed, Farfarello's arm flung out.
Shifting his weight slightly was all it took. Omi landed hard on Farfarello's
out flung arm, and they both jumped in alarm as the bone snapped.
	His darts out, Omi jumped away, flinging out his needles. They landed around
Farfarello, pinning him down. 
	Schuldich sighed and leaned his head back against Crawford's. "It's
happened," he said softly. "Just as you saw. Nothing changed."
	Crawford nodded and professionally adjusted his glasses. "Let's go
before he starts the chase then."
	Farfarello pulled himself up, flinging the darts into the shadows in anger.
"Kiara!" he cried. Someone needed to hurt because of the pain
he felt. 
	That stopped him cold. Pain? He felt... pain? He looked at his arm, which
stuck out at an odd angle. Gripping the useless wrist, he pulled the arm
across his stomach, hearing the bones grind against each other. He shook
his head. There was no pain. It didn't hurt.
	He crouched down, ready to spring out, like a runner on the gun's signal.
He would find that brat and make him suffer. God had chosen that boy for
his instrument, the very person to torment Farfarello with. 
	There was no pain anymore. There was only a cold numbness. No feeling.
It hurt no more. He had been pushed past the limits of pain. All because
of God. His body began to shake. God. God would suffer because of his pain.
The pain he was ashamed to feel. Inside pain. Pain that would never hurt
him again. Kiara was gone, and she had taken all his pain with her. 
	God would pay dearly. God would pay with his creation. Men, women, children.
No one would escape his wrath. He smiled coldly. Was it wrath? No. He wasn't
angry. He would go about killing in his methodical way. Because that was
how things were done. That's how he would do it. Because he was a killer.
	Before he could leap forward, Crawford stuck his hand out in front of him.
"Leave them be," he said quietly.
	Farfarello fell out of his crouch and stood. He gazed at his leader with
a blank eye. A small, twitchy smile graced his lips. Yes. This man knew
how to hurt. He knew how to hurt others. And that was why he followed him.
These men knew how to hurt God. They also sought revenge.
	Schuldich materialized out of the darkness. Beside him was Nagi. "Who
was that?" Nagi asked. 
	Schuldich closed his eyes for a moment. His forehead beaded with sweat
as he concentrated. "WeiB. Omi. Bombay." He opened his eyes with
a triumphant grin. "WeiB," he repeated. "A new force that
comes to oppose us."
	Crawford smirked. "Oppose us, huh? Little do they know what forces
they're reckoning with."
	Farfarello looked up at this and his twitchy smile grew. His eye began
to spasm. Yes. That is why he stayed here. Together, they were a force to
be reckoned with. They each wanted to hurt God in his own way. These four
men, bringing suffering and death to the creations of God. 
	A low chuckle sounded in his throat. Slowly it rose to a crescendo. The
other turned to stare at him. His eye opened impossibly wide, and he cackled
at the sky, threatening it with his fist.
	"A force to be reckoned with! Do you hear that?" Farfarello imagined
God shuddering in fear, which only made him laugh harder. His laughter turned
into a scream that echoed throughout the night.

*cackletwitch* You like Farfarello now? Goooood girl ^_^
Return to read more? Take this turn.