Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Reflecting that it's Aya's fault doesn't make me feel any better as Hashimoto prods me down the hall. If he hadn't looked so damn miserable last night, I wouldn't have tried to distract that sleazeball from him with Aiko. And both our life expectancies would have been longer.

Biji confirms my suspicions. "Preddy girl, bud she ta'ked too buch." He's holding a towel to his face, and his voice is thick with pain and anger. One bright spot in the evening. "Said a 'ot aboud you."

We're walking through a maze of offices, all locked and dark. Does Dekakeru rent this entire space? What for? I'm fairly sure where we're headed, unfortunately, and the less I think about it the better. Breathe. Think about Ay- no, think about girls. But the only face I can picture is Aiko's, twisted in pain.

All too soon Hashimoto stops me in front of a door that looks just like the others. He gestures and Biji unlocks it. I'm glad to see his fingers are shaking, and they leave traces of blood on the handle. Definitely a broken nose.

Instead of shoving me inside, they walk me in slowly, never moving the gun at my temple. I hate it when the bad guys are smart. It's dark in here; no windows, a slight chemical tang in the air. And the scent of old blood.

"Stop." It's only the second time Hashimoto has spoken. "Raise your arms above your head." I do, slowly, and Biji cuffs me to the chains hanging from the ceiling. Here we go...

The reason bright lights are an interrogation cliche is that they work. My eyes are narrowed to slits, but I don't dare close them in case there's an opportunity. The chains keep me painfully on tiptoe in the classic manner. And they took my sunglasses, the bastards.

Naturally Biji has to take out his aggression first. I scream. No more perfect profile for Youji, I don't think. By the time he's done there's too much blood in my mouth to swallow and my eyes are staying shut.

Hashimoto is more scientific about things. Kicks to the gut, the knees, and what I think is a metal pipe, striking randomly all over. No way to anticipate or flinch, in this red darkness.

"Stop," I beg, "please, stop it. I'll tell you everything."

"So talk." Hashimoto's voice is neutral. "What are you doing here, flower-seller?"

Stone-Face is one game I've never thought much of. Aya - thank _god_ it's me here and not him - would be stoic and silent and they'd just take it as a challenge. Not me. I slump, spitting out blood, and start to lie.

"Please, don't kill me, I didn't mean any harm, I just needed the money, I knew you wouldn't talk to me because I had no connections..."

In broken phrases and gasps, I build up the story. Gambling debts and women. Rumors heard in nightclubs of Dekakeru. Desperately offering to pay off my creditors in drugs. The Yamada-san disguise. Carefully, I weave in everything Aiko knew about me, but no more.

They're buying it; I can hear the breathing of the men behind me change. Small sounds of scorn, of relaxation. A tiny snort.

Biji finally stops me with a question. "Whad aboud thad beaudifu' boy of yours?"

I hang my head. "I owe him money, too...he took most of what you sold me yesterday." Pause. "What did you put in the drinks?"

The manager laughs. "Thad? Just a little somethig to make hib re'ax. If you hadn't made hib puke bost of it up, last night would habe been buch better." His voice is contemptuous, knowing. "You're in lobe with hib."

Just a date-rape drug, then. Relief floods through me; for a moment everything hurts less. I wait.

"You want to live, Kudou?" Hashimoto again. "You want your boy to live?"

"...yes."

"Maybe - just maybe - you could earn that. If you try hard enough."

"Please," I gasp. "I'll do anything..."

Footsteps approaching. Hands on my wrists, undoing the cuffs. My feet won't work; they fold under me and I'm on the floor, moaning in relief. Rubbing my wrists to restore circulation lets me thumb the watch open, but I have no gloves. This is going to hurt.

Just a little closer, you two...

Suddenly someone hauls me up by the hair. I force my eyes open, blinking away blood and tears, and see Hashimoto's chest in front of me. He grabs my chin in one hand and makes me look at him. "Not so pretty anymore."

Two hands busy. No gun. Now.

I cast the wire out and up, looping around his neck, and pull. He drops me to claw at it, and my falling weight adds nicely to the strain. Strangling would take too long, though, plus my hands are getting slippery with blood; I rock back, brace one leg, and kick the other high and sideways, striking him under the chin. _Crack_.

As the body falls I'm feeding the wire back in, rolling over to scan the room. Oh, look, there's Biji with the gun. His hands are still shaking. Mine aren't.

Finally I can stop and take inventory. Broken ribs, probably. My hands are almost useless now, crisscrossed with deep cuts. Bruises and a wrenched shoulder and of course the nose. All my dates for next week will have to be put off.

Biji's pockets yield a card key, and Hashimoto's another. Nobody carries handkerchiefs these days, more's the pity. I wipe my hands on their shirts instead and tiptoe out of the room.

Normal light is a relief after those spotlights, but somehow I can't focus on anything. The doors and walls seem tilted at strange angles, blurry. Squinting makes me want to throw up; eventually I compromise by keeping one eye shut and sidle down the corridor.

It's four in the afternoon according to my watch; our attack is set for a quarter to midnight. I could probably leave by the fire stairs, if I could find them in this maze, but - no. The schedule is blown and it's my fault and sometime between now and midnight the bodies will be found. And our samples, along with our third target, will vanish in a puff of paranoia. I have to get them now.

For an endless time I grope along grey walls, listen at doors, try not to think about the bits of me that hurt. Now and then I stop to rest for a minute; disturbingly, the rests keep getting longer and sometimes I'm not sure if I'm moving or holding still. Like now. My cheek is against something hard...plastic?

A card reader.

On a hunch I try Hashimoto's card first. It works. Awkwardly, I pry the door open with my damaged hands and peer inside. Silent, empty, dark, looks good to me. Before I can think about it too much and start resting again, I edge inside.

This feels like a larger room. Much larger. All those locked doors, they're just dummy fronts; this room must stretch the whole length of the corridor. Moving away from the wall turns out to be a bad idea - my feet give out after only a few steps, and I collapse on the floor.

Maybe this is okay. I can rest for a minute and let my eye adjust.

After a while, I remember to look up. It must have been more than a minute, since now I can see a bit in the darkness. Enough to make out what the shadows are.

And I wish I were back in the other room, getting beaten.

* * *

On to Part Eleven
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