An Unwelcome Briefing Mireille watched the floor indicator lights illuminate gradually upwards as she waited for the elevator to arrive at level seventeen. The level where Breffort's office was located. It wasn't the first time Mireille had been in this elevator, riding up to Breffort's office... although her intent back then had been somewhat different than it was now. In actual fact, she had tracked down the distinguished Soldats member to this very building after.... Well, that was all in the past now. Mireille had replied to the most recent of Breffort's harrying emails and arranged a meeting time for today in the afternoon--one day after the car bomb incident outside of the Aux Villes Du Nord café. She had been a little surprised when the man had emailed her back requesting that they convene at the same building she had once 'visited' him at before. But, in retrospect, she shouldn't have been. Those of the society of Soldats could be expected to be awfully arrogant, especially those who ranked on upper most rungs of the organisation's hierarchal ladder--they considered themselves as the puppeteers who held and hence controlled the world on strings, strings that no one even realised were there. Despite Mireille knowing where he worked as an alleged legitimate and ordinary entrepreneur, Breffort hadn't moved from the commonplace office building the assassin had first tracked him down to. Although, it wasn't as if Mireille were type to blow the whistle on his other, more atypical activities... not unless she wanted her own secret life exposed in retaliation. Oddly, in his email reply, Breffort had given no allusion of hostility in his words nor had he even mentioned the car bombing yesterday; not so much as the smallest hint of ominous subtext was contained in his message. It had been totally businesslike; straight and to the point. Mireille wasn't sure what to make of that. He had to have known the story going around the streets was that Noir was responsible for the bombing. She would have been amazed if he didn't; Soldats seemed to know all and see all... most of the time, anyway. Still, it wasn't like Breffort was the most animated person alive; regardless of the professional air of his message it was yet likely that he was plotting Mireille and Kirika's deaths at this very minute. She and Kirika had better keep their guard up. Mireille smiled grimly and gripped the handles of her handbag a little tighter in her grasp. As if their guard had been down to begin with. The weight of her gun hidden in the handbag carried by her side was a reassuring one. If a squad of armed Soldats underlings were lying in wait for her and Kirika to emerge from the elevator with lethal intentions in mind, then they would soon learn with horrendous clarity why the pair had once been rightfully known as Noir. But Mireille doubted Breffort would be foolish or desperate enough to attack them directly outside his own office. It simply wasn't his style. It wasn't Soldats' style. Mireille turned her attention away from the elevator's level indicator and surreptitiously shifted her eyes to Kirika, who was standing quietly next to her, seemingly wholly engrossed with staring at the floor. The diminutive girl was dressed in one of her favourite outfits consisting of a turquoise coloured top supported by two spaghetti straps, a short dark blue skirt, and finally a white parka. Kirika had lost most of the garments on her gruelling trek by foot to where France bordered Spain--the site of the Manor--but after her return to Paris with Mireille, the doting blonde had replaced the missing clothes on one of her first of countless shopping splurges for her partner. Kirika even had her adorable little pink shoes back... although Mireille had purchased a sturdy pair of black boots for the girl to wear sometimes, too--a professional assassin needed tough protective footwear when undertaking a contract. Nevertheless, Mireille liked how the pink slip-on shoes looked on Kirika's dainty feet. It would be all right to give her cute partner a bit of leeway in her choice of footwear now and then, especially since they weren't actively in 'the business' anymore. Originally, Mireille had wanted to meet with Breffort by herself. However, as she should have expected, Kirika would have none of it. Mireille had strengthened her resolve to leave Kirika behind in the security of their home before telling her of her wishes, but under the taciturn girl's quiet--yet persistent--insistence the blonde had caved. Mireille didn't know whether it was intentional or not, but after informing her that she would be going by herself, Kirika had given her a hurt puppy dog expression of the likes the woman's resolve had been utterly defenceless against. And coupled with the girl speaking the blonde's name and nothing else in that special way of hers, Mireille's resolve had crumbled to nothing--the joint offensive had simply been too much to endure. Besides, even if Mireille had remained steadfast and forbade Kirika to come with her, the exasperatingly loyal girl would have in all probability tailed her anyway--blatantly mind you, until Mireille surrendered to letting her walk beside her. Kirika would have followed no matter what her older partner said. So, Mireille reasoned, it was perhaps even better that she had 'allowed' Kirika to come with her. It was saving them both a lot of trouble. Yes, it was the truth. Mireille's eyes became half-lidded as she directed an unnoticed dry look at Kirika, the girl standing with her hands in her parka's pockets, appearing as demure and innocent as ever. The Corsican let out a small sigh, her steely blue eyes losing their sardonic quality, turning a gentler shade. She was becoming a real softy... at least when it came to Kirika. She prayed that she hadn't made a dreadful mistake in letting her partner tag along with her, though. The threat of violence was always there when they left the safety of their apartment, but now, inside a building that belonged to Soldats, the threat had doubled--no, tripled. Mireille would make sure the meeting with Breffort finished quickly. The faster things were straightened out with him, the faster she and Kirika could return to their peaceful life... if it was still waiting for them. Mireille wouldn't give Breffort a chance to coerce them into a Soldats' machination or worse, into the powerful group's fold. Breffort had offered her an influential place in the society once before; there was no reason why he or the other high ranking officials of Soldats might not still harbour the desire to recruit her. The noise of the elevator doors sliding open brought Mireille out of her thoughts, and with Kirika in tandem, she stepped out of the elevator and into the adjoining hallway, before proceeding in the direction of Breffort's office. As Mireille and Kirika walked into the foyer of Breffort's office, two men dressed in grey suits relaxing on one of three black leather couches positioned around a coffee table inside perked up and turned their heads towards them. Mireille tensed slightly as they regarded her but closed the double doors she and Kirika had entered through behind her without hesitation before continuing to walk further into the room, outwardly appearing calm and cool, but inwardly a coiled spring ready to strike at a moment's notice. She had shot and killed the last two guards that had been stationed here during her first visit to the foyer; she wondered if their replacements knew that. But considering the mistrustful and cagey way the duo eyed her and Kirika, Mireille wouldn't be startled if they did. She wondered if the sentries also knew that she and her colleague were futhermore the Noir of ancient legend, or had been for a time at any rate. Perhaps that was the cause of their obvious apprehension... but it was doubtful. Mireille really didn't believe that the higher-ups of Soldats would reveal the genuine Noir's true identity to their lowly subordinates. They simply didn't need to know. And knowledge was power, with those top officials not apt to share either. "He's expecting you," one of the men said, gesturing with a tilt of his head to a set of double doors over his shoulder, while not taking his eyes off Mireille or Kirika. In the meantime his companion sat stock still beside him, staring at the young women with a steady gaze that roamed periodically between the pair. Mireille smiled thinly in response. The guards hadn't even so much as stirred from their seats to check them for weapons. Maybe her and Kirika's reputation as Noir had preceded them after all. Or it could be that the guards were just always edgy with everyone who crossed their paths; that attitude did make for a longer life in their line of work. Maybe they were in actual fact under direct orders from Breffort not to frisk Mireille and Kirika for arms. In any case Mireille was glad; she had never liked being felt up by strange men with wandering hands under the pretext of searching for concealed weapons. Although it rarely occurred--as a professional assassin Mireille typically avoided situations where suspicion could be laid on her, and that included walking into places where a physical pat down of her person was required. Strolling unhurriedly past the chary-eyed sentries--whose gazes stuck to them like glue as they moved--Mireille and Kirika approached Breffort's doors, and, after a short forewarning knock courtesy of the Corsican, walked into the Soldats member's office. Breffort looked up from where he was seated at his desk as Mireille and Kirika came into the room, putting down the fountain pen he had previously been writing with. Remy Breffort was a somewhat aged man, perhaps in his late fifties, with slicked back grey hair and attired in an expensive-looking charcoal grey suit of fine material and cut, painting an overall dapper exterior. Mireille hypothesised that he was a prominent individual in Soldats' echelons, perhaps even sitting on the chief council itself, if one existed. All the more reason to stay sharp and leave quickly. While the blonde had had dealings with Breffort in the past, it didn't mean she trusted him more than any other Soldats follower. "Mireille Bouquet," Breffort greeted flatly in his rather gruff voice, speaking French. He cast his eyes to Kirika trailing at the rear of Mireille for a second, but then they returned to the woman. "I am pleased you have answered my summons. Come in. Sit down." Mireille advanced into the richly decorated room with long, purposeful strides, before halting abruptly in front of two plush sofas facing a polished cherry wood coffee table. "That won't be necessary," she declared tersely as Kirika softly clicked shut the office's double doors, then positioned herself a couple of steps behind her partner. "The only reason I-- *we*--" Mireille quickly corrected, "--are here is to assure you--and Soldats--that we were not responsible for killing your people." Mireille narrowed her eyes, clutching her handbag in front of her tightly with both hands. "Although I'll admit your constant messages did try my patience...." she added hotly under her breath. "While the word may be that Noir is taking the blame for the car bombing outside the Aux Villes Du Nord café, it was not we." The woman then smirked faintly, but the smile held more ice than warmth. "We prefer more... shall we say, elegant methods of disposing of people." Mireille glanced over her shoulder at Kirika, her smile now turning fond, just for the cute girl. "Well, one of us does," she amended rather teasingly, recalling her stoic partner's brutal yet effective techniques at ending lives. Kirika, exhibiting her aforementioned stoicism, didn't react to the jibe bar an infinitesimal movement of her lips. Breffort simply looked at Mireille levelly for several moments. Then, after heaving a weary sigh, he stood up from his chair and hobbled out from behind his desk, leaning the majority of his weight on his peculiar cane topped with what loosely resembled a golden hawk's head. "Noir..." he mumbled to himself, looking away from Mireille and Kirika. "I had hoped it was merely a rumour, but now...." Breffort sighed once again and shook his head slightly, before returning his attention to Mireille. "The situation has become even worse than I had first believed. It would be wise if you and your partner listen to what I have to say," he recommended with some resignation. "I don't think so," Mireille said coldly and with barely veiled enmity beneath her words, no smiles of any sort now. "We don't want to know what the 'situation' is." There was no way she was going to let Breffort get them involved in whatever was going on. Mireille had already informed the man that neither she nor Kirika were accountable for the deaths of the two Soldats agents--their business with him was finished. Mireille and Kirika could go back to their quiet life oblivious to whatever Breffort's and Soldats' problems were, and be happier for it. "We're done here," the Corsican assassin stated firmly, turning to go. "If the title of Noir is truly being used then this concerns you too," Breffort said to Mireille's retreating back. "You *and* your partner," he continued in a softer tone, someway knowing how the inclusion of Kirika would affect the woman's mindset. "It is the reason why I've been trying to contact you of late." Mireille stopped dead in her tracks when her partner was mentioned. Curse Breffort! She wondered irritably if he had agents spying on how she and Kirika interacted with each other now. Although, Breffort had been present when Mireille and Kirika had walked out of the Manor together, the sole survivors of a battle against Altena and her enclave. Perhaps the woman's decision to follow after and in turn save Kirika then had been enough for him to go on. Mireille turned back and looked at Kirika, who hadn't moved. The girl met her gaze wordlessly and then, to the blonde's dismay, she walked slowly over to one of the sofas. "Kirika..." Mireille whispered in consternation and surprise. With Kirika's choice made, there was little Mireille could do but staunchly stand by her, regardless of how much she wished the withdrawn girl had followed her lead like she normally did. As Kirika took a seat on the sofa, Mireille reluctantly did likewise, sitting primly next to her colleague and laying her handbag on her lap. She did her best not to slouch despondently. Her and Kirika's peaceful way of life was giving its final death rattle. Breffort took a brief moment to fetch a manila folder out from one of his desk drawers, and then limped over to the other, vacant, sofa across from Mireille and Kirika before seating himself in it, releasing a tired breath of air. He propped his cane against one of the sofa's arms and then opened the dossier in his hands. "We believe," Breffort began, and Mireille had no doubt in her mind who exactly 'we' was referring to, "that this man, Ryosuke Ishinomori, is one of those responsible for the act of aggression against us yesterday." Breffort laid out a number of photographs he had retrieved from the folder on the table in front of Mireille and Kirika, placing them down one after the other, side by side in a neat row. Mireille leaned forwards on the sofa, peering at the mix of colour and black and white photos of assorted sizes, before picking one up and examining it, her interest piqued despite herself. Clearly surveillance specialists--who were highly likely to also be members of Soldats--had taken them. The colour picture in Mireille's hands was of an Asian man who looked to be in his mid twenties, standing a couple of feet from a black limousine and seemingly occupied with someone or something outside of the snapshot, and consequently was apparently oblivious to being spied upon and photographed. Ryosuke Ishinomori was a tall individual, at least six foot if the limousine in the background was any measure, and possessed a slim build. Then again, Mireille couldn't be certain of that since he wore a long coat of the darkest black. It was buckled from his neck to his waist with gunmetal grey clasps and fell in two tails to the tops of his ankles, and as a result, hid most of his similarly gloomily attired body from view. The coat had a faint sheen to it that was visible even in the photo, like it was made of some sort of glossy substance, perhaps leather. Its collar was cut straight and stood up stiffly to Ishinomori's mouth, partially obscuring his features. But Mireille could make out enough. Ishinomori would have been rather handsome if his face hadn't been gaunt and his expression stony. Dark circles ringed his lifeless violet, almost purple, eyes, made doubly more noticeable by his deathly pale complexion. Stark white hair hung to his shoulders, but fanned out in a series of spikes away from his head just before actually touching them. All in all the general air of Ryosuke Ishinomori, even from a mere photograph alone, touted that he was a very dangerous and cold individual... but not of the type that Mireille hadn't dealt with before. There were many people who held themselves in such repute in the criminal world--and those in the average world too, for that matter--arrogant men and women who felt themselves superior to others and acted accordingly. Fools who thought of themselves above their customarily meagre castes. Mireille had encountered their like many, many times. They were often the ones who begged for their lives before she ended them. She would have to encounter Ishinomori in person before she could determine if he shared those other wannabes' characteristics, or if he actually had the ability to back up his aplomb. As Mireille was studying the picture, a flash of memory manifested in her mind's eye, a memory from the day before. She inhaled sharply and frowned hard at the man in the photo. Shoulder length stark white hair and a long jet-black coat.... It was the man she had bumped into on the street outside the café yesterday, right before the Soldats sedan was turned into a hunk of flaming scrap metal. Mireille should have recognised him sooner. He must have been there to trigger the car bomb remotely himself. How very brazen, she thought disdainfully. Mireille spared a glance at Kirika to her left, and saw the girl impassively scrutinising another photograph of Ishinomori, this particular one of him sitting at a bar in a restaurant, dressed much like he had been in the picture she had been looking at and with the same emotionless countenance. The shop signs caught in the foreground of the black and white photo were written in what looked like Japanese characters--it must have been shot in Japan. Well, Ryosuke Ishinomori did appear to hail from the country. Kirika's eyes turned to meet Mireille's for a moment at the woman's look, but then Breffort started talking again, demanding both her and her partner's full attention. "Ishinomori was spotted recently in Paris accompanied by his usual associate, one Wen-Sung Hsu; a man also known as Vincent Hsu," Breffort revealed, placing another set of snapshots on the coffee table, under the first collection. Mireille and Kirika moved at the same time, each reaching for a surveillance photograph of the second bombing suspect. At first glance Mireille thought that Breffort had been mistaken about Hsu's gender, but after closer inspection she realised he was simply a remarkably beautiful man. Truly Vincent Hsu could have been mistaken for a woman. If Mireille were so inclined that way she might have even been attracted to him. But as it was, she preferred the authentic thing. She could accept no substitutes, regardless of how feminine a man appeared. With a medium-to-small build and long lustrous black hair, Hsu was the exact opposite of his older-looking partner Ishinomori, even more so with the broad smile plastered on his almost flawless face; the solitary blemish a mole by the right side of his mouth. The picture Mireille had chosen was in full colour displaying Hsu carousing in what looked to be a seedy nightclub somewhere, with his arms around two pretty yet whorishly dressed women who the Corsican could practically visualise simpering. The enchanting man who had won their affections--and seemed to certainly be enjoying them--was clad in a black suit and tie along with a correspondingly coloured shirt, matching his Japanese associate's fashion sense. However, Hsu wore his clothing well, holding himself in a suave but laid-back manner that shone through even the static photo in Mireille's hand. His eyes were pools of enrapturing liquid amber, captivating in their soft exquisiteness, while his ebony locks were tied loosely in a ponytail at the nape of his neck and hung over one shoulder, reaching his waist. A series of short strips made of a black velvet-like material were wrapped around Hsu's ponytail, keeping the long tresses neatly together, and a few centimetres from the tail's bottom a dark cord was tied, producing a tuft of hair at the ponytail's end. It was hard to imagine a person with such a jovial and captivating look was paired with the likes of the dour Ryosuke Ishinomori. But then appearances could all too easily be deceiving. Mireille doubted the casual observer would think Kirika was anything more than an average girl by merely looking at her. "Both men have become significantly prominent players in the Asia-Pacific region, rising from relative obscurity from small gang-related syndicates," Breffort went on while Mireille and her darkhaired companion studied the snapshots. "Perhaps you have heard of them...?" he posed to the well-known and respected Corsican assassin. "I don't visit that area of the world often," Mireille replied in an absent mumble, her interest focused primarily on the picture of Hsu. "Europe is my traditional playground." "Of course," Breffort said somewhat contritely, before clearing his throat and resuming his report. "Alone, Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu make equally formidable foes," he said, impassively watching Mireille and Kirika continue to look over the photos of the duo. "But together...." The grey-haired man directed an unwavering gaze at Mireille, the woman having looked up at his noticeable pause. "Together, they are arguably worthy of Noir's heritage." Mireille answered Breffort's gaze with a dispassionate and level look, clearly unimpressed and unafraid. She then exhaled with exaggerated heaviness, and belligerently tossed the photograph she had been examining back onto the coffee table's shiny surface, her patience at its end. "This is all *very* interesting," she said sarcastically, "but will there be a point to any of this soon? All you've shown us is two *supposedly* dangerous men who killed two of your Soldats lapdogs. I don't see what they have to do with myself or Kirika beyond their use of the name, Noir." Breffort was silent for a moment, during which Mireille was tempted to take Kirika and leave already, but then the Soldats official spoke once again. "When I learned Ishinomori and Hsu had appeared in Paris, I immediately assigned two agents to keep watch over their activities, the same men who I used as convenient one-time couriers to deliver my message to you." Mireille raised a single elegant blonde eyebrow at this. Seeing the woman's questioning expression, Breffort explained. "It is a rarity when they leave the Eastern hemisphere. Especially with... circumstances as they are over there at present." Noticing Mireille's now even greater quizzical look, Breffort held up at hand, forestalling any inquiries. "I'll explain in due time. It was pure coincidence that my message was delivered to you at the precise time Ishinomori and Hsu decided to take the opportunity to dispose of my men." His eyes moved to Kirika for a fraction of a second, who was still absorbed with looking at photos, and then went back to Mireille. "I hope neither of you were injured in the ensuing blast." "No," Mireille said dryly, recalling her painful flight through the café's glass door. "Although your concern is touching," she couldn't help adding condescendingly. Undeterred by the blonde's tone, Breffort continued, albeit with a slight, almost inaudible sigh beforehand. "I don't know how they discovered they were being observed by Soldats--my agents must have become careless--but it's moot now. Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu are only the hands of a larger menace. The real threat is this woman--" Breffort laid a newspaper clipping on top of the several pictures on the table. "--Kaede Ishinomori, Ryosuke's younger sister. He and Hsu are merely her operatives. *She* is the true danger." Mireille sighed in annoyance and picked up the newspaper clipping. Written in Japanese, the article was obviously taken from a Japanese publication. The accompanying colour picture for the report was focused on a young woman dressed in a sensible yet stylish black pantsuit, shirt, and tie combination, outside of what resembled a courthouse. She was surrounded by a flood of people, most of them journalist types. An escort consisting of five women and two men stood out in the crowd, however, appearing to be with the young woman--who was evidently Kaede Ishinomori--most likely her bodyguards and lawyers. Mireille wasn't sure what the report was about--she could speak Japanese well, but reading it was a different matter entirely--but it was clear even to her that Kaede Ishinomori was in some trouble with the law; trouble big enough to warrant media coverage. Kaede shared some resemblance to her brother, beyond their affinity for the colour black. While definitely not as tall as him, she did have the same coloured hair and complexion and slender frame. Her snow white hair was cut quite short and tapered to the nape of her neck, and a multitude of bangs hung over her eyes, utterly concealing them from view. Mireille wondered how the woman walked around without knocking into things. While her hair obscured a good deal of her features, what the assassin could see showed her that Kaede was an attractive woman. A ghost of a smile was affixed to Kaede's face; a smug and rather alluring smile, like she knew something very special and important that everyone else did not. Mireille had a feeling that smile could turn into a cold and sinister rictus in a heartbeat. "She's being accused of drug trafficking and possession with intent to sell," Kirika said softly to Mireille in Japanese, having scooted close to her partner to read the news article also. "It says that the key witness is still missing after his disappearance from protective custody shortly after her arraignment." Mireille nodded and made a sound of understanding, peering at the newspaper clipping even more closely, as if by now knowing what it said made the Japanese characters become suddenly decipherable to her. "That is correct," Breffort said, overhearing and understanding Kirika's helpful translation, even though it wasn't spoken in French. Mireille found herself disliking him just a little bit more. "Kaede Ishinomori is the CEO and majority shareholder of Ishinomori Pharmaceuticals, a drug research, development, and manufacturing company based predominantly in Asia, but with many other subsidiaries throughout the world. In the past it was a legitimate business, but now it is essentially a front for the production and shipment of illegal substances--including narcotics and the rare chemical weapon. She inherited it--and many other assets--from her mother after she passed away during an altercation with some unforgiving and impetuous 'business rivals'." Breffort paused for a second, causing Mireille and Kirika to look up from the news article. "Hikaru Ishinomori was Soldats, and a sympathiser with Altena's beliefs; she held a prominent place in Altena's splinter group. She was killed before Le Grand Retour was brought to fruition, however." "Soldats. Why am I not surprised," Mireille sneered, dropping the newspaper clipping on the coffee table in front of her. "That would make Kaede Ishinomori and all of her associates Soldats members too, correct?" "Indeed," Breffort confirmed, before noticeably hesitating. "But..." he went on, a little reluctantly, "Kaede Ishinomori is not like her mother. Hikaru Ishinomori may have shared Altena's views, but she was Soldats through and through. But her daughter... her daughter thinks differently. She is too ambitious; she does not follow the dictates of Soldats. She expands the Ishinomori Empire too recklessly and impudently uses her ties to the society, cowing criminal and lawful organisations alike with our age-old name. She threatens to expose us with her carelessness. This is... unacceptable." Mireille smirked. So that was the reason Breffort had had agents on Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu. Now they were finally getting somewhere. It seemed that a loose cannon as it were, one with sizable strength and, if that wasn't enough, links to Altena, had emerged in Soldats; which was making the high-ranking old men of the clandestine group nervous. And perhaps rightfully so. Soldats did their work from the shadows; they always had. To be revealed from those shadows, bare to the world.... Mireille's smirk grew. It must be a very daunting notion to Breffort and his little friends. She was suddenly rather pleased she had stayed to hear what he'd had to say. "Go on..." Mireille prompted a little smugly, although she did try to keep her voice even. She rested back in the sofa and crossed her legs, feeling a great deal more relaxed now. Breffort merely stared at the composed blonde woman for a moment, but under her unrelenting conceited smile and level gaze, sighed softly and then quickly yielded, telling all. "I have been charged by the High Council of Soldats with the task of handling this... problem. Discreetly, however. To openly oppose any major force belonging to Soldats is just not done; it would lead to disastrous results. It is the same reason why we did not simply quash Altena's faction with our own forces at the very beginning she made her intentions of initiating Le Grand Retour clear. There would have been open war in the streets; men and women of Soldats with their own cells and unique, often conflicting beliefs are spread everywhere, all over the globe. Exposure would have been all but unavoidable." Breffort sighed once more and shook his head a fraction, looking away from Mireille. "But so far my efforts have all been for naught--I am simply sending Soldats men to their deaths. Ryosuke Ishinomori... Vincent Hsu... they are Kaede Ishinomori's 'Black Hands'; they are truly impressive combatants. Indeed, if the two are really using the name of Noir...." Breffort turned his head back to Mireille, the depths of his eyes looking somewhat strained. "I believe Kaede knows that the majority of Soldats is in opposition to her, but she also knows Soldats won't make a direct move against her either. And so we do a dance. I attack covertly with small surgical strikes, and she retaliates with--while not quite equal--judiciousness. And thus, it goes on until one of us missteps." Breffort reached up and smoothed back his grey hair with one hand. "It is a tiring ballet," he admitted wearily. "Why not just wait for her trial?" Mireille asked a bit absently, gesturing with a crook of her finger towards the newspaper clipping on the coffee table. "She may be convicted; it would solve everything quite nicely. Cut off a snake's head, and normally the remaining body dies in time." "Do you not think Kaede has not already assured that she will be acquitted on all charges?" Breffort said, a hint of an edge in his voice. "She has already utilised her two Hands to make the only damning witness against her disappear from the public eye. He was one of her own circle, I believe. He will not pass from this life easy... or slowly." "Well then, it looks like you're in a bit of a quandary," Mireille said, paying no heed to the Soldats man's slightly hard tone. "However, the way I see it, Kaede and her 'Hands' are your problem. Not ours." "Hmph. Do you really believe that?" Breffort said in his usual monotone. "When I learned that Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu were possibly aspiring to become Noir, I thought it shrewd to contact you. To me, it is clear that Kaede has learned of Soldats legendary Black Hands and has modelled her two top killers in Noir's image--or at least, is attempting too. How long do you think it will take her to discover that the true Noir is living here in Paris, alive and well? What do you think she--" Breffort's words were cut off as Mireille abruptly stood up, her face twisted into an expression of loathing. Kirika looked up at her from where she still sat, her countenance unreadable. "We are *not* Noir," Mireille declared angrily, all her prior mild amusement now vanished from her voice and features. "Perhaps we were once, but no longer. We are not part of Soldats--we never will be. We are outsiders in your little... power struggle. The unruly child in your organisation is your own to curb. *Alone*" The assassin turned sharply to Kirika, motioning for her to rise with a flick of her hand. "Come on, Kirika," she snapped, "we're leaving." Breffort was trying to suck them into a Soldats plot as Mireille had previously suspected, although his attempt had been carried out in a subtle way; not until the end had he revealed the true purpose of this meeting. But it was crystal clear now what the real reasons behind it and his messages were. Breffort wanted to recruit Mireille and Kirika to help him deal with a rogue Soldats member who had delusions of grandeur. He wanted to recruit them into Soldats employ. Never. Mireille would never let that happen. Mireille took two steps towards the doors of the office, but when she didn't hear her partner's footsteps following her, she turned irritably back to find the girl still on the sofa. "Kirika!" she chastised strictly, causing her introverted colleague to instantly leap up from her seat and trot over to her. As Mireille, with Kirika now a step behind her, proceeded towards the doors once again, Breffort unwelcomely strived a final time to compel the woman to rally to his cause. "You can't remain passive in this," he said to Mireille's back, making the blonde slow her pace in spite of herself. "Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu are here, in Paris, when by all rights they should be near Kaede, especially with her trial date coming up in less than two weeks. It is strange she has sent them here...." "What are you saying?" Mireille said bitingly without turning, her hand on one of office's door handles, on the verge of leaving. Of escaping. "There can be only one true Noir," Breffort said from the sofa, the words freezing the Corsican's heart. "You know this. While the motives for Ishinomori and Hsu's appearance in Paris are unknown to me, there is considerable likelihood it is to locate you... and your partner...." He paused for effect, but Mireille remained silent. "You claim that you and your partner are not Noir, but that won't matter to her. Or to them. Kaede Ishinomori seems to want her own version of Noir, which means her sights are set on you. You and your partner will be hunted, if you both aren't being already. You can either wait until Ishinomori and Hsu find you in another café, or you can find them first. In the end, it is still your own choice to make." Mireille lowered her head, the weight of Breffort's words resting heavily on her slim shoulders. Could she go back to her quiet life with Kirika, now knowing that it could be destroyed at any moment? But that had always been a peril Mireille was aware of. Except now it would be like sticking her head in the sand, waiting for a nightmare to raze their dream of a peaceful existence. A nightmare she knew would sooner or later rear its head. The question was, did she wait for the nightmare to come to her and Kirika? Or did she charge ahead, down the black path, and confront it directly? Either way, her and her partner's quiet life would come to an end. Mireille looked at Kirika. She looked back at her, her face typically impassive. The blonde wondered what she wanted to do. Kirika had to have known that this day would come eventually. Mireille's shoulders slumped and her expression fell. She had accepted that she would inevitably travel the black path once again, but Kirika.... "Alright," Mireille conceded, her voice containing a measure of hoarseness. "You've convinced me." She turned back around to Breffort. As she had anticipated, his face held no trace of triumph at his victory. He wasn't the type to gloat. "I expect you'll be providing us with Soldats aid?" At least she and Kirika wouldn't have to handle Ryosuke and Vincent alone. Two people who would knowingly attack Soldats agents in spite of the repercussions it would entail, and do it by themselves with no backup, were two people who were definitely exceedingly formidable. Or exceedingly daring. Regardless, any help Breffort could give would be most welcome in Mireille's opinion. Of course, Ryosuke and Vincent weren't the only two people in the world who had willingly attacked and killed Soldats agents.... "Unfortunately, my assistance will be limited," Breffort said, eliciting a scowl from Mireille. She should have predicted as much. "You said it yourself; you and your partner are not part of Soldats. There are many High Council members who see you as an enemy of Soldats, albeit a sleeping one. If they even found out about this meeting the ramifications for myself would be fatal. No, I'm afraid you will be largely on your own." "Then what 'limited assistance' can you provide?" Mireille said contemptuously. Breffort held up the manila folder in his hand. Terrific. "Information mainly," he clarified. "But perhaps more than that in the future. Although I will have to be careful." Mireille sighed deeply. So this was it. The black path was calling her name... and Kirika's as well. She couldn't help but feel it would be even more difficult to veer away from it this time around. Darkness had caught them once again in its grasp, and it was a force that wasn't apt to let anybody go when they wanted to. *If* they wanted to. With the weight inside her handbag more noticeable than ever, Mireille walked slowly back to Breffort and reached out to take the folder from his grasp. She had made her choice. The quicker they disposed of Ryosuke and Vincent, the better chance she and Kirika had of freeing themselves from the course of the black path of murder... a course that always ended in death for its travellers. With Kaede's 'Noir' dead, Mireille and Kirika would be released from her and Breffort's intrigues... presumably. At any rate, it was the wisest approach for the moment. As Mireille took a hold of the folder, she met Breffort's greyish eyes with her own blue ones. She knew not to entirely trust the man. He was Soldats. Even if their objectives were the same, as they had been during their previous dealings concerning Altena, it wasn't like they were friends. They were more like business partners, if anything. Mireille reminded herself once again to stay on guard... particularly against Breffort. "And so the sleeping lions awaken...." Breffort whispered softly as he let go of the folder. ****** Kirika Yuumura followed Mireille into their apartment and quietly shut the door behind them, before securely locking its deadbolt. The trip back home had been made in silence, not a single word exchanged between either of them. While once, in the past, that in itself would not have been out of the ordinary, these days Mireille was considerably more talkative, frequently chatting to Kirika about a wide variety of topics that happened to take her fancy at the time. For the most part Kirika merely listened to the woman, only providing her own input when required--she was not much for talking. But she enjoyed simply listening to Mireille's opinions on things, and also the sound of her pleasant, articulate voice. It was comforting to Kirika. When Mireille spoke often and contentedly, it made Kirika feel that everything was okay in the world, and that her partner was at ease. It put her at ease too. But now it was like it had all reverted back to several months earlier, when silence was Kirika and Mireille's constant companion. Kirika's silence was of course nothing new, but when Mireille was quiet it characteristically meant she was thinking hard about something... or was worried about something. More likely worried in this case. But not nervous, no, Mireille never became nervous no matter what peril or trial she was up against... with a few exceptions. She did get nervous around Kirika herself on occasion. The darkhaired girl seemed to easily fluster Mireille for some reason. Kirika rested back against a wall in the living room and gazed up at the ceiling as Mireille walked over to the billiard table, depositing on it the manila dossier containing the information on their new enemies, along with her handbag, which landed with a dull clunk. Kirika knew what Mireille was worried about. She knew what the latest developments meant. Kirika's eyelids drooped a little, her reddish-brown eyes becoming sad. Their peaceful time together seemed so short, now. Kirika had become accustomed to simply living each day of her life as it came with Mireille. It had been like she was a normal girl and that her previous life as an assassin had happened to someone else--just a bad, distant memory; a dream. Or rather a nightmare. Truly, she had almost forgotten. Almost. But soon Kirika and Mireille would be fighting once again. Soon their lives would be filled with violence, with bloodshed, with murder... with sins. They would be filled with danger too, and their very lives would be put at risk, but Kirika had never feared for her own personal safety. She rarely felt the emotion, fear. Except when it concerned her older partner. Mireille's personal safety was a whole other story. Kirika always worried about the woman's wellbeing; she had done so nearly ever since they first met. Mireille was a very capable assassin, but that didn't make her invulnerable. And now that they were heading back into a life of killing, and would be pitched against two purportedly skilled rivals, Kirika's fear for Mireille had increased tenfold. If the unimaginable were to occur, if Mireille were to somehow leave her... Kirika didn't think she would survive for long afterwards. Mireille was literally everything to Kirika--she was utterly vital to the girl's continued existence and happiness. The woman was the only person she really knew, her only friend, her only family. Kirika felt something for Mireille she had experienced with no other person before. She felt love; it was the only word she knew that could possibly describe the feeling. Kirika loved Mireille deeply, with absolutely everything she was. She had for a long time. And Mireille felt the same way; the girl knew it to be true. Mireille may not be very forthcoming about her feelings, but Kirika was certain she did. Kirika could clearly see the changes in her partner's behaviour towards her. She only wished Mireille would be more open about her love. Kirika didn't really know much about how people who loved each other acted, but she knew enough to realise Mireille held herself back somewhat. She wasn't sure why the blonde did. But for the moment, it didn't really matter that much to Kirika. Just being with Mireille virtually every hour of every day was more than enough for her to be content. At the bottom of her field of vision Kirika could make out Mireille looking at her rather absorbedly while leaning against the side of the billiard table with one hand. Kirika could tell she was internally debating with herself about something. She knew Mireille thought she wouldn't notice her pensive expression, what with the girl's attention seemingly riveted to the ceiling. But Kirika noticed almost everything when it concerned Mireille, even if her partner tried to hide things from her. She never brought it up of course, not unless it was really important. Mireille would probably deny it anyway, and then she would become uncomfortable around Kirika... more so. For example, the perceptive girl knew they were still getting contract offers from across most of Europe, sent via email, for weeks now. Mireille quickly closed the email program whenever she made her presence known, and then afterwards behaved a little guiltily. But Kirika wasn't stupid or blind. However, she didn't resent her partner for keeping things from her, either. Mireille was just doing what she thought was best. It made Kirika happy in a way, happy that Mireille felt the need to do such things for her. Apparently coming to a decision, Mireille put on a rather weak smile and straightened her posture, before opening her mouth to speak. "Kirika," she said, and the girl in question lowered her gaze from the ceiling and looked into the blonde's blue eyes. For some reason this made Mireille squirm, although nearly imperceptibly--Kirika doubted anybody but her would have noticed the action. "I have something for you," the woman continued quietly, looking away from Kirika to the billiard table's green felt surface. "I acquired a new one about a week after we arrived home," she explained as she crouched down beside the table and began running one hand underneath it, searching for something. "It was just a precautionary measure," Mireille said, turning her head back to a mute and motionless Kirika. "Ah, there." Mireille stood up, and held in her hand was something that made Kirika's heart clench. A gun. A Beretta M1934 Commercial, to be exact. A firearm that Kirika had wielded with deadly proficiency for most of her young life... and had taken countless lives with. The mere sight of the weapon caused a swarm of repressed memories to resurface, all of them unwanted... and awful. And there was a fear welling up too, the other fear alongside Mireille's safety, the second exception. A seed of darkness had awakened inside Kirika during her journey to the Manor, a seed of darkness that had bloomed into a black, bloated flower, putrid with poison and disease. And it still resided inside of her. Her other self. The one who had no name. The one who had attacked Mireille, the woman she loved, with genuine intent to kill her without mercy or hesitation--Kirika's darkness. Kirika's fear was that with giving in to violence her darkness would resurface again; she would lose herself again. Returning to her normal self that time at the ancient colosseum by the Manor had taken a supreme effort. Without Mireille provoking her old memories to re-emerge, Kirika believed she would have stayed lost, locked away in a part of her mind with the darkness as the warden. And even then if Mireille's mother, Odette Bouquet, hadn't planted a ray of light to fight that darkness inside of her before Kirika had claimed her life... in all probability Mireille would be dead and Kirika and Chloe would be Noir, under Altena's control. "It's clean, naturally," Mireille assured Kirika softly, oblivious to the taciturn girl's internal discord. "Untraceable." She pulled the grey duct tape that had held the gun in its hiding spot under the billiard table off of the weapon, and after balling it up, idly tossed it beside the manila folder and her handbag where her own gun resided. Gripping the Beretta by its barrel, Mireille held out the lethal firearm towards Kirika, albeit with a shade of reluctance. The woman's face was stony, but she quickly forced a reassuring though wan smile. It did little to comfort Kirika, and she believed Mireille knew that too, but had made the effort anyway. It was so unlike those early days. Kirika wondered if things like that would stay the same, despite the changes that indisputably would now occur in their lives. With one steady but clammy hand, Kirika reached out to take the proffered gun. However, before she could, a sudden bolt in her mind conjured up the image of Altena when she was a young woman, with herself but a child, extending the same make and kind of weapon to her in an identical fashion. The first time Kirika had held a gun. The image was followed in a flash by a second, this one so like the first, but years later, with both participants older. But much the same. Kirika's hand froze in mid motion, and it began to tremble--only minutely, hardly visible, but it did. She stared at the gun held out by her partner with wide, vacant eyes. The hand clenching her heart squeezed tighter. "Kirika?" Mireille inquired, the concern plain in her voice. The sound of Mireille's voice brought Kirika back to the present, freeing her from the bitter, still disjointed memories of the past. She simply blinked and mentally shook off the feeling she was experiencing. Mireille was not Altena. It was different. It was. Gingerly, as if with reverence but in reality with apprehension, Kirika took the Beretta from Mireille's grasp. It was heavier than she remembered. The weight told her it was fully loaded, however the darkhaired girl didn't think that was responsible for the sense of extra burden. The metal was cold in her grip and it chilled her skin, freezing her hand before the cool sensation crept gradually up her arm. Kirika felt something stir inside of herself. The darkness. It knew. It knew that Kirika Yuumura held her forced choice of weapon once again, her tool of murder and sin. It knew she would wield the gun and kill again. It was inevitable. The hand Kirika held the weapon in suddenly looked as black as night in her eyes. Black with sin. Yes... she would inexorably be committing more sins too. Kirika had had a small hope that some of the sins that soiled her hands and blackened her soul had been burnt away to nothing along with her Beretta when it had been destroyed in the lava pool below the Manor. But of course it was a fantasy. Those sins were Kirika's alone, not the gun's. Not a simple tool's. She would always carry them with her. As she should. "There's more clips and bullets on the top shelf of the wardrobe," Mireille informed Kirika, watching her stare at the gun in her small hands, the girl apparently wholly enthralled. "The leftovers from days gone by." The woman fidgeted uneasily for several moments, and then hugged herself, looking away from Kirika and down at the wooden floorboards of the room. "It's getting late," she whispered. "I think I'll take a shower. I feel... dirty." Mireille lingered for a few more seconds, but then turned away from the sight of Kirika and her new gun, proceeding at a brisk gait for the bedroom. Kirika slipped the small Beretta into the right pocket of her parka, leaving it there. Instantly the warmth flooded back into her hand, like the pricking of many needles in her skin. The darkness inside her retreated back to the bleak caverns of her mind, back to where it slept. No... it slept no longer. It lurked now, waiting. It had retreated, but not completely. The cold touch of a gun--its gun--had emboldened it. But for now, it was kept at bay. Kirika wondered though. She wondered how long it would be. She and Mireille would be fighting once again. And Kirika doubted the two men they would be hunting would give them any quarter. It was only a matter of time until the darkness gained strength and tried to take control over her once more. When that moment came, Kirika was unsure if she would have the willpower to stop it. ****** To be continued.... Author's ramblings: This was basically a new character introduction chapter. More information on the two members of the 'male Noir' will be revealed next chapter. There are more new characters still to be introduced, but they won't show up until later parts. Kirika in her standard outfit but with combat boots was inspired by the image of her on the cover of the Noir CD single, Coppelia's Coffin, sung by Ali Project. Ryosuke and Vincent are your typical anime bishounen types. ^_^ Kaede has the 'hair-covering-the-eyes' thing that some mysterious anime characters have (e.g. Luna Inverse from Slayers). Oh, and I hope I got the legal mumbo-jumbo right. I'm not a law student. ^_^;
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