Forces

Notes and Partial chapters: use of German and French/Cajun French?

The bastard was inside his head again, demanding his immediate return to home base like some kind of warped overhead paging system. It irritated Schuldig to no end that, because he had been forced to create a link between the team, Brad could bypass his shields easily while his so called boss’s own shields remained impassible. And the man wasn’t even a telepath like Schuldig, he was merely a precog. The German stared down at the pretty young man writhing in agony on the floor. He had picked the kid up on a whim, attracted by the color of the boy’s hair. It was very rare to find someone of Japanese descent with natural red hair. But it was the only color the telepath desired. And not just any shade of red would do. It had to be crimson red, the color of blood, the color of his obsession. If Schuldig squinted real hard, and purposely blurred his vision, he could almost imagine his precious Abyssinian under him. Only it never was. The skin was not creamy enough, the facial features not as beautiful. But it would do for one night if the illusion were detailed enough. And in the case of these one night stands, the hair color was the primary focus.

But the disappointment he always felt when he discovered his latest conquest was merely a fake, made him crueler than necessary. In the case of his current toy, after fucking him dry, Schuldig over-stimulated the pain receptors in the boy’s brain, sending the perception that his fingers were being cut off one at a time in a slow, methodical sawing action. Really, non-talents were so easily manipulated. There was no way the telepath would actually take the time and effort to saw the boy’s fingers off; not to mention all the blood. Gory messes were Farfarello’s territory. One more telepathically barked demand from his boss had Schuldig swearing in his native tongue.

“Ah, well, it was fun while it lasted.” He crouched next to the boy staring up at him with wide eyes glazed over in pain. “But if you’re going pretend to be a red-head, you should really learn to dye your pubes too. Otherwise, you just ruin the illusion.” Clucking his tongue at the lack of response from his victim, he was suddenly bored with the game and conscious of the time. He placed a fingertip to the fake red-head’s forehead, sending a massive overload of pressure into the boy’s brain to burst all of his blood vessels. “Sterben Sie schon.” One last twitch and the boy was dead, blood slowly oozing from multiple membranes.

Without looking back at the death he left behind, Schuldig made his way out of the seedy motel, the ease of masking himself from the clerk making him smirk. After hailing a cab, he leaned his head back on the leather upholstery and stared at the ceiling of the car. The neon lights of bars and clubs flashed by as they drove, repeatedly painting multi-hued stripes of color over his face. But, Schuldig didn’t see the sights of nightlife. He pulled into himself and focused on his own thoughts. When exactly he had developed this obsession with the Weiss kitty was beyond him. It was enough to drive him to distraction, much to Crawford’s irritation. Sighing, Schuldig closed his eyes and concentrated on the vision in his mind’s eye. The last time Schwarz had fought Kritiker’s elite team of assassins, the red-head was in rare form. Swinging that katana around like a demon from hell, Abyssinian was beautiful, his deadly dance almost choreographed as he cut a path through brain-dead muscle that had been hired by the fool Schwarz had been sent in to protect. No matter how hard Schuldig tried to influence the other assassin mentally, the Weiss leader would ignore him and forcefully shove the telepath out of his mind. It amazed the German to no end that a non-talent had enough power of will to do such a thing and continue cutting a path of death and destruction with that blade of his. And what a vision of loveliness the man made as he dispatched the dark beasts as Kritiker were so fond of calling their targets.

Schuldig chuckled darkly, earning a wary look in the rearview mirror from the cab driver. But the German couldn’t be bothered. As the cab pulled alongside the curb of his destination, Schuldig opened the door and glanced briefly at the driver as he led the man to believe he had been paid for the fare. Another smug grin as he closed the door, he watched the vehicle pull away. “Idiots, all of them.” He sneered as he turned to make his way into the building.

It didn’t take long to reach the door to their temporary headquarters. As usual, no expense was spared in making the space comfortable for the favored team of Esset. The walls painted a sterile white were offset by splashes of color in the form of various paintings denoting scenes of ancient Japan. As with most places in the city, the apartment as a whole was not large by any stretch of the imagination, but was bigger than most with a separate living room and kitchen facility. Two leather couches faced each other, a glass topped table between. At one end of the table was a recliner that matched the other two pieces of furniture, while at the other end was a large screen television ensemble complete with the latest accessories allowing the inhabitants of the dwelling to watch movies, play games, and hold video conferences. Schuldig continued past this room, nodding briefly at his young telekinetic team mate sprawled on one of the couches. The boy was playing some kind of video game, manipulating the buttons on the controllers with his mind, while his body lay dead to the world. Rolling his eyes, he snorted at the boy. “Really Nagi, could you be any lazier? Your muscles will atrophy at this rate.” For his part, Nagi didn’t even turn to glance at his team mate. Slowly, one hand rose in greeting, the middle finger extended in a universal sign before lowering itself back to its original resting position.

Schuldig smirked, gliding past the scene and heading in the direction of the first closed door leading off the hallway. Without knocking, he opened the door with a flourish and made his way to one of the wing back chairs directly facing a large, black lacquer desk. Crawford sat on the other side, his attention focused on some documents, ignoring the telepath. Schuldig fell into the chair with a huff before directing his attention at the man. “Was wollen Sie, ach königlicher Schmerz in meinem Esel?”

Crawford frowned, lowering the pen in his hand and sitting back. “Where have you been?”

“You mean you don’t know? I thought you could see everything Bradley-kins.” A lazy grin made its way onto the German’s face as he stared at his boss through half-lidded eyes.

Thoughts for upcoming scenes/convos:

Aya snorted. “He’s too busy trying to spread his genetic material all over Tokyo.”<initial meeting with Birman and the group – right before they get to the mission of the missing kids>

Translations:
Sterben Sie schon = Die already
Was wollen Sie, ach königlicher Schmerz in meinem Esel? =what do you want, oh royal pain in my ass?