Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Hello, Goodnight ❯ Hypothetically ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Weiß ain't mine; that it's not.

 

Hello, Goodnight

 

I always knew I'd die on a mission.

Which of us didn't? No one's luck holds out that long.

It's funny just how romantic it seems, when thought about with detachment, while still comfortably alive.

Me, I thought about it a lot.

I thought about it when I was drunk. I thought about it when I was depressed. Sometimes I thought about it at dinner when my date went of on a ranting tangent about how she was boycotting shampoo brand X because it tested its shine enhancers on poor defenseless bunnies.

You could say it was always on my mind.

I had it planned right down to the dramatic sound effects and ending credits. Font: Tempus Sans ITC, blue on black. Roll The Doors (This is The End…. My only friend, The End….) The scene opens to a dingy office in some forgotten business complex. The details of the room are not so important as the lighting. It should be dark. Not completely dark though, there needs to be enough light to cast a lot of eerie shadows. The eerie shadows are a must.

The ceiling vent opens noiselessly. Enter Yohji Kudoh, man of stealth. Assassin extraordinaire. Killer of dark beasts and ladies' hearts. (Stop me if I'm playing it up too much.)

Yohji (me) drops to the floor (silently of course) and approaches the heavy desk at the back of the room. Cue the target. He's sitting in his chair, back to me, but not oblivious. Oh no, he knows I'm there. What, you didn't think I'd meet my end at the hands of some dumb ape of a henchman? No, no, my soon-to-be-murderer is smart. An international spy, or smuggler, or Yakuza mob boss. Something classy. I'll leave the specifics of that detail up to the viewer's imagination.

I'm creeping up to the desk, my wire already in hand. The future murderer of Yohji Kudoh suavely swings his chair around to face me. I don't hesitate; my wire's already soaring at him, ready to entangle him in my spider web of razor threads.

Except he's not entangled.

My wire, just like that he reaches up and grabs my wire. With a swift jerk I've been unarmed. How can I be unarmed? You can't grab my wire; your fingers would get sliced clean off! Why weren't his fingers sliced off?

He's holding the wire up triumphantly, clutched in a black gloved hand. “Kevlar.” He says with a cruel smirk, nodding towards a glove.

Well Sonovabitch, someone was prepared.

I don't have time to dwell on this though, because a gun has materialized out of nowhere, and guess who it's pointing at? Not at the (rapidly approaching) future murderer of Yohji Kudoh, I'm afraid.

You know, `Future murderer of Yohji Kudoh' is a bit of a mouthful, isn't it? From here on out, I think I'll just call him Really really bad guy.

Okay, so I'm frozen to the spot, staring down the barrel of Really really bad guy's gun.

Bang.

Right through the shoulder. Fuck, that hurts.

Bang.

Lower intestine. I feel…less than stellar.

Bang.

Through the heart.

And we all fall down.

Spotlight on Aya. Aya, who's suddenly at my side from who-knows-where. Aya, who's crying and yelling that I'm not allowed to die. Aya, who's acting most un-Aya-like, and all because of me.

“Hold on Yohji,” he says, “you're gonna be okay, I just know it.” He grabs my hand and clutches it to his chest. “You just have to live Yohji,” he says. “You have to live because I never told you how I feel.” He's completely breaking down now. “I love you Yohji, I always have but I was too scared to tell you.” He cries, “You have to live for me, Yohji, cause I just can't live without you.”

“We can be together in Hell.” I choke out (blood dribbling from my mouth for extra effect,) or some equally dramatic cliché.

He silences me with a kiss. And everything goes numb.

And there you have it. The end of Yohji Kudoh; as directed by Yohji Kudoh.

Pretty nifty, huh? I came up with that all by myself.

The problem with dying though, is that you rarely get a say in how it goes.

Which is why I'm so fucking pissed right now.

I'm currently bleeding to death, not from a bullet through my heart, but by the zillions of paper-cut-thin lacerations caused by being tied up in my own wire.

Aya is leaning against my back, equally wire-bound, not declaring his secret affection for me. He is instead muttering, “God Kudoh, I always knew my death would be your fault, you fucking nimrod.”

My blood is not forming a brilliant carmine lake beneath me, but is congealing in a sticky black mess all over my clothes. My jacket is totally ruined, goddamnit.

So pardon me when I admit that my reaction to this situation is not “Oh cruel fate, there was yet so much I've left undone!”

No, what I'm really thinking is, “Damn those motherfuckers, they butchered my script.”

It occurs to me that my plan could be moderately salvaged by an improvised confession to Aya of my own secret love.

But I'm just not in the mood.

Oh hell, it's not like I'll have to look him in the eye tomorrow morning.

“Er, Aya?” I ask, “Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

“I can hardly stop you.” He mutters back.

“Well, let's say that, hypothetically, you were in love with someone but never told them.”

I think I detect an “Oh no, why me?” muttered under Aya's breath. But it could just be my imagination.

“And say that, hypothetically, you were about to die.” I continue. “Would you tell them how you felt, hypothetically, that is?”

“Lets, see….” Aya sounds thoughtful. “I'd say that, hypothetically, there's no chance in hell.”

“Good to know.”

And then I pass out from loss of blood.