[FIC] Half Past Four; Shifting Gear – Prologue

Title: Half Past Four; Shifting Gear
Author: seiyoku
Chapter: Prologue/?
Rating: Hard R
Genre: AU; action/psychological thriller
Warnings: Very graphic violence, drug references, adult themes, excessive swearing and possible character death.
Fandom: J-pop, dorama, J-rock crossover (oh god, here we go...)
Bands: Kat-tun, lynch., the Gazette, girugamesh, Arashi, NEWS, and whoever else I throw in there when I get bored.
Pairings: Akame (Miroku/Kame), Seishiro/Miroku and Hazuki(lynch.)/Aoi(gazette) simply for SHOCK factor
Disclaimers: Hell used to belong to Satan; and then Kat-tun took over and turned it into a disco rave party... in the back of a Rescue Rangers bus!
Dedicated to: zurui_koi and hereticpop as they are probably the only ones who will read this, let alone get a kick out of it.
Authors notes: There is not enough kick-ass fics out there so I am going to go and blow some shit up and hopefully make a splash.

Now, this is going to be pretty damn dark and deals with the ideas of mind control, NLP (Neuro-Linguistic Programming) and hypnosis. Mixed with bikes, guns, drugs, police and explosions, of course. So it will be a bumpy, non-fluffy ride. Consider yourselves warned.

Summary: A girl glasses a stranger in a bar, then throws herself off a building; a man drives his car into a petrol pump, killing five people.

Completely unrelated incidents in a city as sprawling as Osaka. Or so the police think.

During his high school days in the Yukan Club, Miroku had thought he'd seen and done it all. But six years on, his idea of a peaceful life gets turned upside down when a bar fight transforms his work into a crime scene.

As the body count rises, Miroku finds himself roped further and further into the darker side of Osakan nightlife. In the midst of Shinsaibashi, random murders and suicides mix with party drugs and turf wars, all of which link back to a single phone number. Yet with the only suspect on the run, Miroku is sure that there is more to the story than what meets the eye.

Determined to get to the bottom of the case, he gives chase, leading him through the winding tracks of Japan's biggest drug route; out of Osaka, straight through the bosozoku controlled Nagoya and back to his home city of Tokyo.



Pain.

That was the first thing that Kame registered. Pain everywhere. His arms, his legs; his nose was on fire in a way that only happened when bones broke and there was a deep throbbing coming from the back of his head.

And he couldn't open his eyes.

Shivering against cold that he wasn't actually able to feel, Kame focused on taking a deep breath. It scorched his lungs after ripping its way through his parched throat. All the air did was make him feel nauseous, as if he were sitting still while the world around him looped and spun. Somewhere in the midst of a sickening loop, his mind started to work, the memories crashing down on him to the point where he was sure he was travelling backwards through time. He remembered the sound of screeching tyres, the stench of burning rubber. And then shattering glass. It made his teeth grit, his jaw locking. More pain.

Car accident. That was all his mind could zero in on. Something to do with a car and flashing lights and then the feeling of spinning and panic. The world upside down and warmth running from his temple and out of his nose. Arms tangled, legs crushingly stuck and weight on his chest. The sound of a horn blearing over and over again.

Hospital. The idea flashed in the back of Kame's mind. It would explain the light and the fact that he couldn't move. The strange voices and shuffling of bodies all around him. His inability to open his eyes. Practical. It made sense and Kame tried to calm his nerves. Hospitals were good. It meant he was alive and they were trying to fix him; trying to put the parts of him shattered in the accident back together.

Hospitals equalled safety.

Someone was talking and Kame tiled his head to the side, trying to make out the words. Hushed whispers, two voices. Kame struggled to move.

“...Seems to have worked...” was the first thing that Kame heard that he could actually understand. Words weren't making sense, voices blurring into the jumble of thoughts in his head. What had worked?

“Try again.”

“Hey!” he finally summoned up the ability to speak, to show them that he was alive and at least somewhat aware of his surroundings. His voice was weak and scratchy, hardly above a whisper and only caused more of that tearing feeling to travel through his raw throat. He tried again, tried to be louder, tried to be more demanding but even he could pick up on the choked insecurity in his own voice.

The people ignored him and those hands continued. He felt a large palm press down on his forehead; it felt hot and cold all at the same time, and then his head was being moved back to the side. That hand was replaced by something stiff and restricting and for a moment Kame remembered the feeling of his seatbelt crushing in on his neck as the car had flipped.

Next came the sound of material straining against metal and with sickening clarity, he realised that it was all connected to the odd sensation around his head. The tightening of a strap. He tried to move, tried to flick his head to the side and squirm but nothing happened. Nothing but the biting feel of tough nylon rubbing against sweaty skin.

“I...” It was all he could get out. He wanted to yell and scream, to demand to know where he was and what the hell these people were doing to him. Why did they have him strapped down; why couldn't he open his eyes? Maybe he had been severely wounded in the accident, but then why wouldn't the doctors talk to him; tell him that everything would be alright even if it was a lie.

Tape ripped across his left eye, freeing the shut lid with a tear of his eyebrows. Blinding white light assaulted him, causing him to instantly blink his eye and struggle to close it again. The same happened to his right and still Kame couldn't see a thing. No faces, no signs; nothing but bright light and odd shadows.

As his vision cleared those hands came back. From above him, over him and in all his confusion he was sure that there were disembodied hands surrounding him. They seemed to come from everywhere, grabbing and poking and pushing. Pulling. Fingers were at his cheeks, pressing in on what must have been bruises while other fingers found their way to his forehead, pulling upwards harshly. Tape. It was back against his skin, pulling and stretching and ripping at the tiny hairs of his eyebrows. Pressure to his cheekbones and then a bump against his nose that had him gasping out in pain. More stickiness pulling at his skin, pulling his cheeks down near his mouth and Kame was sure that the prodding and poking would never end.

What were they doing?

Kame couldn't deal with the light. It burnt, causing hot pain to shoot right to the back of his head and then bounce forward off his skull. It was like a pingpong ball trapped in a rattling jar. Over and over. Light and pain, flashes of shattered glass and the sound of screaming all around him.

He couldn't close his eyes, couldn't blink even as dryness took over. Panicked, he started to struggle, his limbs barely cooperating and his head locked into position. Nothing happened. Sound around him; shuffling feet and rustling fabric. A muffled cough off to his left; or was it his right. He couldn't tell any more. If he could just move, turn his head and get away from that light then maybe he would be able to make sense of it all.

There was a prickling feeling in his arm – though he wasn't sure which one. A pin. A needle. That was more likely. Fire spread through his limb, pulling a gasp from his lips and causing his back to twist upwards. It had nowhere to go and only caused his neck to strain painfully against the cold table. Stuck. Immobile. He gasped and tried to call out again. Didn't they realise he was awake? If this was a hospital then they should know; maybe that was what the needle had been for. Put him back to sleep so they could patch him up.

Then there was more light and Kame forgot about the idea of anaesthetic and sleep altogether. Kame would have blinked to clear his vision had he been able to. Instead he felt his eyes starting to adjust, the irises contracting at the brightness and ever so slowly he was sure he was going cross eyed. Something began to blur into focus, mere centimetres from his face.

A monitor; a TV screen of some sort and Kame felt his eyes start to water as the desperate need to look away from the source of the pain in the back of his head.

More light and the screen was starting to flicker. Snow and static of bad reception and then flashes. Words and numbers, scenes and sounds. Kame couldn't name them, but somehow he understood. There was a flicker of a bomb, of a city destroyed and then flashes of blood red and bright blue sky. The sound of a mobile, the shine of a silver phone strap, a table and bags and bags of something white. The hum of a bike engine. Names and faces, phone numbers and subway stations, dates and times.

And then as the drug they had injected took over and all he could see was green. A bright, neon green that seemed to form words out of the depth of the colour. Whispers in the strange darkness that seemed to seep from the bright screen. Once frantic, Kame found himself stilling, his world narrowing until all he could think about – all he cared about – was that colour. So full of life and the harbinger of all motion.

Green.

Kame's head lightened and his world became that colour as he sunk into calm delirium.



Chapter One Preview

Don't get involved. Don't get involved. Fucking hell, don't get involved!

“I'm going to have to run,” Miroku said flatly, completely ignoring the scream of rationality in his head. He took a moment to regard the smoke held between his fingers, his eyebrows crinkling together in a show of pure annoyance. The tip burnt away, the red glow eating up the white paper steadily as tendrils of smoke disappeared above his head. Not even half way down; no more than four puffs. The world was officially against him tonight.

“Fuck it,” he muttered while taking one last deep breath before flicking it away. It hit the wall with a shower of sparks, the embers glowing on the dirty pavement and making the brown beer bottles glow orange.

Miroku didn't bother sticking around to make sure nothing caught on fire. That would be the perfect end to this night, really. First a glassing, then a random guy pegging bottles at his head and then it would all finish up with his accidentally setting his work place on fire. Just perfect. Imagine the newspaper report.



Authors Notes:

Well, here we go... something a little bit different for all fandoms.

For those who don't know, I am obsessed with having lots prewritten. This means I have time to write (busy busy busy) and you guys don't have to wait long for updates. Win win all around.

It's a bit odd using Miroku and Kame, I know. But I am using Miroku as the main character as he has an awesome past to work with, yet I have combined him with Jin in a way. Keep in mind that this will be set six years after Yukan Club, so Miroku will be about twenty-four. He has grown up a bit since then, looks like Jin in DUES and is, well, pretty badass. Just, you know, with issues. ;) cause who wouldn't have a fear of guns after that last episode!?

Yes, I am crossing JE with Jrock. Fear me!!!

Next chapter is a long one, so be warned.

As always, comments, thoughts, issues and random bouts of fangirling are greatly appreciated. Even just a 'Woot' is good.