"Well then, let's get going."

With a smile on his face, the blond took Kanon's hand in his own and walked the two of them out of the room.

---

The compound was large—far larger than Wen had figured. Every hallway seemed to stretch endlessly and every room seemed unnecessarily vast.

Peering into the Winter Room, Wen said, "So, what do you think actually happened?" He didn't elaborate on his question, but it was easily understood that he was talking about the mission. "Seems pretty brutal—stabbed forty-six times."

THE TIME IS NOW 9:51 AM.

"So, what do you think actually happened?"

She'd been lost in her own thoughts when the phrase drew her out of the jumbled mess she'd been making in her mind. Kanon felt an unfamiliar feeling peeking at her from the edge of her mind. What was it, exactly? Gratefulness?

"Seems pretty brutal—stabbed forty-six times."

Kanon stopped to think, the gears in her brain beginning to turn themselves. "Well," the woman mused, "Forty six times seems to be a tad much, even for a serial killer. Then again, they may be psychotic, and have provided to themselves a reason as to why they needed to stab the woman more than ten times. Perhaps she struggled too much and in a fit of rage, the killer stabbed her more times than he should have..."

She nodded to herself, her voice seeming more and more distant every moment she spoke, as if she was putting herself into the place of the killer, deciphering each and every move as if it was a simple puzzle, "Or, perhaps there was a grudge..."

As Kanon detailed possibilities, Wen stood and listened; his back against the room.

To most, Wen looked haphazard and carless in his investigative methods. He had only surveyed the space with his eyes before writing it off as a point of non-interest.

"Kanon, there was nothing in the report about a serial killer." The blond, a head taller than the teal-haired girl, snaked an arm around her waist and, as easily as he had led her down the first corridor, walked her to the next room. "It's easy to jump to that conclusion, but you can't assume anything in this line of work."

It was odd—almost surreal—as Wen spoke easily about the finer aspects of detective work. For once, the blond was performing the duties of a senior agent—a veteran with a wealth of experience.

"For instance, I might look like a girl, but I'm still a man."

One second, they were walking down the corridor and, in the next, Wen had Kanon pinned against the wall—his body against hers. His face was less than an inch away from hers when he whispered, "Even if I look like a girl right now, I'm not."

THE TIME IS NOW 9:58

She was about to swat his hand off of her waist when she found herself pinned to the wall in a flash.

...Shit.

The sudden turn of events had sent Kanon's brain spinning; it scrambled for the answer to the millions of questions the woman had running around in her brain. What exactly was happening? Why was Wen doing this? Shouldn't they be concentrating on the mission?

However, something about the man- whether it may be the minuscule distance his face was from hers, or the sultry tone his whispered voice had, it brought a slight flush to her cheeks, and a shiver ran up her spine.

"I....uhm..." Kanon felt herself at a loss for words as her stomach fluttered- a feeling that was so uncommon to her that she simply forgot what she was going to say, "W-wen...I..."

((Mistake post, sorry!))

As Kanon stumbled over her words, Wen brought a hand to her face. His fingers trailed from he cheeks to her jawline; his touch tantalizingly slow. He traced the smoothness of her skin to the firmness of her bone, stopping only when he cusped her chin.

They were close enough that Wen could feel her breath ghost against his skin—close enough that he could see the dilation of her pupils, the darkness of her eyes.

He could see everything in brilliant clarity: the lashes that framed her eyes, the faint lines that moved across her face with every expression she made. He could see all the little details; he was so close that personal space vanished in his presence.

"W-wen..." she managed to stammer, "I..uhm...th-think..."

She couldn't finish her sentence; he was too close. Kanon's breath caught in her throat, and her mind refused to believe that she was responding to his touch- after all, why should she?

However, this was the one weakness that Kanon had accumulated over her years of hard work and training; she had forgotten to love, forgotten the physical attraction that it encompassed, and she had forgotten how to respond.

She managed to turn her attention from her mind to Wen, and instantly regretted it. His eyes were a shocking blue, and she instantly averted her gaze.

His smile was different from the ones he had shown before; the ones that were sunshine and brilliance, cordial and friendly. The smile he wore now was darker, more predatory—more dangerous.

And, without any warning, he pressed his lips against hers.

Shivers traveled up and down her spine as she realized what the male had done.

I...I...shit...

Kanon's mind spun as she attempted to grasp the situation at hand. Wen was warm, and his lips coaxed her in a way that Kanon was not familiar with. She attempted to push against the male, but to no avail; she was simply far too taken by the physical contact that she could not muster enough strength to truly resist.

Instinctively, his arm found familiarity around her waist; it drew her in close—closer than before—and his body contoured against hers in a way that two perfect puzzle pieces fit together: perfectly.

His eyes closed as he pressed harder. Her lips were soft—softer than he had imagined, softer than he had ever believed. He wanted more; he wanted so much more and his tongue, desperate to deliver, asked for an invitation.

It begged for entrance.

She was unfamiliar with this feeling, this emotion, this lust. It was something that she'd never touched before in her life, and while it was happening, her mind was lost in a sea of want.

And so, half curious and half lost, she let him in.

He was greedy with his actions, greedy with his wants. She gave him an inch and he took a mile.

Breaking for a breath of a second, Wen, his eyes dark with hunger, whispered, "You're wearing too much."

She was completely surrounded by Wen; he encompassed her in a sea of greed, and she saw nothing else.

His whisper, his voice brought chills into her body and she simply returned his words with an uncharacteristic smirk and a mirrored phrase, "You're wearing too much."

It was a feral smile—base, primal.

He didn't need another hint; he didn't need anything else.

The kimono he wore was suddenly too tight. It was suffocating. It was like being in a prison of cloth and silk.

One hand pulled at his collar—down, out. It tugged and tugged until the fabric was crumpled into distorted folds of force and resistance. And as he undid his own dress, he went in for another kiss; his tongue exploring her mouth for secrets unshared.

This time, she was prepared-- prepared as Kanon could get, really. When he kissed her, she returned it to the best of her ability, this time, pressing her own body against his, her own mind engulfed within the lust that she had only just learned of.

How strange it was, to find herself drawn into the man that she was once so wary of; perhaps his usual behavior did have a ring of reason to it.

His hands moved across her body, mapping the shape of her person with ease. He was used to this, well-trained and well-practiced.

---

Makoto was making his daily rounds when he chanced upon the agents: the blond with the attitude and the girl with no smiles.

The blond—Agent Song, was it?—had the girl against the wall; his kimono already undone to his shoulders, which were broader and firmer than Makoto had expected. Even with his wig and make-up, at times like this, he was no more female than Agent Trusz Muir.

Looking around the area, wary of sudden onlookers, Makoto was quick to make the trek towards the two. For professional agents, both seemed to have forgotten exactly what they were assigned to do.

"Agent Song"—the blond stiffened; his hands frozen on the woman's hips—"There are other employees that work here." Makoto was smiling while the blond seemed to be reeling for recovery. "Agent Masami, you should freshen up in the room. I'll help Agent Song redress."

With a low bow, Makoto excused himself and the blond, taking the male agent into the nearest room.

THE TIME IS NOW 10:15AM.

As soon as Wen left her, Kanon's brain started to work again.

Her first thought: Shit. Her first feeling: regret. Why had she let Wen do that to her? Why would she let her guard down so that he could pleasure her in such a way that she could--- Kanon's cheeks flushed red as she realized what they'd almost done.

Her eyes narrowed.

She was a disgrace.

She'd let herself go too far.

Her mind numb, Kanon did as Makoto instructed, adjusting her mussed hair and slightly shifted kimono as best as she could, then readjusting everything again and again, her heart skipping a beat every time she remembered the events that had just occurred. No, she managed to tell herself, You have a mission to focus on. No exceptions are to be made.

"Twelve already?" Locke asked from the floor as the pair of men walked in. He looked up, over the brims of his glasses from the pages scattered about him. He had a bemused smile on his face at the sight before him, but looked back down at the papers and the little words on them.

"Oh, no? It is earlier than that. Pray tell what you found him doing, if he looks like that? Or if it is going to make me throw something at him, please don't." The question was quite obviously directed towards Matoko, who was leading the disheveled blond in front of the mirror, adjusting the kimono that had once fit perfectly on Wen.

"You should be more wary of your surroundings," Makoto chided gently as he put a temporary fix to Wen's exposed front. "Your girlfriend—"

"Not my girlfriend."

The way he said that—the way he was so quick to correct the brunette—was harsher than his usual character; it was markedly different from the sweet-talking, flirtatious person he portrayed. "She's not my girlfriend. We're colleagues."

Makoto paused at the clarification. He said nothing to the blond's words, but the agent didn't seem to care.

"Oh, don't misunderstand, I think she's wonderful," Wen started again; his expression dulled by the make-up that sat on his face. "It's just... We wouldn't work out."

And there was finality in the way he said that—as if there were no other possibilities.

---

"Twelve already?"

Locke's voice greeted the pair as they entered the room.

"Oh, no? It is earlier than that. Pray tell what you found him doing, if he looks like that? Or if it is going to make me throw something at him, please don't."

Makoto shook his head, a smile fixed to his face. He didn't say a word, but there was something meaningful in the silence. With his back facing the redhead, he, with practiced and skilled fingers, began the tedious process of undoing every knot, every wrinkle, and every mishap.

And while Makoto stayed silent, carefully tending to the task at hand, Wen found the lack of words unfulfilling. "Throw something at me? I sure hope you mean yourself because I always love it when good-looking people throw themselves at me." The blond quipped; his tone light and humorous. And then, in a staged whispered, Wen added, "I won't tell your boyfriend if you kissed me."

THE TIME IS NOW 10:20AM.

"Captain," Basil called out, "There's something that requires your attention."

The redhead, immersed in paperwork, looked up. Dark circles hung at the bottom of her eyes and her face looked pale with exhaustion. It was as if she hadn't slept in the past few days. "What is it?"

"Graduate Masami."

"What did she do? I already know she hit Aeres."

Without saying a word, Basil set a small telegraph square down in front of Erin, who's expression turned sour as she read the notice.

"Send for the extraction team."

---

Carol Jenkins was a short woman with curly blue hair.

"Ms. Masami?" She asked as she approached the other girl. "I'm Agent Jenkins—DiD." There was no need for the addition; it was obvious that Jenkins, with her uniform and face-guard, was part of the extraction team. "You'll need to come with me."

An eyebrow pulled up and he turned from the papers once more, pulling a shoe off of his foot. He glared threateningly and held it up. There was no answer from Matoko, but the one that came from Wen didn't help his case.

"I think you would enjoy the shoe a lot more. I told you to behave."

Wen laughed as Locke raised his geta at him. "I probably would, but I think you'd enjoy me a lot more."

The blond winked, his expression a false invitation.

"Don't you ever stop? I thought that we have already established that you are a terrible tease." Locke had looked up just long enough to aim for the lower regions of the blond and then toss the geta lightly, trying not to accidentally break something or hit Makoto.

"Where's Agent Masami?" the redhead questioned.

Catching the sandal, Wen laughed louder; his pitch gaily and free.

"So loyal to your boyfriend," he teased; his eyes bright with untold mischief. "By the way, how is he doing? I should have warned him that Aeres isn't someone he should butt heads with." He nodded as he spoke, reaffirming his words.

"But, I don't know. She went somewhere else."

There was no hint of worry in his words. There was nothing, but casual indifference—an odd development.

Alarick eyeballed the tattoo that the corner offered him. It was rather delicately done and with much promise to finish. The lack of finalizing apparently came from the imminent death of the victim, but it held quite a bit of interest for the agent himself. “Maybe,” he stated his thoughts rather loudly before procuring his cellphone and taking a picture of the intricate tattoo. “We can locate some proliferative tattoo artists around where he was found to learn more.” It was then that the agent nodded at her words. “I shall confer with Detective Hui about the details.” Alarick nodded and smiled. “Thank you Miss Ling you have been a treasure.” He gave a curt nod and then made his way from the morgue and into the elevator. Somewhere in-between Agent Gear gave him the file to go over for more speciation on the mission.

“We are here to see Detective Hui,” Alarick remarked at the designated gray zone before the detectives. He supposed he looked nice enough. Agent Reindhart was an attractive man even if he had a swatch of scarring across his face and down his arm. Warm eyes, summery hair, and a demeanor that spoke that none of these mattered; he even managed not to walk with a limp.

"He's doing well, I suppose." Locke answered simply. "But we shouldn't worry about those who are not a part of this mission. Define 'somewhere else'." He reached over to the side, where the geta had landed and then scooped up the sandal to put back onto his foot. He was getting tired of the game that Wen was playing. His lack of knowing what Kanon's- any girl's for that matter-location was rather suspicious, as Locke had thought that Wen had some kind of radar on him for the fairer sex, or just pretty people.

At the mention of his name, Detective Ping Hui rose from his seat. Ping Hui was a short man with beady black eyes and a thick mustache that sat above his lips like a fuzzy caterpillar.

Walking over to the two agents, the brunette asked, "What do you need?"

"Oh, so he is your boyfriend now?" Wen grinned widely in response. If there was one thing Wen loved more than the opposite sex, it was gossip. "So, spill." He had no intentions of answering Locke's follow-up questions.

By now, Makoto had finished redressing the blond, but, for one reason or another, continued to adjust the man's obi or accessories.

"It is about to be your blood, if you don't stop asking pointless questions. You're no better than some high school aged girl." He looked up from the papers that Wen had been distracting him from, trying to catch the gaze of Makoto. Locke wore a look that resembled something much like apologetic irritation.

"I will apologize in advance for the mess." he said, his voice grave. People like Wen really pissed him off.

"Ouch."

Wen turned his body in accordance to Makoto's guiding hands. "Don't be such a stick in the mud. We're colleagues. We're gonna spend a year together. It's good to build a rapport."

With one final tug, Makoto rose to his feet. "It's not a problem." As he headed for the door, the brunette turned to face Wen. "You should be more careful next time." A smile peeked through his words, but before Wen had a chance to say anything, Makoto was gone.

Walking over to the redhead, Wen, without asking, invited himself to the bespectacled man's personal space. "Locke, what do you think about the security on the second floor? Weird, isn't it?"