Hi everyone!! -huggles reader- I know...I really should be updating my other fics and typing up the sequel to 'Lost, Found and Lost Again', but this fic is dedicated to sonora avilon, a person who I have gotten to know quite well, and whose reviews always leave me shocked, staring in awe and with a smile on my face...basically, because they are so damn long!! -grins- I love them.

Anyway, this is a new fic that has been playing on my mind for the past few weeks, and it just had the certain urge to come out...so here it is!

Warnings: I have no clue as to what the police hierarchy is, and most of the facts...if any, are just educated guesses. There will be eventual yaoi...so if that isn't what interests you, then please turn back now, flames will be used to warm my feet after a day out in the snow!!

Disclaimer: I...XxSweet MitsukaixX...do hereby declare my ownership of Beyblade!!! -ownership papers fly away then get shredded in a planes engine- Oh cack : )

On to the chapter!

Chapter One

A police officer; a person diligent and loyal to his orders. A person who is willing to sacrifice their life for others, no matter what the circumstances and the people involved. A person who is able to abide by the law, a role model for others. A person who fights for justice in a society in which it is rare. A person who will never turn their back on their team, their partners, their friends and family. A person who does not pity those less than him, but who can empathise with their pain and suffering. A person who does not ridicule or demean others, who can be viewed as worthy to a cause as a saint. A person, whom since the age of five, I had always wanted to be like.

Thirteen years on and two years ago from the current year that I reside in, I had finally been able to fulfil my wish, my life-long dream. It had taken me eight years of desperately persuading my mother to allow me to join the police force, something that she was extremely reluctant to do, but in the end she managed to see that it was not a hobby, but an interest, bordering on the line of obsession.

I had always been slightly obsessed with law and justice, finding comfort in the normally appeasing results as a child. Believing that everything would be easy and simple. But, as a child, I had been completely wrong. In my naivety, I assumed that everything bad happened so that all the 'good-people' could right it again and then the good/evil balance of the world would be righted. This theory of mine, however, was brutally shoved to the side when I was ten.

I had just come home from a rather strenuous police cadets meeting in which I had had to do a bleep test, coupled with an hour and a half weight training just before, so my muscles were aching brutally, but I was happy that it kept me fit and healthy, so there was really no reason to complain. Anyway, I had had to walk home and was exhausted by the time I had managed to drag myself in to the living room, flopping down on the sofa immediately, almost succumbing to sleep.

However, the soft sound of footsteps caused me to raise my head slightly, wondering who was in the house, as to my knowledge, mother was still at work, labouring away at her studio, designing intricate outfits, while father was out at court.

You see, my father was the main reason I had turned my interest to law and justice at such a young age, as my father was a judge, and had worked extremely hard to get to where he was, as he had had a terrible fallout with my grandfather before I was even conceived. So as it was, instead of reading books that would teach me the basics of sounding my vowels and such nonsense, I would sit comfortably on my father's lap, listening to him reading through all the rules, regulations and justifications of the law, in apt interest.

So when the footsteps had drawn closer, I was extremely surprised to see my father staring down at me intently, a large book in his hands.

"Evening father," I greeted lethargically, pushing myself off of the sofa to embrace him as I had always done.

I was shocked, to say the least, when father moved away from me, out of reach, his intent expression turning to that of sudden, unexplained animosity. I froze, my sore arms going limp at my sides. Never had I been deprived of an embrace for either my mother or father, and it hurt. Confused, I had moved forwards once again, naively believing that it was a mistake, but as he moved back a second time, I knew he didn't want to go near me.

He glared at me silently for a moment, as I squirmed under his scrutinising gaze, before swiftly moving past me and out on to the patio beyond. I had had no idea of what had happened and why it had occurred, but all I felt was…hurt. I turned to face him, only to have met his back and it was then the bullets sounded.

I don't think anyone was prepared for it, lest of all me. I rushed forward stupidly, already having watched my father's body fall limply to the ground, riddled with many a bullet, his book disposed a meter away from his body, soaked in the dark crimson substance of his blood. Amongst the cracking of tiles at my feet and the shattering of glass at my head, I had managed to, somehow safely, reach my father's body, just as the light of his eyes left, a trail of blood trickling sluggishly down his chin from his mouth, and that was the first time I had cried.

No more bullets had sounded since the final fall of my father and I was left cradling his lifeless body, sobs wracking my slim frame, desperately begging him to wake up, a feat impossible to the dead. It was around two hours later that my mother found me, curled up against my father's side, futilely trying to warm his cold body. Shocked, she had immediately called the police, pulling me away from my father's body. With great reluctance I let go, finding the comfort I seeked from my mother and not from the lifeless corpse that had once housed the soul of my father.

I think I had gone in to shock after that, as I don't remember much of what happened afterwards. A post-examination had had to be carried out and then it was his funeral, which had suddenly gone past in a hazy blur, too fast that the only thing I seemed to remember was the endless onslaught of bodies offering their condolences. I think that it was then that I closed myself off to the world, shielding my emotions behind an emotionless façade, only to escape in the dark of the night in the form of tears, when I was in complete and utter isolation.

It had been a year after that that we had received news, from the police investigating the case of my father's death, that we learnt he was a victim of a well planned assassination, his high ranking in law and intimidating aura, had been his ultimate demise…and ever since that day, I had dedicated my life to finding my father's killers, ready to avenge his death; my last memory of him, stabbing me painfully at all times that I had learnt to push it to the back of my mind.

Yet, already two years on the force and my immediate promotion to chief inspector, my advanced knowledge boosting me up to that position, and still no clue as to who had been the cause to my father's death and I was starting to despair, that is, until my partner, Dmitri, slapped a large magnolia folder on my desk, a grim expression on his face.

"I think we found them…"

With those simple uttered words, I think it was at that moment that my life took yet another turn for the worst.

So...what did you think? Please review!!! Any opinions are welcome, even pointless rambling!!

Take care!

Ja ne!