"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."
-Martin Luther King Jr.

SUMMARY: He was like a black hole; she knew she had no escape, but oddly enough, she didn't want to break free either.

INTO THE BLACK HOLE

CHAPTER 1: CITY OF SLUMBER

"Do you know what it is like to actually feel… oh, I don't know, bloodthirsty?"

The sound of a single ice cube dropping to the bottom of the glass was heard throughout the rather classic-looking bar. It was half-past eleven in the evening; the dim light casting dark shadows on peoples' faces who either drowned their sorrows in alcohol or sought solace in talking to strangers. As such was the case between a lady whose black dress snugly wrapped around her slim figure and carnation hair tied in twin-tails and a young gentleman in a crisp suit-and-tie.

Her companion chuckled in a low voice upon hearing her absurd question, but she remained unfazed, lips curved into a seductive smile whilst her painted nails swirled the drink in her hand.

"What an odd question, mi mademoiselle." He remarked. Her smile simply grew wider.

Yes, he was French; someone with a high status, grace and absolute class. And yes, his type was her game.

"The world itself is odd, monsieur." She smoothly replied, "And I remain unanswered."

"Bloodthirsty, you say?" he asked, slowly sipping the bitter alcohol in his glass, "The feeling murderers or rather, psychopaths get when they feel pleasure while killing someone in a most brutal and bloody way?"

He paused for a while, but after receiving no apparent answer from the rose-haired girl, he continued.

"I'm afraid not. I strive to be very patient and professional when dealing with people I would very much like to throw a brick at."

She laughed at his answer, slightly shaking her head playfully.

"How pleasant." She drawled, "Well, ask me the same question."

He played along, "Alright then, do you know what it is like to feel bloodthirsty?"

Her smile turned into a full-fledged Cheshire grin, pupils dilating in red circles.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Woah." A man wearing an eccentric jumpsuit with leopard spots combined with zebra stripes took off his rainbow-tinted glasses and eyed the new, dazed stranger wearing an expensive suit walking beside his partner-in-crime. "That's your sixth victim. And it isn't even midnight yet."

"Well hello to you too, Tatsumi, and to your sunglasses which make no absolute sense since it's virtually the dead of night." The girl boringly replied, poking the man with her right elbow, "This is Francoise De la-something; he's French."

Tatsumi laughed, rubbing the back of his head, "Nice to meet you, Mr. 'Francoise De la-something'," he mocked a greeting, making the girl raise an eyebrow. "This way towards paradise, if you please." He cheerfully said, letting one of his henchmen usher the stupefied man towards the back of a large truck before turning his attention to the pink-haired girl in front of him.

"But seriously though, Meg; whatever you're doing," he put his thumbs up in approval, "It's awesome."

The girl rolled her eyes, slightly laughing, "Because you know this city was practically made for me. And I told you not to call me 'Meg.'" She shuddered at the nickname, "It sounds like nutmeg, or a peg, or a type of egg. Which is not, at all, okay with me."

Halfway throughout her ramblings though, the blue-haired man had stopped caring and started to muse about the new fashion line coming out.

"Yes, I'm sure the nutmeg wouldn't want to be associated with you either." He replied, the girl's jaw dropping in surprise at his statement.

Tatsumi laughed upon seeing her reaction, mussing her hair just for the sake of annoying her. "Just kidding, just kidding. Come on; get in the car. We've reached our 'quota of souls' for today. And it's a long journey back to Sotoba."

She compliantly followed, but not before muttering obvious dislike for his ridiculous cat-hairstyle and dry sense of humor.

Toshio Ozaki is not a man of self-restraint.

So when his eyes scanned the newspaper for details about his hometown and finding a particular article about a well-known French lawyer gone mute, deaf and mentally unstable with multiple 'insect bites' all over his arms and neck, he nearly threw the nearest object out of his apartment window situated at the fourteenth floor with much gusto.

And the object which nearly suffered his wrath was, in fact, a spiky orange-haired teenage boy.

The boy, noticing the constipated-like expression and weird, frustrated sounds coming from the doctor beside him, furrowed his eyebrows and paused the movie being played. "Want me to get the laxatives, Mr. Ozaki?"

Toshio sighed, "My digestive system is fine, boy." He snapped, crumpling the newspaper and tossing it towards the trash bin at the corner of the room.

"Poor newspaper." The boy muttered, "Don't tell me you found something interesting?" he suddenly asked.

Toshio wondered for a brief moment whether the boy was very perceptive and intuitive or plain dense and oblivious. He decided to settle for the latter.

"Yes, Akira." He replied.

This sent Akira automatically sprinting towards the trash bin and retrieving the barely readable material.

"They made their move again." His eyes widened at the article.

The doctor drew out a cigarette, "It's their third time raiding the city this week. And to think that-"

Akira suddenly gasped, "Germany has once again advanced in the world cup!"

Yes, Toshio decided, the boy was definitely daft. He smacked the back of the boy's head.

"Ow, what was that for?" he muttered, rubbing the sore spot, "I'm telling Natsuno when he gets here." He stuck out his tongue at the doctor, who merely closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose in clear exasperation.

"Turn to page five."

The boy heeded, turning the pages until he reached the section entitled 'Newest Addition to the City of Slumber' in bold heading.

"This has shiki written all over it." Akira observed, "And this time, it's a filthy-rich lawyer! I bet those shiki are spending his cash and credit cards as we speak."

"Where is your sister when I actually need a logical observation that helps and makes sense?" the doctor asked, tiredly lighting a cigarette.

Before Akira could retort, however, the door blast open and banged shut by two figures wearing drenched trench coats and hoods still over their heads. Akira immediately went to the two.

"What happened?" he asked.

The girl lifted her hood and wiped the sweat and blood smeared on her cheeks and forehead. "It's Natsuno. He fainted." She frantically lifted the hood of the other, revealing a sickly pale boy with purple hair.

"Oh, no." Akira whispered in horror, helping his sister lift the dead weight of Natsuno and settling him on the sofa. The doctor, on the other hand, immediately got up and went towards the kitchen.

"We found three." Kaori Tanaka whispered in terror to her brother while unbuttoning the heavy coat of her comrade.

"Three?" her brother exclaimed, moving aside as Toshio came back holding a glass filled with dark red blood.

Kaori nodded, "We were doing fine, until the third one managed to sink his fangs on Natsuno while he was staking one. We barely managed to get out alive."

The doctor shook his head and clicked his tongue, "He hasn't been drinking blood again." He observed, supporting Natsuno up to sitting position and slowly pouring the drink down his throat.

"But why?" the orange-haired boy asked, "We bought-"

"-smuggled," his sister corrected,

"We smuggled it out of the blood bank! It's not like he's directly feeding on a person."

The doctor merely shook his head in response, setting the glass on the nearby table and turning to the siblings.

Silence enveloped the small apartment.

"Do you know why this place is called the City of Slumber?" the siblings turned to Toshio with curious eyes and anticipation.

"It's because of the mere fact that people would go missing for a night or two. And after they've been found either unconscious at one of the train station benches or in the middle of the road, they appear to have blank eyes, sick complexion, and a bad case of anemia. They won't talk, nor listen, nor do anything out of their usual work or every day routines. They seem blank and lifeless, or have ventured into a weird waken coma. And as the name implies, the victims appear to have entered a monotonous, unexplained state of slumber."

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I apologize for any mistakes on the spelling and grammar. :)