DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN DETECTIVE CONAN

Chapter 19: The Real Devil in this Game

The best thing when night falls was its silence. You can hear everything.

Multiple footsteps echoed through the nearly empty hallway accompanied by mumbling and the sounds of the door opening and closing. These days, everyone seems busy.

The amount of black and white emerging, walking, the sudden running, and disappearing inside the walls of Area-1 amazed me. Doctors and scientists in their lab gowns, other agents in their suit and coats while some casually wear a black shirt. It's like a military camp but better. I caught glimpses of a variety of individuals purely debating, agents training, teaching and checking one another, doctors experimenting and critiquing on others' job.

I couldn't help but faintly smile.

"You look like a three-year-old who saw a magical unicorn and has successfully tamed it. Tell me if I'm wrong, cause I'm up for debate," stated Marc, keeping his pace with mine.

"I'm enjoying the moment, Marc," I replied. He gave me a grin, and like an idiot that he is, he merrily hoped away, disappearing in the crowd. Marc's becoming more and more childish by the second. Should I remind him that he's no longer a teenager?

When Rum said the judgment's not in Area-2, I immediately thought it was at one of the bases. I would positively thank whoever scheduled everything to be at this area. I never got a chance to visit Area-1 albeit the offers, because of my tight schedule.

The different 'areas' cover the different districts and functions of the base here in Japan; one is in Tokyo, another's in Osaka, etc. Then, we have bases and facilities, which are another topic.

I've heard Area-1 is a bustling place, however, not much news for being great.

Area-2 only limits itself as a drug-making facility with a front of being a clinic and a drug store. It's the closest to my apartment, so I always prefer training there. Other than the pills, the agents at that district gather there for some information.

Area-3 is more concentrated on shipments. Shipments from different countries drop weapons and other goods in the 'fish-market'; different informal deals were made and done there. The underground facility became most of the storage unit and an extension of Area-2, where most of the confidential drugs are produced and stored.

Area-4 showcases the business part here in Japan. This is where Malt waltzes in; it's his area of expertise. Area-4 caters the formal shipments and meetings with other partners. To be honest, this is one of the places I suggest going when finding silence with the exemption of having a great atmosphere. Business tends to be a bit flaky.

Area-5 is an extension to Area-4, where the legal and cover-up businesses come in. You see, independent agents need a cover; something that creates a background to avoid confusion and credibility.

"Rye," called Rum, stopping four rooms from the elevator. "I need to fix something, first. Wait here." As soon as I gave him a nod, he swiftly turned to a hallway.

"Oh, gosh," exclaimed a lad in his lab gown, walking towards me. He's five years younger than me, smokes like Gin, drinks occasionally, and he might be annoying. "You're Rye!" He put out a hand.

"Yeah, you're that bitch's brother. I hope you're not like her," I said, taking a sit in one of the vacant benches.

"C' mon, Claret's not that bad. Well, her jokes are, but you can't deny her skills." He chuckled, sliding back his hand in his pocket, bringing out a fresh cigar.

"Don't smoke in front of me, kid." He stopped before he could press the tips of the cigarette with his lighter. "Besides, you're too young to smoke."

"Weird," remarked the lad, hiding the killer-tube back in its box together with the lighter. "You're always with Gin, right? And, pretty sure, he smokes." He sat next to me, bringing out a phone instead, legs crossed.

"He doesn't smoke when he's with me. I told him I hate that nicotine shit," I answered, looking at my watch. It's near 8:40 pm. "Tell me, kid, what's your deal with the organization?" He paused and furrowed his brows, questioning. "I mean, you and your sister seem to be a 'pure-blooded' agents."

"Ha," he scoffed before continuing reading his notes. "The organization protects us from the government, especially from the military. My grandparents and their siblings were marked as 'enemy of the country' because they can't give what the government wants. I was 2 at that time and my sister's 6 when they decided to kill them in front of their families. My mother, grandparents and their families, and other people died from that event. Three days later, Gin appeared with Vermouth and Martini.

"Gin gave us a temporary home at the Area-3, and my father and uncles started working at the organization so that we can afford to buy a new home and supply our basic needs. We eventually did. I started working here when I was 15 and Claret's 17, so much for child labor, right? But, I don't mind. I'd prefer working here than go to school, be blind, exercise the human rights that we never have, and follow the freedom the society imprinted.

"The organization's like a safe haven for those the government and the society threw away, had forgotten and turned their backs on. To be honest, I knew the org is labeled by the police force as a terrorist or something since that's what they are so good at. Many wanted to put the organization down because of the growing power that we possess, but I don't care." He shrugged, looking at me. "We never kill any innocent civilians; we target businessmen, the government, and the task forces. We both know who's the real devil in this game.

"I'm not blind. I knew the organization kill and stuff, and I'm not mental to accept that's okay. However, if the agents won't kill and stop them, who would protect us? If we stop the shipments and the businesses, what money would we use? I'm confident that the legal firms of the organization are doing great, but that's not the only matter at hand that we need to focus at. Nothing's free these days, even life. Humans would do anything to survive. They can say we have freedom, but I'm convinced we don't have any.

"So, actually, Claret and I were forever grateful for Gin, that is why she would never want to kill Gin unlike what she told you when she visited you at your apartment," he explained. "Well, I need to go back, now. I'm pretty sure my seniors wouldn't want me taking a break when I hadn't finish my job yet. The name's Perry, by the way. And please don't be so rough on my sister, she's good at keeping it, but I'm pretty sure she needs someone right now."

"Why? What happened?"

He stood, sliding his hands in his coat's pocket, fixed his glasses and observed the scenery out the window. The darkness crept through the tinted glass showcasing a wintery display of wind running with the leaves.

"She's the only family I've left." He smiled, betraying the emotions in his eyes. "We, humans, would do anything for siblings, for family." He waved his hands and left.

Not as annoying as I thought.

ooo

Instead of Rum, Marc came back with Mint, informing me that Rum has orders to fly to Syria and retrieve something. He's extremely physical for a man his age.

The basement is a lot less crowded than on the upper floors. Most are mechanics, engineers, and other tech personnel. Other than the bickering of Marc and Mint, it's quiet.

"I rather like your mouths shut and appreciate the peacefulness for once," I blurted out from behind, sighing. I perpetually needed to suggest shutting up.

"Well, if someone would just accept that pizzas are meant for meat, not pineapples!" Marc yelled.

"Hell, no! It would never be near perfect if Hawaiian was not made! Pineapples mix well! Stop being racist!" Her posh accent made her sound impossible to understand.

"H-how was that racist?!"

"You're discriminating the pineapple too much!"

"You're disgracing the purpose of pizzas!"

And, thus, concludes my attempt to reunite water and oil; they'll never stop. Besides that point, whose suggestion was it to put these two bickering twenty-year-olds together?

"You know, guys, if you continue this I'll really start shipping you," stated I. Both stopped, looked at me for a second, and grinned like a creepy maniac. How are their emotions sync? Is that even humanly possible?

"Oh, you're on. He looks ravishing for the main course," she started.

I scowled, inwardly praying. Can some miracle happen? Anything would do, just to keep this two from continuing their senseless conversation.

"Thank you, but, I'm the one who'll finish you up. Some finishing touches, slices; ready for dessert," he argued.

This is the most threatening way to flirt sexually. I give up. Thankfully, before this talk would change its flow to a creepier section, agents started walking out of a room down the hall, including Gin and Vodka. The two immediately shut up.

"How was it?" I asked, meters away from Gin.

Gin glanced at Mint before whispering something to Vodka. Vodka signaled the two to come with him, going back in the room.

"What was that?" I pointed at Marc.

"I want to talk with you and your choices. Sit with me," Gin replied. Choices? We sat at the nearest bench; he crossed his legs and pressed his hands together. "Your first assignment is to kill Cortese, and of course, death was his ending. I know you've been waiting for this, Rye, but, I'm worried."

"I can do-"

"I know, you can. I'm not worried about your skills. You are exceptional. What I'm concerned about is your state. Killing is easy, but the overlying burden you have to carry isn't. I don't want you to be a killer, if-"

"Gin. Brother," I called out. "You're too worried. I will do it, I can do it. When I entered the organization, I definitely didn't said yes for nothing. I'm prepared for anything, if it is for the organization, I'll do anything."

He sighed, smiling. Gin stood after me. "You sure?"

"Settled."

ooo

At the center lies a broken man. Bruises under his blood-soaking shirt, arms tied, and bones broken. He suffered much, I suppose, but not that much. I don't want to generalize, but I am positive he's like them. Not just that but this man, whatever his name is, made brother angry.

Looking back, I never saw myself killing someone; I probably would term this as murder. My detective-self would defy me if I ever did this as if no one had done that already.

I pointed the gun at his head, clicking, and pinned the muzzle in his forehead, squatting to adjust to this man's dreadful body.

"Any last words?"

He struggled to look at me in the eye, but he managed. "You're not dumb, Shinichi. Snap out of it, learn the tru-"

I pulled the trigger; the metallic scent mix with something sour slowly filled the air, and chunks of flesh splattered with the hues of red to the ground and my suit. A normal person would have their insides turn, but being someone who's in this field for a long time sure helps.

I stood and turned to the one-way mirror.

"Any spare clothes?"

Three agents, probably codeless, walked in and cleaned the area. I stayed there, sat in an Indian seat, waiting for the spare clothes, and watched the men as I played with the boot knife I hid earlier.

Marc went inside with a bag, presumably a suit. "Change into that, you blessed devil," he stated, chuckling at the end. He handed me the paper bag as I stood, and pointed the door at the other side. "Be sure to cleanse your spirit along with the blood! We don't want cops tailing us to 7-11, now, do we?"

"You know, dinner is great for once."

ooo

A/N: I'm pretty sorry for the year and months of delay. I'm in a tight spot these days and I wanted to update real soon, but personal stuff came in the way. I'm very sorry.