• Imagine, you are living in a world where killing is living and living is hell. Everywhere around you people are dying and there is nothing that anyone can do about it because it's the only way of life that people know.

    People sleep on the streets and anything that even remotely protects you from the rain and wind the climate has to offer counts as a house. There is no going out after dark, yet there is no sleeping either. Who would want to wake up and find themselves dead after all?

    But then again, those things are nothing compared to what all these people on the street seem to have in common; Geostigma.

    Black poison moves through the veins of you and the other people on the streets, killing off your body and your mind. Your immumesystem is dying while your body is starting to give out. With a life like this, wouldn't it be better to die?

    No. Because everyone with this sickness, this disease, knows what it is to live...

    ---

    Yazoo can't help the slight smile on his dry lips as he looks out over the deserted streets. Another person died today, and sadistic as it sounds, he's happy about it. When someone dies that means less people are on the streets, but this one dying meant no one on the streets, and no one on the streets means that he can move around without any problem.

    He walks past the deserted places that people call their homes, the shacks abandoned for the funeral. His thin pale body moves with an almost cat-like grace as Yazoo speed-walks to abandoned food stalls. The owners should have known better then to leave them behind, but it's fortunate for Yazoo that they didn't.

    He doesn't understand why this death is so much more important then the other deaths that happened. So what if some rich person that was considered clean died of the disease? What does it matter to him? To them?

    Though Yazoo also understands why the other people would want to go over and be there at the funeral. Those rich people shunned them for their illness, for the bruises and blisters that happen and render them immobile. They laugh and mock and abuse, and now it's one of their own people that died of it. It's their turn to laugh and mock back at those people.

    The victim is a 14 years old girl, it seems. Yazoo can't remember her name, but he doesn't want to spend any time on trying to remember it either; he doesn't care one bit. No, the only thing he cares about are the apples he holds in his hands now and the brother he has at home, waiting for him.

    Humming a little happy tune he picked up somewhere, Yazoo starts to load his pockets and the small bag that carries his scarce possessions with the apples. The apples aren't the freshest or most beautiful ones by far. In fact; the apples are old, wrinkled and bruised and the merchants merely picked them up after those spoiled rich people threw them away, trading them for goods they will be able to use.

    Throw away's, that's all a diseased person ever gets here, but these people are long since used to that and are happy with everything, killing over a shoe that's filled with holes and doesn't even have a second shoe to go with it.

    Yazoo startles slightly as he hears voices; people are returning. Hastily closing his tattered duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he covers his full pockets with his hands before running off.

    ---

    A person died, and people on the streets don't care about that, using it to their advantage. But then again, wouldn't you? When you have nothing to trade, there is no way for you to get anything you need like food, clothes or shelter.

    Imagine living in the world of the diseased where you get dumped in the slums upon showing the first signs of being ill, mocked by the rich people from afar, the rich people with their pretty white stone houses with warm water and hot meals.

    Humanity has been long since forgotten, and instead it's now every person for themselves. There are no rules in the outskirts where the diseased house themselves and the rich people won't dare to ever step foot there.

    They have lived like this ever since the disease showed up, years and years and years ago. Rich people on one side, diseased on the other. But sometimes, nothing stays the same.

    ---

    "I'm home" Yazoo calls out softly as he walks into the small apartment that he gets to call his home. He moves through the living room that also serves as the kitchen before making his way to the only bedroom in the apartment.

    He smiles as he sees his brother laying on the floor, huddled in the thin blankets that serve as their bed, the tattered and faded carpet serves as the mattress and while it's not much, it's more then most people have.

    Kadaj opens his startingly green eyes as he looks up at his brother who merely smiles back at him. "Brother." the younger one utters, brushing his short silver hair out of his eyes, though several bangs move back in front of his eye defiantly.

    There once was a time when two people would say that word, when two people would await eagerly for Yazoo's return. But the disease spreads fast and no stricken person lives a long life.

    Yazoo smiles, placing his bag in the corner of his room. "I'm back with food." he crouches down next to his brother who is still laying amidst the covers lazily, not bothering to get up.

    "You stole it, didn't you?" the young one accuses, at which the older chuckles and nods. Kadaj smiles slightly "Those people are so stupid."

    "Agreed, brother." Yazoo places a soft kiss on his brother's equally dry lips as he removes some apples from his pockets, emptying them, smiling lightly as Kadaj eyes the bruised apples hungrily.

    Handing two of the apples to Kadaj, Yazoo moves under the blankets himself with two apples of his own. He watches as Kadaj wolves down the apples while calmly eating his own, savoring the bad taste that is such a treat to them.

    "Those people are so stupid," Kadaj notes again as he licks the juices off of his fingers, though this time he means the other people, the people protected by their white stone houses "they throw away food like it's nothing, just like that." he huffs lightly, a slight frown growing on his face.

    Yazoo merely smiles, digging into his second small apple. "If they didn't we wouldn't have any food, though." he points out "We'd have nothing to eat."

    "But brother," Kadaj grins lightly as he eyes his long haired brother that looks so pretty, even under the diseased condition they're in "we'd have each other to eat, wouldn't we?"

    Yazoo almost chokes in his apple as his brother makes that comment. "You're so crude, Kadaj." he tuts, though he can't help the smile that plays on his lips anyway. "But yes, I think we would." he agrees in a light tone.

    Kadaj grins, rolling on top of his brother "Let me eat you, brother" his hand slips to the waistline of Yazoo's pants "I promise I won't spill anything."

    Yazoo's smile widens slightly as he finishes up eating the small apple "You never do, Kadaj. But go ahead and eat."

    A smirk spreads over Kadaj's lips as he blinks up at Yazoo slowly, a small purr escaping his lips. "Yum."

    ---

    "Cloud, what are you doing?" Red eyes narrow slightly as Vincent sends a slight glare at his blond friend.

    "They killed her, those bastards, they killed her..." Cloud growls, making his way to the forbidden territory, the disease stricken streets. A sword gleams sharply in the sunlight as Cloud lifts it slightly.

    Vincent sighs, closing his eyes for a few moments before opening them again. "Be rational. It's not their fault that she got that... illness."

    Blue eyes narrow dangerously at the raven haired male as a low growl escapes Cloud's throat. "Their disease killed her, now I'll smash them like the rotten pests they are..."

    Vincent sighs quietly, knowing there's no reasoning with his friend like this, but then again, he's not really trying. He doesn't care for those diseased people, better yet, he thinks it'll be better for them if they just die quickly. They'll die anyway.

    A small click is heard as Vincent takes a gun out of the holster on his hip that was previously hidden by his red cloak. "Then let's kill them, shall we?" he states calmly.

    ---

    Screams and the sound of gunshots rouse two figures from their curled up position under blankets. They're naked and sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids and exhausted due to the state their bodies are in.

    "Brother?" Kadaj asks quietly "Are they fighting again?"

    "It seems so, Kadaj." Yazoo frowns lightly. This isn't how they fight here; warning people that they are in battle and might be exhausted enough to be killed after wards. The people in these parts kill quietly, then take what they killed for before leaving. He focuses on his hearing, trying to understand what's going on outside, eyes widening as he catches some words.

    "Outsiders! Rich, rich outsiders! Kill! Steal!"

    "Kadaj, get dressed." Yazoo commands, untangling himself from his brother's grip and the blankets that are twisted around them.

    "Why, brother?" Kadaj asks, frowning slightly, though he gets up and listens nevertheless "I don't understand."

    Yazoo bites his lip as he watches his thin brother get dressed while getting dressed himself. "It is going to rain blood tonight, brother. Blood of rich people; I want to be there to catch it."

    Kadaj's eyes widen before he grins, working faster to get dressed in the filthy, thin and torn clothing he always dresses himself with. "Me too, brother! Me too!" he bounces excitedly.

    Yazoo smiles as he finishes dressing himself. He grabs the duffel bag he discarded before and opens it, taking out the most expensive item he owns and will most likely ever own; a set of gun blades. Beautiful silver guns that come equipped with a button under the trigger. When the button is pushed, a blade will come out; sharp enough to give a doctor's knife a run for it's money. Velvet Nightmare.

    Kadaj hums lightly as he takes a sheath from underneath his pillow. The sheath holds a weapon that no person should wield, let alone a child. A double bladed katana that will slice through almost everything it touches, from paper to rock. Souba.

    Following the cries of death and struggle, the two siblings run out of their small apartment.

    Once they arrive at the scene, they can't do anything but stop and stare, gape even. Bodies are laying on the ground that is slowly turning red; cut up or shot, some of the bodies both. The smell of death is all around as their green eyes scan around for the people that could have done this.

    A muscled blond man rams a huge sword through someones stomach, twisting it mercilessly as the person's cries of pain die on their lips.

    A little behind the man another man moves gracefully, a red cloak moving through the air as he dodges the swings taken at him gracefully while shooting his attackers.

    Yazoo licks his lips as he watches the man in the cloak move and use the gun in his hands with enough skill to equal his own. A slow smile spreads on his lips as green eyes narrow almost dangerously. Lifting one of his guns, he wastes no time to aim and shoot.

    ---

    Vincent's eyes widen as he can feel a bullet enter his bicep. He easily takes out the person he was fighting with before turning around to look for the person that shot him.

    He finds this person in the form of a man, no, a boy, with long silver hair whipping around a pale face that shows signs of starvation. The boy's thin arm is up and long slender fingers are clasped around it easily. The gun is still smoking. Green eyes meet red as Vincent growls.

    ---

    "Hey, rich guy!"

    Cloud turns around, barely avoiding being sliced in three parts. He frowns as he takes a few steps back from the boy in front of him that barely reaches his chest.

    The boy grins up at him cheekily, leaning on the katana, wait, double bladed katana lazily. One of his bright green eyes is hidden by chin-length silver hair which doesn't change even as the boy tilts his head to the side slightly. "Wanna play?"

    Cloud frowns, raising his sword. He refuses to acknowledge the stealth the small boy in front of him possesses, just as he refuses to acknowledge that if the kid didn't call out to him, he'd be dead.

    But that's just it; it's just a kid...

    ---

    Gunshots sound as Yazoo and Vincent dart around each other, ducking behind boards and buildings to avoid getting hit. Short breaks indicate the change of cartridges while full blown attacks indicate one of them being in sight.

    Vincent's eyes dart from side to side as he tries to come up with the best possible place to shoot the other from. Skilled as the other male is, it's starting to annoy him that a street rat, a disease-stricken person, is up to his level.

    His eyes widen slightly as Vincent finds a route to the other person that might just work. Ignoring the pain his bleeding bicep grants him, Vincent doesn't waste any time in moving.

    Yazoo's eyes widen slightly as the other is suddenly up close to him, making him stagger back. Close combat is, unfortunately, his weak point, though when one sees his thin build they don't expect anything less.

    He raises his gun to the other's face, only to find himself staring at the end of the other's three-barrelled gun. 's**t' is the only word running through his head as his eyes dart to the other person again, green eyes meeting red once more.

    He smiles.

    ---

    Cloud takes another step back to avoid getting hit by the katana again. He doesn't want to fight this... kid that doesn't even seem to have hit his teens.

    Cloud estimates the kid to be about twelve years old, yet the one visible eye looks older then that. The eye looks like it belongs to an old man that saw and experienced everything, the kind of eye that will haunt you every time you close your eyes.

    Yet, when the kid's movements makes the bangs shift away from the other eye, Cloud easily realizes why. The right eye otherwise hidden by silver hair is bruised black and covered in blisters, skin peeling. The eye is closed, but Cloud is sure that even when it would be open, it would make no difference.

    It's sickening.

    ---

    Vincent's eyes narrow at the person opposite him. Even in the face of his gun, Cerberus, the other merely smiles at him. Granting himself a single second, Vincent quickly looks the other over.

    The other male is small, reaching his shoulder at most, and seems to be fragile that has nothing to do with being thin. However, there is something about those harsh slitted eyes and that thin smiling face that makes him take a step back.

    "How old are you?"

    The other merely keeps on smiling, shrugging lightly as he replies in a soft, almost soothing voice. "Seventeen."

    Vincent frowns at the answer "You're just a kid."

    The other's smile merely grows "Am I?"

    Vincent finds himself with Velvet Nightmare's blade at his throat.

    ---

    "Lookie over there," Kadaj giggles while trying to hit the evading blond "your friend is in quite a pinch, isn't he?" he asks innocently enough.

    Cloud merely grunts, not looking away from the kid that seems happy enough to bring an end to him. His blue eyes dart around to look for a way out without actually hurting the diseased child. He wishes death upon all the ones stricken, but to hurt one even younger then the friend he lost to it...

    His eyes fall upon a tree branch belonging to one of the old trees behind them. He raises his giant sword, making the muscles in his arms clench together in an almost painful way, before he strikes.

    Kadaj's eyes widen as he jumps back, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the sword, but as he hears a sound that makes him look up and see the thick tree branch descend to him, he realizes that the sword wasn't meant for him at all.

    He looks up, only to find the blond gone. Green eyes widen as fingertips press to the sensitive pressure point in his neck, and Kadaj's world goes black.

    ---

    Yazoo blinks as he feels the tip of a sword touch his back, Vincent still at the point of his own blade.

    "Your brother is unconscious, would you not rather take him home and wait for him to awaken instead of killing my friend only to end up killed yourself?" Cloud says softly.

    Yazoo's smile doesn't falter. "I guess I would." he says in a light tone.

    He takes his weapon away from Vincent before turning and walking to where his brother is laying, not surprised that no one is stopping. The blond could've killed him in stead of making that statement, and the other could've killed him in stead of asking his age. He made too many mistakes in this fight.

    Yet, his eyes are on the two even as he crouches down to pick up his fallen brother. A blond man that seems fine except for a few cuts in his clothing and a raven haired man that has no wounds but the one he gave.

    Red eyes meet green once more as Vincent places his gun back to the holster attached to his hip, not seeing the other person who has his hands full with his limp brother as a threat anymore.

    "We will meet again, when you are older." he speaks in his soft clear tone.

    Yazoo merely smiles in reply before both parties turn and walk away to their homes, their original reason for going out forgotten by the thrill of the fights and the shock of finding what they're fighting.

    ---

    But they never met again.

    With Yazoo the Geostigma had already spread over most of his body, he didn't last until the end of the week when Kadaj was forced to burn him and the weapons he cherished.

    With Kadaj the Geostigma had already spread over one eye and soon attacked the other, rendering him blind. Out in the streets with no one to look after him and no sight to help him along he died shortly after, throwing himself and Souba over a cliff before the disease killed him and his katana would be used by others.

    Imagine, you are living in a world where killing is living and living is hell. Everywhere around you people are dying and there is nothing that anyone can do about it because it's the only way of life that people know.

    Would you still lead it?