Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is not mine. Duh.

Note: I don't know anything about computers, either. What I don't know, I'll make up. Feel free to correct me.

Heero awoke to another bright and cheery morning, but this time with a surprise phone call.

“Heero? It's Trowa. We've got something.”

Heero sat up, instantly awake. “What is it?”

“Photos. Lots of them, along with clippings. G.O.S.H. aren't they only victims.”

“What?” Heero stood and dressed. “What do you mean?”

Trowa hesitated for a split second. “Someone brought these clippings and photos to the station. A manila envelope, no addresses.”

“Someone nearby, then,” Heero surmised.

“Maybe,” Trowa hedged. He knew something, but he wasn't going to divulge it, at least not over the phone. “In any case, it seems that fires have been started to cover the other bodies, but someone's linked them. I'll tell you more when you get here.”

“I'm on my way. ETA ten minutes, maximum.”

Heero grabbed his keys and rush-walked to his car.

<*>

When he arrived, Trowa and Quatre were waiting for him. “Lieutenant Yuy,” Quatre began, but Trowa cut him off.

“Here's the envelope the evidence was in. As you can see, it's taken some abuse.”

Indeed, it had taken a couple rips and quite a few bashings. A corner had been ripped clean off. “It's seen some wear and tear. So the deliverer is saying that we can't pin-point his or her location.”

“Yes.” Quatre nodded.

“So what was inside it?” Heero asked.

“These.” And Trowa laid out seven pictures. One was of an old church, two of an ancient warehouse, two of a two-story house, two of a martial arts dojo, and one of a factory. All of them were charred ruins. “And these.” Newspaper clippings were spread to correspond with the picture they matched with. Each wrote of arson that ended up taking lives. “Look here.” He pointed to the clippings related to the factory. “The man named here is Trowa Barton.” At Heero's sharp look, he shrugged. “It's not a coincidence – I remember this. I had no name then, and was raised by various criminals before ending up there. It's all in my file. When this man died, his name was offered to me. I accepted.”

Heero frowned. He remembered something in the rumor mill about the authenticity of a merc lieutenant. “I see.”

“And this man.” Quatre pointed to the picture of the house. “I know a man named Rasid Kurama. He was once targeted in this exact house. He had escaped, but two of his men hadn't.”

“His men?” Heero questioned.

Quatre blushed. “Well, there was a time when he and his men had gotten into a sticky situation, and I helped them out. They became... sort of like glorified bodyguards. I am the son of a very wealthy man, after all. I stand to inherit at his death.”

Heero nodded. He'd heard of that, too. Winner had been labeled a spoiled rich kid when he'd first arrived. He'd proven himself since.

“And this martial arts dojo is the one in which Wufei's sensei had resided,” Trowa pointed out.

Heero hissed. Had they been targeted all those years ago? It was before they'd become cops. “And this one? The warehouse?”

“The clippings say that a man, unidentified but with a charred license reading Dino Welo, had been found inside. He'd been charred to a crisp, but his wallet, having been thrown from the body, had taken only a few scrapes. Apparently a metal beam had fallen on it, protecting it.”

“What are the chances?” Heero murmured.

“Practically non-existent,” Quatre reported. “You think the murderer wanted us to know?”

“Well, if he did, it had worked. Apparently the gift-giver knew the man's true identity.”

“How?” Heero asked.

Trowa shook his head. “That I don't know. But apparently the warehouse man's name was Odin Lowe.”

Heero felt the world tilt. “Who?”

“Odin Lowe. You know him?”

His veritable father. Killed? How? Why?

“He was an undercover agent for the CIA. Apparently he'd been playing the part of an assassin when he'd been killed.”

CIA? That explained all those long trips – and more, why Odin's idea of a day out was going for sharpshooting practice or playing a more complicated version of hide-and-seek, in which you had to keep yourself from getting hit by Nerf bullets.

Odin Lowe had been killed? He'd been told it was an accident.

He stared at that warehouse and waited for the world to right itself.

“Lieutenant Yuy?”

“Heero?”

He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Yes, I knew him. He took me in.” Heero left it at that. “What about this last one? The church?”

Quatre shook his head. “That one we don't know. We've gone through everyone's files, thanks to Chief Fellur's permission, but we haven't found anyone with any connection to even the area around the church, let alone the church itself.”

“Isn't it odd,” Trowa murmured, that four of these murders occurred to someone one of us four knew? Three of us are the highest-ranking members of this station, and could be the absolute leads if we wanted desk jobs. The other is the fastest-rising rookie since us three. And all these deaths occurred before we entered the force.”

“It's creepy,” Quatre muttered.

Trowa gave him a concerned look before turning to Heero again. “Well?”

Heero scanned the clippings. “What do these have to do with G.O.S.H, though?”

Quatre leaned forward. “Apparently the bodies had been burned to bones, but there were scratches on some bones that hinted at wounds inflicted before the burning. They were reported to be slashes.”

Heero looked up. “You've checked the files?”

Trowa shook his head. “Not yet. Look at this – it's the note left by the anonymous helper.”

Heero scanned it, then slowed down and reread it.

Sorry to bring back memories.

The victims were all burned beyond recognition, but some sort of identification was left. All had slash marks on their bones – hips, ribs, arms, skulls. These slash marks are thought to be knife wounds, but further examination would mean the destruction of the brittle bones. Continuation of each case was impossible.

It is not a coincidence that each of you joined the police, is it? It was for justice for Lieutenant Chang, peace for Lieutenant Yuy, 'the chance to earn your name' for Lieutenant Barton, and 'the hope for the future' for Sergeant Winner. Each of you were greatly influenced by the outcome of each scene, and chose to become a policeman to stop death from occurring again.

Whoever the murderer is, they've effectively manipulated each of your lives.

Good day.

It was typed and printed. An examination of ink and paper would be useless; Heero already knew who the person was.

“Shinigami,” he hissed. The man was mocking the police department, most possibly yucking it up in whatever crazy computer lab he had. His hands shook in his fury.

Quatre's voice was startled. “How do you know?”

“The media tells the public that the police are picking their noses on this case, and now we get a note from someone who can hack not only into investigative files but the entry questions for this department, all of which is absolutely classified.” He turned to the two of them. “Did either of you feel manipulated when you joined this department?”

Quatre and Trowa both shook their heads.

“And Wufei would have my head for even asking,” Heero murmured. “But this Shinigami may have a point. But what about the last one? He said nothing about him.”

“He must not be on the force,” Trowa murmured. “Whoever he is, he may be the culprit, trying to get revenge for the deaths of-” Trowa looked at the clippings again. “Of Father Adam Maxwell, Sister Helen Marigold, and Sister Mary Ellsworth.”

“Perhaps,” Quatre noted, “but don't you think Shinigami would have pointed that out? It would be the ultimate rub if he found a suspect while the police were still completely clueless.”

Heero nodded. It was true enough. “Perhaps, but we can't rule it out. For now, it's all we have. Was there any information on J?”

“No. Nothing.”

“So he doesn't know anything, either.” Heero sat. “We'll begin with people around the area. See if they remember anything.”

“At least we're finally able to do something,” Quatre murmured.

“Let's just make sure that we don't need any more help,” Heero advised, and scowled. It rubbed him wrong to use the information given to him by Shinigami. Especially when he had no choice. And especially since he was determined to catch the man.

But for now, he couldn't spend his time worrying about it.

<*>

Duo practically crawled into work. He'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, having devoted the night to searching. He'd been disturbed by what he'd found.

He'd had to do an evaluation on himself. If he hadn't some home just that bit faster, if he'd come in loudly like he usually did, he wouldn't have had the time to catch those uniformed bastards beating Father Maxwell senseless. He remembered the encounter like it had happened yesterday.

*FLASHBACK*

The school day was officially over – always something to celebrate. It was still odd sometimes, how he found himself thinking in terms of school days and school hours. Before, he never would have worried about such things. Now it seemed almost... normal.

Even more normal, he found, was the urge to sneak past one's guardians when one got a bad grade.

But really, who cared about English anyway? As long as you could speak it, what did you need to write it down for? It was stupid.

And besides, he'd never really had the chance to learn how to write, now had he?

He opened the door as quietly as possible, afraid that Father Maxwell or Sister Helen especially might find him. Father Maxwell would tell him all the importances of writing, and Sister Helen would do the same, plus some babble about God and stuff. He loved the both of them, really he did, but he didn't want to hear it just then.

But when he opened the door, no one was there. Some noises were coming from the chapel, angry yells and stomping feet. Sister Helen wailed.

They never did that.

Duo raced into the chapel room and froze in shock. A uniformed man, in dark blue, was screaming and kicking Father Maxwell while another watched. Father Maxwell was curled on the floor and bloody. Sister Helen was screaming at the men, telling them to leave.

“You better do as we say,” the abuser snarled. “Or they'll be more than one death here.”

“No! No, please, we've done nothing!” Sister Helen cried.

“Shut up, hag!” The watcher suddenly raised his fist to hit Sister Helen.

Duo ran out without thought, showing himself to the two men. “Stop!”

Sister Helen sent him a wild look. “Duo, what are you doing! Get out of here!”

“Leave her alone!”

The men seemed frozen in shock. Duo glared at the both of them. They had no right to come in here and beat up a priest and nun. He didn't believe in God, but he did believe that was wrong.

“Shit,” one muttered. “Back off, kid,” he said louder. “This is none of your business.”

“No! Get out!”

The men's fists clenched. “Hey, kid, these two owe us money. Got that? Ten thousand dollars, kid. So back off.”

“No!” Duo shook his head. He understood very well the importance of money. “I'll get it for you.”

The man snorted. “Right, brat.” He turned back to Sister Helen, who was helping Father Maxwell sit up. “Remember, bitch. You run, we'll find you. Just make sure the cute little innocents don't get in our way.” The man gave a pointed look to Duo before leading the other out of the house.

Duo rushed over to Father Maxwell as soon as the men were out of the church. “Father, are you okay?”

“Yes, Duo, I'm fine. Thank you.”

Sister Helen looked about to cry. “Don't worry, Sister Helen. I'll take care of it.”

“Oh, no, Duo,” she gasped. “Don't. It's fine, really-”

“Sister,” Father Maxwell interrupted. His voice was immeasurably sad. “We must think about others at all times.”

“Oh, Father.” And she started sobbing.

Duo was confused. “Hey, wait – where's Sister Mary?”

Sister Helen just cried all the harder.

“Now, Duo,” Father Maxwell turned to him. “You must promise me to live a good life.”

Duo just stared at him blankly. “Father?”

“We won't be around forever, Duo. When we die, you must promise me that you will live a good, honorable life.”

“But I don't want you to die.” Duo just sat there. What were they talking about? Were they sick too, just like Solo?

No, it wasn't that. It had to do with those men.

Duo firmed his resolve and spoke as bravely as he could. “Don't worry, Father. I won't let anything happen to you. I'll get the money, and then they'll go away, right?”

Father's eyes saddened more. “Duo, we cannot ask this of you.”

“You didn't,” Duo pointed out. Sister Helen just continued to cry into her shawl.

“Duo...” Father Maxwell sighed. “There's a way into the bank – a small hole, one neither of us can get into... and it's against God's laws...”

Duo, blinded by his fear of losing them, didn't question him. “I'm tiny. I could fit.”

“Yes. I know.” Father Maxwell's eyes were so sad, but Duo blamed it on having to go against the God he loved so much. “At eight o'clock tomorrow night, there will be no one there.”

“I'll go.” Duo nodded. “I'll make sure to get ten thousand dollars. You'll be okay.”

“Oh, Duo,” Sister Helen sobbed.

“Take care, Duo,” Father Maxwell said, and gifted Duo with one of his loving smiles.

It was the last he ever saw.

*END FLASHBACK*

After that, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen went in for prayer. Duo had initially thought that it was because they were sending him to sin for their own safety, but he was wrong.

There hadn't been any openings into the bank.

Duo had his hands full that day with a flat tire and a check-up. He worked through the morning, then ate a late lunch of peanut butter and jelly.

He'd grown that day at 8:28 when he returned to find the church ablaze and Father Maxwell dead on the ground. Sister Mary had fallen from the ceiling where she'd been hidden, and Sister Helen had been slipping away.

“Oh, Duo,” she'd said with a smile, “I'm so happy I got to see you again.”

He'd sworn to live a good life, to live happy and whatever, and so he would. But he would never trust cops, the lying bastards who killed Father Maxwell and Sister Helen.

He leaned back. Now he had the chance to find their killer, as he'd never had before. This wasn't for the ops or Quatre Raberba Winner or money – it was for Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, who had known death was knocking on their door and made certain that they were the only ones home to answer it. For vengeance, for revenge. For the hope that he would no longer see Sister Helen's body in his mind whenever he tried to sleep.

“Father,” he murmured. He was standing randomly inside the garage doing nothing.

A car came up his drive, one he recognized immediately. He smiled at his regular and went out to meet him.

“Mr. Chang! Good to see you. Don't tell me you have another problem.”

“No, I don't think so, but my filter light's flashing, and I have to go out in a couple hours.”

“Well, that usually means that something's wrong...”

<*>

Heero asked around, but most hadn't been in the area for long. Most people moved out of the houses as quickly as possible. The area wasn't the safest in the city.

“Sorry, officer,” another woman said. “I've only been here a few months, and quite frankly I only plan to stay here a few more. This place isn't the safest ever, and I have kids.”

“Thanks anyway, ma'am.”

The nervous mother nodded. “You're welcome.” She took a quick look around and closed the door.

Heero sighed. No one seemed to know anything about the place, if only because no one stayed around if they could help it.

“Looks like we'll have to come back at night,” Heero said with a sigh. He called the others and let them know his particular lack of results.

“Nothing here, either,” Quatre reported. “People don't seem to want to hang around here.”

“I can see why,” Trowa replied. “I got nothing, as well.”

“Me either,” O'Hara grumbled.

“The same,” Carlton reported. “What a bummer.”

“We still have the night,” Heero told them. “We can return then. This place has permanent residents, but none come out during the day.”

“Which street do you want?” Trowa asked. Heero knew that meant that he'd thought the same.

“The same. That goes for all of us. They're most likely sleeping now, and they won't recognize us until we're close, anyway.”

“Got it,” O'Hara said. “Hopefully we'll get luckier tonight.”

“Hn. For now, let's return to the precinct.”

“All right. See you there, Heero. Trowa, over and out.”

“Over and out.”

“Over and out.”

“Heero.” It was Quatre's voice.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Do you think another envelope will be waiting for us?”

Just the suggestion made Heero's teeth grind. “I won't assume either way.”

There was a brief silence. “I see. Thanks. Quatre, over and out.”

Heero signed off as well, then stood for a moment, thinking. Who was Shinigami? How had he gotten so much information about them? About the case? He was like a ghost, traversing through the net with an agility that baffled him. He was good with electronics. Great. He was also given an opening within the comp division when he first arrived. But he couldn't keep up with Shinigami. It was infuriating.

Well, in this case, the deaths had more than doubled, almost tripled. Eleven deaths, if Shinigami's findings were to be believed. That afternoon would be spent searching for the validity of the evidence, but Heero already knew it was true. Shinigami was a sly bastard, but he was never wrong.

“Hell,” Heero breathed, and returned to his car.

<*>

Duo waved Lieutenant Chang good-bye and closed down his shop. He'd had more than enough work for the day, and he had to keep up with the investigation. He had no doubt that the cops would be looking for someone who remembered the Maxwell Church fire, and he would eventually be tracked down. He needed to find more, solve the case, and get the attention off of him before that happened.

Lieutenant Chang said he had to leave soon, so he was almost through with his case on a narc gang on the far side of the city. The police had managed to solve that one on their own, bless their idiot souls. But they'd only been able to do it once Chang Wufei entered the case.

So Chang Wufei would return to the G.O.S.H. case, moving it along even faster. Duo grinned almost ferally. Things were getting interesting.