Collaborative Story [Stelra, Quincy, Taliya]: Blackout
Aug 27, 2016 13:35:41 GMT
stelraetnae likes this
Post by Taliya on Aug 27, 2016 13:35:41 GMT
Summary: The Organization has been brought down, but the repercussions—and one death in particular—echo through the lives of the survivors.
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Warnings: Violence, language, character death, massive amounts of angst and anger
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Blackout
A Collaborative Story by stelraetnae, neonquincy1217, and Taliya
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Word Count: 9933
Rating: T
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Edogawa Conan
Thursday, September 1: One week before Operation Raven
Nine-year-old Edogawa Conan sat in one of the chairs of a meeting room inside the police department’s headquarters, a mug of steaming black coffee in hand as he poured over tentative strategy outlines and building blueprints with intent concentration. Around him were some of the people involved in the planning: Jodie Starling, James Black, and Edmund Hölzer of the German BND. Not present were Furuya Rei, Akai Shuichi, Andre Camel, Takagi Wataru, Satou Miwako, Megure Juuzo, Hondou Hidemi, François Chevalier of the CSIS, and Winston Crewe from MI6. The low buzz of conversation was a soothing background noise to him as he worked, and it thrilled him to know that these people had always, if unknowingly, sided with him.
Conan was more grateful than ever for becoming acquaintances with the Americans. It was what had given him the key he needed to organize the manpower necessary to take down the Organization. He watched Jodie and James as they discussed differences in extraction methods with Edmund, and he smiled fondly at them. Truly, the Americans had been more open-minded regarding his intelligence and abilities than anyone else he had met.
“I think we should break for lunch,” Edmund finally announced with a grin as his stomach audibly growled. James laughed in agreement, and the three adults rose from their seats.
“You want to come along, Cool Kid?” Jodie asked.
Conan shook his head. “I have an idea I would like to chase first. That and I had a late breakfast, so I’ll be fine, Jodie-sensei,” he replied. “But thanks!”
James frowned. “Will you be alright by yourself?”
The elementary student nodded. “I promise I won’t make a mess of things,” he answered earnestly, earning a chuckle from the man.
“I know you won’t, but I needed to ask just in case.” When Conan reaffirmed that he would be fine alone, the three adults exited the room with a promise to bring something back for him.
Conan sighed heavily once the door closed. Only one week left, and none of the adults would budge on allowing him to participate in the operation. Each of them, regardless of the fact that they recognized how capable he was, felt no child should partake in a firefight. He gritted his teeth. He was not a child—not in the way they thought. At the moment he was still working on buttering Haibara up, bugging her daily for the latest trial antidote of the apoptoxin. She was slowly wearing down under his daily barrage, and he hoped that she would give in by the time the operation commenced.
He frowned. He would be there, no matter what. This was just as much his fight—his battle, his war—just like it was Jodie’s, Furuya’s, Hidemi’s, Shuichi’s. But this was not just his—he was also fighting for Haibara too, fighting to ensure that she could live without having to always keep an eye watching over a shoulder.
“Conan-kun!” Takagi Wataru’s surprised voice snapped him out of his musings. “I thought everyone had gone to lunch?”
“I’m okay right now,” Conan chirped. “They said they would bring something back for me. There’s something I’m working on that I don’t want to quit from just yet.”
“Ah,” Takagi answered, and he deposited a stack of papers—reconnaissance photographs by the look of it—on the table and began to sort through them. The meeting room was quiet, the two working peaceably as the lunch hour passed. “Conan-kun,” the homicide detective said hesitantly, and Conan hummed questioningly without looking up. Takagi was quiet for several moments before he asked, “Who are you?”
The question had Conan shifting his attention from working out potential infiltration routes with a blueprint of the buildings to him before he smiled. It was a tired smile, one that revealed his desire to be done with the Organization, his weariness at being considered a child, his hope that the Organization would be brought down once and for all. It was that and so much more: his wish to be with Ran, his desire to keep Haibara safe, his fury at the deaths the Organization caused—so many things rolled up into that one smile that encompassed everything he felt regarding this sting operation. It was a smile from the bottom of his heart, carefully bared to this kind and competent, but bumbling and nervous homicide detective who had done his best to watch out for him over the years.
And as Takagi had given him the most leeway during cases—regarded him as more than a mere child—Conan felt the man deserved an answer.
“I’ll tell you after we’re done with all this, Takagi-keiji,” he answered softly, and the smile he gave to the man was his promise before he returned his attention to the blueprints before him.
He heard Takagi return to his own work before he rose to leave. Right before he opened the door, Takagi remarked, “I look forward to your answer, little Meitantei.”
Conan smiled and murmured softly after the door had clicked shut, “I look forward to telling you, Takagi-keiji.”
Written by Taliya
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Kudo Shinichi
Thursday, September 7: Thirteen minutes after initiation of Operation Raven
Temporarily restored nineteen-year-old Kudo Shinichi’s feet pattered along the seemingly empty space, the sound drowned out by the report of gunfire that echoed within his metal and concrete environs. Within the cavernous building, members of the Organization fought against agents from the Japanese PSB and Tokyo MPD, American FBI and CIA, British MI6, German BND, and Canadian CSIS.
In the thirteen minutes past ten o’clock—the initiation of Operation Raven—he had managed to take out three unnamed members of the Organization with the judicious use of several smaller pieces of laboratory equipment lying about and a few well-aimed kicks. The base of the Organization’s operations was a series of interconnected warehouses in Kawagoe’s Warehouse District, the interiors of which had been either converted to offices or partitioned off by the strategic placement of various larger pieces of laboratory equipment that provided plenty of places to hide. He had managed to sneak in via a window near the ceiling: a nod to Kaitou KID was needed, as he had seen the thief in action too many times to not pick up some of his tricks.
His Sig Sauer, smuggled into the country courtesy of his parents, was clenched tightly in his right hand and ready at a moment’s notice, though he carried it only as a last resort. He still preferred concussions to dead bodies any day. He peered out from behind an incubator, studying the layout. He fleetingly wondered if this had been one of the places Haibara had worked in, but his attention snapped towards the sound of running feet. He tensed, ready to run or fight as they came nearer. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he adjusted his grip on his gun, just in case.
His time as Edogawa Conan—despite the utter pain becoming a six year old again had been, had also had the unexpected bonus of several new and rather capable allies—primarily in the form of the American FBI. He had, not long after having had his plan to save Akai Shuichi’s cover from Furuya Rei’s investigation implemented, been approached by the American sniper with the intention of laying down the framework to take down the Organization.
The FBI had discreetly approached the intelligence agencies of various other countries, and thus a plan to bring the Organization to light had been hatched. Many of the agents gathered had initially objected to a child participating in such an operation, but they had quieted after he had laid out his proposal. None could find any major loopholes with his strategy, and thus they had begun working out the details: obtaining blueprints, taking a headcount, and estimating how much firepower their common enemy possessed. All that planning had culminated into this one night.
He winced as the report of shots rang out, followed by shrieks of pain and the unforgettable thud of bodies hitting the floor. That sound would haunt him for the rest of his life. Peering around the incubator, he barely had time to see who had been downed, let alone who the shooter was when he jerked back behind the safety of the incubator, a shot ringing against the steel machine.
“I know you’re there,” the shooter growled, and a chill swept down Shinichi’s spine at the sound of Gin’s voice.
Shinichi considered his two options. He could remain where he was, but he would be unable to leave due to Gin’s presence; or he could make a run for it and hope that Gin was not the marksman that the detective knew he was. Taking a breath, he launched himself from his hiding spot, making a dash for the next table over when a searing pain in his leg blindsided him. He stumbled and collapsed to the floor with a pained yelp, realizing from the angle at which his leg had folded and twisted that his femur had likely been shattered by Gin’s bullet. He squirmed on the floor in agony, breath hissing between clenched teeth as calm footsteps approached him. The sedative dart in his watch was useless against this man even had he not already used it—a hard-earned lesson learnt through experience. With great effort he uncurled himself long enough to glare at his would-be killer.
Gin gazed coldly back down, gun aimed at him. “Goodbye, little boy,” he sneered mockingly and pulled the trigger.
There was a brief flare of excruciating agony between his eyes, then—
—nothing.
Written by Taliya
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Vermouth
Thursday, September 7: Fifteen minutes after initiation of Operation Raven
Rage. There was no other word to describe the intensity of Vermouth’s anger. She was going to kill that bleeding motherf*****r herself.
She had come running into the laboratory after having offed two CSIS agents—just as Gin emptied a single round into Kudo Shinichi’s head. The sight of her Silver Bullet’s body jerking once as the projectile blew a bloody hole through the back of his skull had shocked her senseless. There was no way—there was absolutely no way…
Gin’s merciless green eyes flicked up to meet hers, silently conveying to her to continue their extermination of the invaders before he swept off in a blur of silver and black. It was only after he had gone that she staggered forward, approaching the still body. All of her dreams of freedom, her hopes for redemption—gone in a single breath—all because she had been one un-f*****g-knowing second too slow.
She knelt slowly after stepping around to his side, taking in his still, slack, blank expression marred only by the slowly oozing entry wound situated perfectly between his brows. “Silver Bullet…”
She scarcely dared to breathe, and her initial shocked apathy vaporized into a raging inferno of fury in her gut. She brushed one gloved finger against his still-warm cheek before gently, reverently sliding his still open eyes closed, the gesture more tender and affectionate than she had ever revealed to him when he had been alive. Her eyes burned with wrath as she lifted them to the seemingly empty laboratory with its destroyed equipment scattered and broken.
“Gin,” she hissed venomously, nearly tearing the leather of her hip holster as she wrenched out a second handgun and stood, baring her teeth in a snarl. Her expression gentled for a moment as her eyes settled upon the still form before her. “I’ll avenge you, Cool Guy,” she murmured with heavy promise in her voice as she ratcheted her second gun. “I’ll shoot that bastard for you.”
Her heels clicked as she took off at a run, retracing Gin’s path by the number of bodies that littered the hallways. Gunfire and screams echoed through the hallways, and she zeroed in on the sound. She slid around another corner into the converted office warehouse and swore under her breath at the thought of searching for Gin in the individual rooms. She began peering into each and every office, moving on when she did not find a head of long silver hair. She glanced into a conference room and found her target.
He really was the ideal killer, she reflected, all cold indifference and precise efficiency. He released two bullets, one to immobilize an MI6 agent before killing him with a headshot. At the sound of her footsteps he turned, eyes narrowing as he greeted, “Vermouth.”
She nodded in faux cordiality before bringing up both guns and firing. He dodged, ducking behind the conference table while returning fire.
“I should have killed you long ago, traitorous wretch,” he growled as he moved around the room to keep himself from becoming a stationary target.
Vermouth moved in counterpoint to Gin, searching for an opening while keeping herself protected. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of blowing your brains out,” she replied with casual lightness that belied her murderous intent. A shot grazed her cheek, leaving a stripe of blood and she soundlessly snarled, aiming between the chair legs. She caught him once by sheer luck in the leg and another in the arm, sufficiently slowing him down enough to where she felt she could take him head on. She leapt on the table, sliding across the blood-slicked surface to where he was, clipping his hand hard enough to flip his weapon from his grasp. Several more rounds into his legs and hands kept him pinned to the spot and defenseless, and Vermouth slid off the table with the grace of a hunting tigress closing in on her prey.
Gin glared up at her as he clutched his ruined hands to his chest. “I hope you rot in hell, you b***h,” he snarled with absolute hatred.
Vermouth smirked, pointing her guns at him. “You first,” she answered, and fired. Gin keeled over, dead from the dual shots to his brain, and the blonde sighed shakily as she whispered, “For you, Silver Bullet… For you.”
Written by Taliya
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Vodka
Thursday, September 7: Twenty minutes after initiation of Operation Raven
The sound of gunfire was disorienting, and somewhere along the way he had lost sight of his partner. That mane of silver hair was rather distinctive, and yet somehow he had turned for one f*****g second, and when he swiveled back, Gin was gone. “Godd****t, Aniki,” he grumbled as he shot an FBI agent in the chest and dodge the fire from someone from the BND. He ducked behind the forklift in the shipping warehouse, wincing as sparks showered upon him from the spray of bullets contacting the metal skeleton of the machinery.
He snarled and twisted as he took aim, grinning in savage satisfaction as he nailed the German through the heart. He took off at a run, firing at anyone he did not recognize as he tore through the connective hallways into the laboratory warehouse. The equipment here had been thoroughly desecrated, and bodies and glass littered the floor. His shoes crunched on the shattered remains of beakers and test tubes, and as he walked through the partitioned expanse he came across a corpse that did not quite fit in with the rest.
He appeared to be much too young to be an agent, and yet he was familiar. Checking to ensure that there was no threat to him in the immediate vicinity, he squatted down and thumbed open an eyelid in curiosity. A dilated but bright blue eye gazed sightlessly up at him, and he sprang backwards in recognition.
The teenager on the floor, with a bullet between the eyes was none other than Kudo Shinichi—the detective that he and Gin had killed that one night long ago. But… why was he here? He recalled the inquiries Irish had posed regarding the high school detective, but as Gin had brushed it off, he had also discounted any thought of the so-called Great Detective of the East.
Shrugging, he continued his way through the laboratory warehouse, his destination the office space. The mystery of the detective’s presence here was of no concern to him—particularly since said detective was dead, so he gave it no further thought.
A flash of yellow blonde hair ahead caught his attention, and he watched as Vermouth ran further down the hallway, guns in each hand blazing a path of blood as she went. He shrugged at her seemingly maniacal behavior and continued his search for Gin.
Upon reaching the conference room, however, he froze, his gun slipping out of nerveless fingers and clattering onto the concrete floor as he stared in helpless horror. Gin’s vacant green eyes stared at him from the ground, silver hair spread in a bloody halo from the twin circular and cauterized wounds above each eye. “Aniki…” he breathed in shock as he fell to his knees, unable to tear his gaze away. “Aniki…”
The survivors of the national security bureaus found him sitting on his heels as he stared at the man who had been his mentor and partner. As they cuffed him and roughly hauled him to his feet, all Vodka could think about was how he had never thought that Gin—someone so strong, smart, invincible, and just plain cool—could die so easily.
Written by Taliya
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Takagi Wataru
Thursday, September 7: Eight minutes after Operation Raven
Takagi still could not fully comprehend what had happened.
Just two weeks ago, he and select members of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police had been called in to participate in a covert bust operation by the FBI on a secret underground organization—an operation whose mastermind had been a nine-year-old child who they were all very familiar with, but the familiarity still had done nothing to dispel the shock at walking into the briefing room to see him poring over building blueprints with some of the FBI's top agents.
The almost unnatural spark of intelligence in those large blue eyes was more prominent than ever, and Takagi wondered how anyone had ever thought that Edogawa Conan was nothing more than a normal child.
“Who are you?” he had blurted out one day when everyone else had gone off for a lunch break, and he had found the boy sitting alone in the meeting room with drawn blinds blocking out the sunlight.
Conan had looked up from where he had been tracing out a potential infiltration route on a large-scaled building plan and smiled with utter seriousness in his too-mature eyes.
(It was not one of Conan's saccharine smiles, nor was it the smirk that Takagi sometimes caught when the boy thought no one was looking. It was a smile that felt sincere, somehow. More natural than anything about the child.)
“I'll tell you after we're done with all this, Takagi-keiji.”
And now, Kudo Shinichi's chilled body lay on the ground before them, red blood still trickling from a unmistakable bullet wound, painting a grotesque picture on a too-young face. The FBI officer who had brought him out—Agent Jodie Starling, Takagi remembered from their previous encounters—had not said a word as she laid him down in front of their shocked eyes with so much gentleness.
Why? Why was Kudo Shinichi here when they had neither seen nor heard from the youth for at least a whole year?
And why, as Takagi stared at blood-rimmed closed eyes, was he remembering intelligent blue eyes?
(They wouldn't have looked out of place on this face.)
He still had so many questions, and his eyes sought out one person that he felt could answer them. But the agent who had brought the boy out to them was nowhere to be seen, almost as if she had never been there, leaving Takagi with his questions and the cooling body of a boy with bright blue eyes.
(And some small part of him told him that he already knew the answers.)
Written by stelraetnae
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Vermouth
Thursday, September 7: Ten minutes after Operation Raven
It was almost laughable how easy it had been to pass through the lines of police stationed in a circle around the warehouse. Agent Jodie Starling was well known to those involved in the operation as one of the FBI’s representatives, after all. But, they would still have been more careful about checking her identity had it not been for the shock rippling through the ranks, wildfire whispers about how Kudo Shinichi had been found dead in the warehouse. With that kind of news spreading around, who would bother detaining a familiar face walking away from the scene?
And so Vermouth strolled away from the warehouses with even steps that betrayed nothing of the turmoil she felt inside. She had killed Gin, had avenged the death of her Silver Bullet…
But she only felt colder. The same cold she used to feel years ago was slowly seeping back into her soul.
At the edge of the warehouse district she turned her head back, staring back into the distance where she could still see the indistinct mass of the police ranks. And in their midst, somewhere, one of the two people who had helped her feel again lay still and dead, once-warm heart no longer beating.
With a practiced hand she tore off the mask she wore, tossing it aside. No, there was still something she could do. She had lost one of them, but not both. She owed it to him, and to herself.
“I’ll watch over Angel for you, Cool Guy,” she whispered before she disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Written by stelraetnae
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Jodie Starling
Sunday, September 10: Twelve minutes after Operation Raven
Chaos. Utter pandemonium.
Jodie sat on the back bumper of an ambulance, having been bundled in a shock blanket with a cup of hot cocoa pressed into her hands. She was so terribly confused, though primarily on two topics:
One, why was it that the previously “disappeared” high school detective Kudo Shinichi was here, dead; and
Two, how had she been the one to carry him out of the warehouse complex when she clearly had not?
A white sheet covered the teenager’s body over the stretcher that his body lay on. Before they had covered it up, Jodie had seen that the boy’s eyes had been closed despite the obvious wound—which made no sense, seeing as the shot had been near point-blank. Kudo had to have seen his murderer, and she highly doubted that he blinked at the exact moment his killer had pulled the trigger…
… which meant someone else had performed that small courtesy for him. Jodie glanced around the frenzied scene around her. Cop cars lit the area with their strobes of white and red; restrained Organization members were being led to various vehicles to be processed and detained while medics treated those who had been injured in the firefight.
Her eyes returned to the draped body nearby, and she frowned as she wondered, If everyone thought that I carried him out, and yet I know I did not, then… who did?
Written by Taliya
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Haibara Ai
Friday, September 8: Two hours after Operation Raven
Like any other ordinary late-night research work, Haibara Ai sat on her usual place in the basement in front of the computer screen. However, unlike all the other nights before, her mind was nowhere near her task.
Late last night, Kudo had dropped by asking for a temporary antidote. And as usual, Ai had played the stingy card and questioned him to no end about what he was going to use it for. Through the years, the female genius had learned how to ignore any plea coming from her test subject.
“You could die,” she used to say. Once that stopped working she opted with, “You’ll get your cover blown,” and, “She’s getting suspicious, you know.”
Only, they were empty threats to the Modern-Day Holmes, because he knew very well that as long as the Organization existed, whether or not he temporarily returned to his teenage self, people would keep dying either way… People like Ai’s older sister.
So, even despite her defiance, in the end she gave in to him anyway. Even if it meant the antidote might not work on him in the future—if only to give him a chance to be her superhero…
If only to make herself believe there was the slightest chance that a mere child could win the bout against the Crows...
And so it was that the uneventful last hours of that dull, foggy Thursday ended like usual. The click-clacking of the keyboard against her fingers were not enough a distraction from the noises inside her head. What was his deal? What is he doing? What exactly was happening where he was? More importantly… what made him believe that he had an advantage?
That was until, just a few minutes prior, Agasa came down not to check up on her, or give her a mug of her favorite earl grey tea, but to inform her that he had to “check up on something,” and that “he’ll be back right away.” She merely shrugged as if none of it was a concern to her. But once the door clicked shut, the shrunken scientist paused halfway through her typing.
Agasa not giving her any information about this “something” was enough of a hint that the old man would be going to where Kudo is. A terribly dull move, if she may say so herself. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. That it’s several minutes past midnight proves that.
The black cursor on the brightly-lit screen blinked idly, almost mockingly, even, as if it was a time bomb set to explode any minute. Before she knew it, she was taken back to the first weeks without her dear sister. They were dark, lonely times for her, since she was unable to get the answers she needed and bound by the cold, cruel shackles of the ones who had caused her sister’s life to come to an end. She had been more than ready to give herself up, more than ready to die with her secrets so they could neither use her nor learn from her research any longer. Instead, it was her research that had given her another chance at living…
And in a way, it had been Kudo who had given her another chance to redeem herself.
She did not know how long she had been staring blankly. All she knew was that, eventually, and without any warning, the laboratory door creaked open very slowly. In its wake was the mustachioed old man, with trickles of liquid tracing his face. The professor told her that he had been unable to reach her by home or mobile phone—apparently, she had been too deep into her thoughts that even the ringing did not bring her back—so he had come back as fast as he could like he had said he would.
Ai, puzzled by the intrusion, sat up from her position, leaving behind the still blinking cursor (“time bomb”) on her screen.
“Hakase,” she uttered in hushed tones as she walked over the elderly man. She placed a hand over his, as if urging him to tell her what he knows.
“Shinichi-kun, he’s…” Agasa choked before a fresh batch of tears fell down his cheeks, further moistening his moustache and spectacles.
A lump formed in her throat upon hearing the news. The old man’s sobs were enough indication of what had become of the detective. In contrast to this, however, Ai kept a straight face.
“Oh,” said the younger one, eyes filled with the understanding that her would-be hero would never be coming back. Once again, they returned to being lifeless, like how they once had been before Kudo Shinichi had given her a purpose.
“Oh, I see,” she tried again as she returned to her place by the computer. “So I guess the idiot never learned his lesson, huh?”
And there she was—Haibara Ai, in her usual place in the basement, click-clacking away like usual as if nothing even happened. This non-reaction caused the inventor to look up.
“Ai-kun—”
“Leave me alone. I’m busy,” the shrunken scientist ordered, not even bothering to meet the old man’s gaze.
With that, Agasa muttered, “All right. I’m… turning in for today,” before he walked out in silence and closed the door behind him.
Not for the first time that night, the click-clacking stopped, and once again the time bomb ticked without a sound.
“Baka,” Ai whispered to no one in particular, as the image of his silly, spectacled face flashed through her mind.
Ai bit her lip as frustration built up inside her.
“Baka,” she said yet again in the same hushed tone, when the movie-like scene of him throwing the both of them through a thick-glassed bus window played in repeat.
Cold, white hands clenched to fists, and soon, she found herself shaking.
“Baka,” she sniffed, when she heard him say, “Don’t run away from your fate,” like a broken record.
Before she knew it, droplets of clear liquid wet the keyboard in front of her. Slowly, Haibara Ai—no, Miyano Shiho—shrieked and drowned in her own thoughts.
I trusted you! You were supposed to stay safe! You were supposed to stay alive! How can you be such a heartless, stupid idiot?!
All that and more streamed across her mind as Ai let out a high-pitched scream and slammed her hands against the keys, the same way she slammed her fists on him when she first broke down in tears in front of him. All the while she repeated the same word over and over.
Baka! Baka! Baka!
Written by neonquincy1217
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Hattori Heiji
Friday, September 8: Nine hours after Operation Raven
Nineteen-year-old Hattori Heiji shuffled down the stairs, yawning a greeting to his mother and father. Despite the fact that he was now in college and studying at Osaka University, it was cheaper to stay with his parents. They did not mind, and this way Heiji was able to stay up to date in the goings-on of the Osaka Prefectural Police Headquarters courtesy of his father.
Hattori Heizo was already at the table sipping a cup of coffee as he read the morning paper. His mother, Shizuka, was making another plate of tamagoyaki for him.
“A large sting operation went down last night,” Heizo summarized, informing his wife and son. “Apparently it was a covert international operation involving a lot of undercover agents and an extensive crime syndicate.”
Heiji perked up, as it sounded—oddly enough—like the group Shinichi had been after. “What were the results?” he asked as Shizuka placed a plate before him and he thanked her. He muttered, “I humbly receive,” before he popped a roll into his mouth.
“A large number of casualties on both sides,” the Osaka policeman said. He scanned through the list of the deceased mumbling the names of the bodies identified. “Inakawa Haruko, Kiba Tarou—a good man, he was—Kudo Shinichi, Masa—”
“DID YOU SAY KUDO SHINICHI?!” Heiji interrupted rudely, ignoring his mother’s admonishment not to yell at the table.
“I—” Heizo consulted the paper once more. “Yes, I did. It says right here: Kudo Shinichi.” He angled the paper towards his son and pointed at the name.
Heiji stared at the printed name, mouth slack in shock and betrayal as his entire body began to tremble with a flurry of emotions. He ducked his head as he squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenching into shaking fists.
“Heiji…?” Shizuka murmured as both she and her husband noticed their son’s unusual reaction. She glanced at Heizo, who shrugged helplessly—neither had any idea why their son was so affected by the news, as he had barely mentioned his name in passing to them before.
“Heiji…” Heizo did not get a chance to speak further because Heiji abruptly stood up.
“I’m done with breakfast,” he announced stiffly. “Excuse me.” He swiveled without another word and marched himself back up the stairs to his room, refraining from slamming the door behind him. He flopped on his bed face down and hugged his pillow, only then allowing the tears swimming in his eyes to fall.
Kudo… he thought angrily, D**n it all, Kudo! You promised! You promised that I would help you take them down, you b*****d! You… you…
Heiji pounded a fist into his mattress as he began to sob harshly, the realization settling in that he would never talk to the Modern-Day Holmes ever again.
Why’d you do it without me?! I could have helped! I could have… I… you…
… You weren’t supposed to die, Kudo.
Written by Taliya
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Akai Shuichi
Saturday, September 9: Two days after Operation Raven
Masumi had cried her heart out on his shoulder the night before, raging against him, the Organization, the world, and even that stupid, self-sacrificing idiot Kudo Shinichi himself because she did not know who to blame until she had finally fallen asleep exhausted with puffy red bags under her eyes.
Shukichi had been there as well, smoothing down their little sister's hair in a soothing caress and letting her clench his other hand in a too-tight grip without complaint. Shuichi felt his brother looking at him, could see that Shukichi wanted to say, “It's not your fault,” but the younger man kept his silence, knowing that those were not his words to speak. So Shukichi simply reached out his hand to gently curl around his, offering wordless support. Shuichi squeezed back in response, tucking Masumi's tear-streaked face more comfortably against his side.
They mourned that boy together, remembering him as not the teen detective Kudo Shinichi nor the intelligent child Edogawa Conan but as the boy Masumi had called a magician.
And it killed Shuichi inside that he was allowed to hold his family like this while just a few steps down the hallway, another family could no longer afford that luxury.
Written by stelraetnae
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Kuroda Hyoue
Sunday, September 10: Three days after Operation Raven
He had seen it all.
After all, Chief Inspector Kuroda Hyoue had been through hell and back. He had spent ten full years in it, and his memories were still all over the place. That was why the high school detective’s death was nothing but mere bad luck in his opinion… He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Having grown inured to loss by his line of work, it was of no surprise to anyone that, on the day of Kudo Shinichi’s funeral, Division One’s respected big boss stood there with a straight face, leading the rest of his men to pay their final respects as the nineteen-year-old was laid to rest. The one thought that echoed in his mind was that the boy had not taken enough precautions. If he had, he would have stayed alive that night, much like the rest of the Metropolitan Police in attendance.
He knows it all.
The middle-aged chief knew about the brain behind Detective Kogorou. That was why it came as no surprise to him when Takagi broke the news about Kudo and Edogawa being the same person.
The boy had been cunning. He had a strong sense of justice, of what was right and wrong, of what he had to protect and what mattered most… He had been smart but reckless. And that recklessness was what had killed him.
He felt that presence.
By the time the ordeal ended, the sun was just setting. The people were just dispersing, going back to their own lives, as if nothing really happened. Kuroda settled with letting the rest of his men leave ahead of him. He would catch up, he said, as he had pressing matters to attend to.
He rearranged his glasses, took one last look at the Mouris and the Kudos, said his final condolences, and left.
Alone with his thoughts, he walked in silence to where his instincts took him: down the flight of stairs, around the corner, and down the alleyways. It was not until he turned another corner that he took in the sight of a wide-brimmed black hat on a crown of platinum blonde hair.
Instead of stopping, Kuroda kept walking. It was when the woman spoke—with just one word—that he paused.
“Rum,” she called.
“Vermouth,” was his answer. “Why am I not surprised you were at the funeral?”
“You noticed?” the woman hummed, except the usual playful tone in her voice was no longer there. “I merely paid my respects to the Heisei Holmes—”
“And to see his Angel, I bet?”
Vermouth’s lips curved in a frown from behind the thin black veil. “What do you know?”
Chief Kuroda—no—Rum let out a low snicker before turning to face the woman.
“Oh I know a lot… even the fact that you put an end to the Silver Bullet’s murderer.”
“That was not part of the plan,” she said in defense as he detached herself from the wall. In response, Kuroda reminded her, “Be careful. You might be Ano Kata’s favorite. But if word gets out, you could be deemed a traitor, Vermouth.”
That warning raised an alarm in Vermouth’s mind... but for reasons she never thought possible.
With a suspicious glare, the former actress queried, “Why are you telling me this? Is it possible you’re…?”
She paused, letting the statement hang in the air. Could it be... that Rum, the Organization’s number two, was…?
Without another word, the elder lifted his fedora in polite deference, turned, and walked away.
What Kuroda knew, no one else in the Organization has to know.
Even with his memories all over the place, the fact that it was Them who caused him his hell—and that he has been waiting for a chance at vengeance—will forever stay in his memory.
Written by neonquincy1217
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Mouri Kogorou
Wednesday, September 14: Six days after Operation Raven
Kogorou’s back collided with a thud against the main door, eyes glued to the ugly splotches on the ceiling. For the seventh consecutive night since “that incident,” the famous detective had been coming home this way. At a glance, empty eyes, disheveled hair, and prickly stubble on his chin made him looked as though he has not had a case to work in for weeks. In reality, however, his nose had been buried from one incident report to another in an effort to solve what could be Detective Mouri Kogorou’s toughest case yet.
Lost in thought, one hand went up to ruffle his mane. His head finally followed suit and tilted back as his fingers sluggishly moved to loosen his tie. Slowly, he let out a long, exhausted sigh.
His mind was still blurred with all the details, but when he found out from Detective Takagi that something had happened to the freeloading brat exactly a week ago, his knuckles had turned white against the phone’s receiver, had said a quick, “I’ll be right there,” and shouted to Ran about not taking a single step out of their house, and had almost got himself killed in an effort to stop a speeding taxi. He had kept bickering about the car being slow all throughout the drive to police headquarters. Once there, it had been the scary-looking Chief Kuroda who had met him. He had met the guy on a few occasions, but that had been the first time that he had truly feared his presence.
The next turn of events were blurred in the middle-aged man’s memory. But out of all that happened, one event stood out above the rest… Kudo Shinichi’s tragic end.
It has been a week since the four-eyed brat had moved out of his house. Every day since then, Kogorou had woken up with an depressingly heavy feeling in his chest weighing him down like an anchor—a complete contrast from what he had expected he would feel once the nine-year-old left his dominion. He had been nothing but a nuisance to him—even more when he had found out that the brat he shared a room with and the so-called Detective of the East had been one and the same.
Damn, but he had sworn he wanted very badly to burn the kid to death back then.
As if on automatic, the father of one shuffled to his daughter’s bedroom, taking care to be quiet in case he caught her asleep.
“Ran?” he whispered, only to get silence in reply. It was not the first time he had talked to the nineteen-year-old’s unresponsive form like this. But as a parent, he just could not help but feel like he at least had to do something—anything—to keep her from spiraling down into the dark abyss of depression.
“Ran, your mother’s worried about you,” he blurted out when what he really wanted to say was, “I’m worried about you.”
Kogorou took one careful step after another until he stood beside her bed, only to confirm that she truly was asleep.
The elder man sighed yet again. Even in the darkness of the room, the single ray of fluorescent light coming from the direction of the door was enough to illuminate her face. With the way Ran looked, puffy-eyed, red-faced, and curled up like a pitiful rain-drenched kitten, it did not take a detective to know that his daughter had once again cried herself to sleep.
Instinctively, he reached for the blanket by her feet and covered her with it—something he admittedly had not done for her for more than a decade.
As he tucked her in, a sudden realization occurred to him.
The Kudo brat had lied to both him and Ran: that was a fact. But even despite his lies, in his own way, it had been Kudo who had helped keep him and Ran together. It had been Kudo helping him solve his cases. He had helped him care for Ran.
And… well…
Growing attached to Conan, the freeloading brat, the know-it-all, the annoying four-eyes, the… shrunken form of his daughter’s best friend, was something Kogorou would never admit to anybody.
Because the truth of the matter was, that even in her dire need of comfort, he could not be there for her.
He had always resented the Kudo brat because he might just be the one to take his daughter away from him, but now…
Seeing as Ran would not stop grieving for him, his only wish was for him to come back so he could resent him all over again…
Written by neonquincy1217
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Mouri Ran
Thursday, September 14: One week after Operation Raven
It had been a week.
A week since Conan had left with his mother for America, exchanging teary goodbyes and wishes.
A week since Shinichi had... returned, but with his eyes closed no matter how much Ran cried out to him.
A week since she had lost two of the people she loved most, together.
(And it was together, no matter how much her heart refused to admit it.)
Blindly, her fingers dialed the familiar sequence of Conan's phone number. And the part of her that refused to accept the truth made her press down on the call button, letting the dial tone ring—just like she had done so many times already.
(Her mind lied to her heart, telling her that it was because Conan was in a different country; of course he wouldn't continue to use his Japanese number...)
The dial tone rang, and rang on...
And suddenly with a click that sent her mind in a whirl, an achingly familiar voice answered.
“Hello, Ran-nee-chan?”
Her knuckles had turned white from the force that she gripped her phone with both hands to the extent that it was a wonder the device did not cracked under the pressure. Her voice shook, disbelieving, hoping beyond hope that this was real. “C—Conan-kun?”
“Yes?” The simple answer, uttered with the innocent curiosity that had always characterized the child's voice, brought tears to Ran's eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she struggled to regain control of her emotions before managing to speak with a voice that only slightly shook.
“Conan-kun? A-Are you having fun in your new home in America?”
As she listened to Conan chatter on about how he had watched a cartoon during the long flight over and how there was a big park in front of his house with a pond that had ducks, she turned her head up to stare at the looming structure that her feet had unconsciously brought her to.
It seemed dark, somehow—cold—which was ridiculous since it was the middle of the day and the sun was shining without clouds to block its light.
(It was a chill that even Conan's cheerful ramblings could not cast away.)
Just like she had done so many times before, she slowly walked up the driveway to Shinichi's house, fishing out the spare key from the flowerpot on the porch. Without giving it any more thought, she turned the key and stepped inside.
(It was darker inside the house. Colder. Quiet. It was a place where the sunlight couldn't reach.)
There was a pair of shoes in the doorway. Subaru-san—no, Akai-san had moved out a week ago, right after the... incident. So there should be no one living here anymore. And the size of those shoes was much smaller than those that Subaru-san had worn. In a daze she moved through the house, seeing little signs of life. There was an upturned mug on the drying rack, a damp rag thrown carelessly in a corner of the pantry, and faint steam still rising from the half-empty kettle.
She walked further, steps light as though she was trying not to disturb the silence of the house. And then she heard it: the whisper of a voice floating down the hallway. A familiar voice, the same one that she was also hearing from her phone. The voice of someone who claimed to be a twelve hour flight away from here. Yet it came from behind the door she now stood before.
Before she knew it she had grasped the doorknob, flinging open the door to be met with wide blue eyes that stared at her with undisguised shock.
Conan's voice stuttered to a choking stop. With a thump two items fell to the carpeted floor: Conan's phone and an equally familiar red bow-tie.
“R-Ran-chan... I—I'm so sor—”
Ran shook her head, cutting the apology off. It was not from a refusal to accept the apology, but something different. Something different that made Ran's heart ache in a way different from how it had felt for the past week.
Blue eyes, almost childlike and vulnerable yet holding so much pain, stared helplessly back at her.
Ran's heart ached because here was a woman who had just lost her only son, and yet she was still thinking of others, trying her best to spare Ran more pain. She held out her arms even as her vision filled with tears, and she felt Yukiko fall into the embrace, returning it with warm arms that finally reached Ran's frozen heart.
As the two women who had loved both Shinichi and Conan the most cried in each other's arms, they slowly began to accept that he truly was not coming back.
Written by stelraetnae
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Agasa Hiroshi
Saturday, October 7: One month after Operation Raven
The living room was shrouded in darkness, lit only by the light of the three-quarter moon that shone through the windows that lined the large space. At the bar, a single figure sat, hunched over with an air of inconsolable misery and guilt. Agasa Hiroshi stared down at an innocuous red bowtie cradled in his hands as though it were more fragile than hand-blown glass, and he rubbed his thumbs gently against the fine-spun cotton fabric.
“Shinichi,” he breathed, and his lips trembled beneath the bristle of his moustache. “Forgive me, Shinichi…!”
His eyes closed, squeezing out tears as he remembered the genius teenager-turned-child who had come to him for help. Before that fateful night, Hiroshi had always considered himself an eccentric man with a number of what amounted to essentially useless invention ideas. But that night, the neighbor he had watched grow from an inquisitive infant to a bright young man had turned to him in his greatest time of need—and Hiroshi had never felt more humbled and honored. He had done his utmost to give Shinichi the best tools he could that suited his apparent age, creating each gadget with the hope of helping the teenager return to his former self, as well as keeping him alive and safe from the Organization that he pursued.
Hiroshi had always admired the dedication that Shinichi had possessed—that drive to seek justice in order to stop the cycle of revenge was one of the most remarkable things about that young man. It had made Hiroshi prouder than he could have imagined knowing that such an extraordinary young man trusted and depended so heavily on him for assistance. Shinichi had possessed a bright fire in his soul, one that had brought warmth and hope to all who encountered him…
… but now…
… now, that flame was gone, snuffed out like a candle with the merest puff of breath, the tail of acrid smoke a bitter reminder of what had once been.
My worthless inventions did nothing in the end. They could not save you in your greatest hour of need, and I’m to blame for not taking everything into account. If only… the inventor thought, droplets of water beading on the bowtie as he stifled a sob, hoping that he would not wake Ai, … if only…
Shinichi… I’ve failed you in every way…
… and I’m so, so sorry.
Written by Taliya
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Yoshida Ayumi
Friday, November 11: Two months after Operation Raven
Ayumi’s eyes watered as she stared at the empty desk, barely able to keep from crying right then and there. It had been two months since he had gone—two months since Edogawa Conan had told them his mother was finally taking him back to America. He had seemed cheerful about the transition to his native country, and though Ayumi tried to be happy for him, her heart had sank upon hearing the news. Genta and Mitsuhiko had not taken it well either, as both had vociferously tried to argue him into staying with one of them instead—except Ai had quickly put an end to that with the simple remark:
“Don’t you think Edogawa-kun would rather live with his own family?”
She set her book bag down on her own desk and sighed deeply.
“Ayumi-chan?” Mitsuhiko’s voice was soft and understanding as she tore her gaze away from that desk. “You still think about him a lot?”
“How can you not?” Genta grumped as he dropped his bag on the surface of his desk. “He was an important member of the Shounen Tantei.” But the large boy physically deflated upon seating himself as he muttered, “I miss him.”
“I hope he’s happy,” Ayumi commented quietly as she began to unload her satchel. “Do you think he’s happy, Ai-chan?” she asked the strawberry blonde, who had just entered the classroom.
Ai’s gaze was stricken with some deep pain for the most fleeting of moments before the emotion was snuffed out and her usual calm demeanor smoothed her expression. “I’m sure he is,” she replied placidly, though Ayumi could hear the faintest wobble in her voice. A quick glance at Genta and Mitsuhiko proved that she was not the only one. And yet, the three were reluctant to press Ai for more information regarding Conan. Ever since Conan’s withdrawal from the school, Ai had somehow become more fragile, more tired, more sad.
Ayumi could not explain—did not know the correct words to describe Ai’s new emotional fragility—or perhaps she knew, but did not understand the true meaning of the word. As their homeroom teacher entered and began roll call, Ayumi idly flipped through the dictionary she had brought to aid in writing an essay for Japanese Literature and stumbled across a word that suddenly made Ai’s behavior regarding Conan horrifyingly clear…
… and her heart shuddered at the implications.
Grief n. – deep sadness caused especially by someone’s death
One glance at Conan’s desk had her suddenly bawling without her permission, and it was Ai who quietly excused the two of them from the classroom so that Ayumi could freshen up in the bathroom. Once she had splashed water on her face, the brunette stared at the strawberry blonde in the mirror and asked with hesitant terror, “Ai-chan, what really happened to Conan-kun?”
And Ayumi’s heart imploded when Ai began to silently cry.
Written by Taliya
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Agasa Hiroshi
Saturday, September 7: One year after Operation Raven
The early morning sun was warm on his back despite the gentle breeze that carried a chilly hint of the coming autumn. His feet carried him to a stop before a polished basalt monument beneath a Bloodgood Japanese maple bearing the surname Kudo. His eyes traced the newest addition carved into the stone: Kudo Shinichi. A polished wooden board* rested against on the front ledge of the monument with a name engraved on the surface: Edogawa Conan.
With great care, Agasa Hiroshi, longtime friend and neighbor of the fallen detective, wiped off the stone, brushing fallen crimson leaves off with a damp rag he had brought with him before setting a bouquet of pale bluish-violet asters* and white chrysanthemums* in a plain vase on the ledge next to the sotoba*. He stepped back after his task was done, face pulled in a frown as he eyed the two names that had represented one person.
Withdrawing a stick of incense from his pocket, he stuck it in the shallow bowl full of fine sand and lit the end, clapping his hands together as he bent his head in prayer to pay his respect. After several moments, he straightened and carefully reached out a hand to trace the kanji of the detective’s true name.
“Shinichi,” he murmured. “I hope you are well, and that takamonohara* is every bit as wonderful as they say it is.” His arm dropped as though suddenly tired, and his fingers curled into a fist. “I…” His voice wobbled with the strength of his emotions, and he had to take several steadying breaths. “Ran-kun’s just begun dating Hondou Eisuke, who has returned from America. I think she has finally begun to move on, and though I know you loved her dearly, I hope you are happy that she is beginning to find her own happiness—even if it’s not with you.”
He paused once more to steady his voice. “Your parents, last I heard, were in Italy trying to escape your father’s editors. Ai-kun’s doing well, as are the kids—though they all miss you. And I… I miss you too.”
Hiroshi exhaled shakily. “Please forgive me, Shinichi, for failing you so terribly.”
The wind stirred, and for a moment, instead of feeling chilled by the breeze, Hiroshi inexplicably felt warmth instead. Then it was gone, the leaves of the Bloodgood rustling with a soft, seemingly content sigh.
Agasa Hiroshi was suddenly overcome with emotion and he fought not to cry as he glanced up into the blue skies and whispered, “Thank you.”
*sotoba - polished wooden board with the deceased’s name carved on it
*Aster tataricus - remembrance
*white chrysanthemum - truth
*takamonohara - heaven in the Shinto religion, where the principal deities reside
Written by Taliya
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Mouri Ran
Sunday, August 21: Three years after Operation Raven
Ran knelt down in front of the grave, reaching out fingers to touch the familiar contours of the name etched on the smooth stone.
“Hello, Shinichi. A lot of things have happened since I last came to visit. I’ve just graduated from university, you see. The graduation ceremony was last week. Mum and Dad came to it; so did Professor Agasa and Ai-chan.
“Ai-chan and the others are entering their last year of elementary school already. They’ve all grown so much—Genta-kun will soon be taller than me! It’s crazy how fast time is going; they’ll be high school students before we know it. Sonoko was there too, with Makoto-san. She wouldn’t miss her own graduation, after all. In fact, I think she was the most excited out of all of us.
“And do you remember Hondou Eisuke? He came back from America a few years ago to study at Touto University, and he graduated together with Sonoko and I. You never got to meet him properly, did you? I think you would have gotten along really well. I came today with Eisuke-kun. Shinichi…”
She paused, tears glistening in her eyes. She imagined Shinichi smiling at her, fond exasperation in his expression.
“Cry-baby,” he would chide gently, “There’s nothing to cry about, silly.”
She brushed away her tears, a smile of her own lighting up in response. “I still miss you, Shinichi, and a part of me will always love you. But I’ve moved on. Eisuke proposed to me last week, right after graduation—and I accepted. I’m going with him to America in three weeks’ time. He’s good to me, Shinichi. I love him and he loves me as well. I’m happy now, Shinichi, and I’d like to think that you’d be happy for me too.”
The soft tap of footsteps made her look up. Ran smiled up at Eisuke as he approached, a filled bucket of water in his right hand and a ladle and rags in the other. He had considerately offered to fetch the cleaning materials to give Ran a chance to speak to her childhood friend alone. He smiled back with a sweetness that always made Ran’s heart flutter as they began to clean the grave together, wiping the smooth stone and removing stray weeds.
The two of them had reunited by chance during their university days, and had finally started dating halfway through second year—which, according to their friends, had been a long time coming. The once shy and awkward youth had matured into a young man, steadfast but still just as kind-hearted. Eisuke was slated to begin his training with the CIA next month, having applied for the position after graduating from Touto University with a degree in Forensic Psychology and Criminal Justice. Ran herself had recently completed her degree in Criminal Law. It had taken a good amount of consideration, but the overwhelming support from her family and friends had given her the courage to decide to pursue her vocational training in America.
Done with the traditional routine of cleaning the grave, Eisuke knelt down next to Ran, giving a respectful bow and a soft smile. His hand found hers, covering it and clasping it warmly.
“It’s been a long time, Kudo-kun. Do you remember? Five years ago, I revealed to you my feelings and intentions towards Ran-san. Right now I would like to tell you that none of that has changed. My feelings have only deepened over the years, and—I truly love her. I promise to take care of Ran, Kudo-kun. So you don’t have to worry.”
They stood together, hands still linked. Ran smiled through the tears that wavered on her eyelashes, but these were tears of happiness, not sorrow. “We’ll come to visit again soon, Shinichi. Please watch over us.”
And through her hazy vision she thought she saw the familiar warmth of cerulean blue eyes, smiling back at her.
Written by stelraetae
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So while I cannot speak for stelraetnae or neonquincy1217 , I for one thoroughly enjoyed the experience and had so much fun plotting this thing out. I'm so happy with how it turned out, and thank you, stelra and quincy, for this amazing experience!
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Warnings: Violence, language, character death, massive amounts of angst and anger
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Blackout
A Collaborative Story by stelraetnae, neonquincy1217, and Taliya
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Word Count: 9933
Rating: T
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Edogawa Conan
Thursday, September 1: One week before Operation Raven
Nine-year-old Edogawa Conan sat in one of the chairs of a meeting room inside the police department’s headquarters, a mug of steaming black coffee in hand as he poured over tentative strategy outlines and building blueprints with intent concentration. Around him were some of the people involved in the planning: Jodie Starling, James Black, and Edmund Hölzer of the German BND. Not present were Furuya Rei, Akai Shuichi, Andre Camel, Takagi Wataru, Satou Miwako, Megure Juuzo, Hondou Hidemi, François Chevalier of the CSIS, and Winston Crewe from MI6. The low buzz of conversation was a soothing background noise to him as he worked, and it thrilled him to know that these people had always, if unknowingly, sided with him.
Conan was more grateful than ever for becoming acquaintances with the Americans. It was what had given him the key he needed to organize the manpower necessary to take down the Organization. He watched Jodie and James as they discussed differences in extraction methods with Edmund, and he smiled fondly at them. Truly, the Americans had been more open-minded regarding his intelligence and abilities than anyone else he had met.
“I think we should break for lunch,” Edmund finally announced with a grin as his stomach audibly growled. James laughed in agreement, and the three adults rose from their seats.
“You want to come along, Cool Kid?” Jodie asked.
Conan shook his head. “I have an idea I would like to chase first. That and I had a late breakfast, so I’ll be fine, Jodie-sensei,” he replied. “But thanks!”
James frowned. “Will you be alright by yourself?”
The elementary student nodded. “I promise I won’t make a mess of things,” he answered earnestly, earning a chuckle from the man.
“I know you won’t, but I needed to ask just in case.” When Conan reaffirmed that he would be fine alone, the three adults exited the room with a promise to bring something back for him.
Conan sighed heavily once the door closed. Only one week left, and none of the adults would budge on allowing him to participate in the operation. Each of them, regardless of the fact that they recognized how capable he was, felt no child should partake in a firefight. He gritted his teeth. He was not a child—not in the way they thought. At the moment he was still working on buttering Haibara up, bugging her daily for the latest trial antidote of the apoptoxin. She was slowly wearing down under his daily barrage, and he hoped that she would give in by the time the operation commenced.
He frowned. He would be there, no matter what. This was just as much his fight—his battle, his war—just like it was Jodie’s, Furuya’s, Hidemi’s, Shuichi’s. But this was not just his—he was also fighting for Haibara too, fighting to ensure that she could live without having to always keep an eye watching over a shoulder.
“Conan-kun!” Takagi Wataru’s surprised voice snapped him out of his musings. “I thought everyone had gone to lunch?”
“I’m okay right now,” Conan chirped. “They said they would bring something back for me. There’s something I’m working on that I don’t want to quit from just yet.”
“Ah,” Takagi answered, and he deposited a stack of papers—reconnaissance photographs by the look of it—on the table and began to sort through them. The meeting room was quiet, the two working peaceably as the lunch hour passed. “Conan-kun,” the homicide detective said hesitantly, and Conan hummed questioningly without looking up. Takagi was quiet for several moments before he asked, “Who are you?”
The question had Conan shifting his attention from working out potential infiltration routes with a blueprint of the buildings to him before he smiled. It was a tired smile, one that revealed his desire to be done with the Organization, his weariness at being considered a child, his hope that the Organization would be brought down once and for all. It was that and so much more: his wish to be with Ran, his desire to keep Haibara safe, his fury at the deaths the Organization caused—so many things rolled up into that one smile that encompassed everything he felt regarding this sting operation. It was a smile from the bottom of his heart, carefully bared to this kind and competent, but bumbling and nervous homicide detective who had done his best to watch out for him over the years.
And as Takagi had given him the most leeway during cases—regarded him as more than a mere child—Conan felt the man deserved an answer.
“I’ll tell you after we’re done with all this, Takagi-keiji,” he answered softly, and the smile he gave to the man was his promise before he returned his attention to the blueprints before him.
He heard Takagi return to his own work before he rose to leave. Right before he opened the door, Takagi remarked, “I look forward to your answer, little Meitantei.”
Conan smiled and murmured softly after the door had clicked shut, “I look forward to telling you, Takagi-keiji.”
Written by Taliya
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Kudo Shinichi
Thursday, September 7: Thirteen minutes after initiation of Operation Raven
Temporarily restored nineteen-year-old Kudo Shinichi’s feet pattered along the seemingly empty space, the sound drowned out by the report of gunfire that echoed within his metal and concrete environs. Within the cavernous building, members of the Organization fought against agents from the Japanese PSB and Tokyo MPD, American FBI and CIA, British MI6, German BND, and Canadian CSIS.
In the thirteen minutes past ten o’clock—the initiation of Operation Raven—he had managed to take out three unnamed members of the Organization with the judicious use of several smaller pieces of laboratory equipment lying about and a few well-aimed kicks. The base of the Organization’s operations was a series of interconnected warehouses in Kawagoe’s Warehouse District, the interiors of which had been either converted to offices or partitioned off by the strategic placement of various larger pieces of laboratory equipment that provided plenty of places to hide. He had managed to sneak in via a window near the ceiling: a nod to Kaitou KID was needed, as he had seen the thief in action too many times to not pick up some of his tricks.
His Sig Sauer, smuggled into the country courtesy of his parents, was clenched tightly in his right hand and ready at a moment’s notice, though he carried it only as a last resort. He still preferred concussions to dead bodies any day. He peered out from behind an incubator, studying the layout. He fleetingly wondered if this had been one of the places Haibara had worked in, but his attention snapped towards the sound of running feet. He tensed, ready to run or fight as they came nearer. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he adjusted his grip on his gun, just in case.
His time as Edogawa Conan—despite the utter pain becoming a six year old again had been, had also had the unexpected bonus of several new and rather capable allies—primarily in the form of the American FBI. He had, not long after having had his plan to save Akai Shuichi’s cover from Furuya Rei’s investigation implemented, been approached by the American sniper with the intention of laying down the framework to take down the Organization.
The FBI had discreetly approached the intelligence agencies of various other countries, and thus a plan to bring the Organization to light had been hatched. Many of the agents gathered had initially objected to a child participating in such an operation, but they had quieted after he had laid out his proposal. None could find any major loopholes with his strategy, and thus they had begun working out the details: obtaining blueprints, taking a headcount, and estimating how much firepower their common enemy possessed. All that planning had culminated into this one night.
He winced as the report of shots rang out, followed by shrieks of pain and the unforgettable thud of bodies hitting the floor. That sound would haunt him for the rest of his life. Peering around the incubator, he barely had time to see who had been downed, let alone who the shooter was when he jerked back behind the safety of the incubator, a shot ringing against the steel machine.
“I know you’re there,” the shooter growled, and a chill swept down Shinichi’s spine at the sound of Gin’s voice.
Shinichi considered his two options. He could remain where he was, but he would be unable to leave due to Gin’s presence; or he could make a run for it and hope that Gin was not the marksman that the detective knew he was. Taking a breath, he launched himself from his hiding spot, making a dash for the next table over when a searing pain in his leg blindsided him. He stumbled and collapsed to the floor with a pained yelp, realizing from the angle at which his leg had folded and twisted that his femur had likely been shattered by Gin’s bullet. He squirmed on the floor in agony, breath hissing between clenched teeth as calm footsteps approached him. The sedative dart in his watch was useless against this man even had he not already used it—a hard-earned lesson learnt through experience. With great effort he uncurled himself long enough to glare at his would-be killer.
Gin gazed coldly back down, gun aimed at him. “Goodbye, little boy,” he sneered mockingly and pulled the trigger.
There was a brief flare of excruciating agony between his eyes, then—
—nothing.
Written by Taliya
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Vermouth
Thursday, September 7: Fifteen minutes after initiation of Operation Raven
Rage. There was no other word to describe the intensity of Vermouth’s anger. She was going to kill that bleeding motherf*****r herself.
She had come running into the laboratory after having offed two CSIS agents—just as Gin emptied a single round into Kudo Shinichi’s head. The sight of her Silver Bullet’s body jerking once as the projectile blew a bloody hole through the back of his skull had shocked her senseless. There was no way—there was absolutely no way…
Gin’s merciless green eyes flicked up to meet hers, silently conveying to her to continue their extermination of the invaders before he swept off in a blur of silver and black. It was only after he had gone that she staggered forward, approaching the still body. All of her dreams of freedom, her hopes for redemption—gone in a single breath—all because she had been one un-f*****g-knowing second too slow.
She knelt slowly after stepping around to his side, taking in his still, slack, blank expression marred only by the slowly oozing entry wound situated perfectly between his brows. “Silver Bullet…”
She scarcely dared to breathe, and her initial shocked apathy vaporized into a raging inferno of fury in her gut. She brushed one gloved finger against his still-warm cheek before gently, reverently sliding his still open eyes closed, the gesture more tender and affectionate than she had ever revealed to him when he had been alive. Her eyes burned with wrath as she lifted them to the seemingly empty laboratory with its destroyed equipment scattered and broken.
“Gin,” she hissed venomously, nearly tearing the leather of her hip holster as she wrenched out a second handgun and stood, baring her teeth in a snarl. Her expression gentled for a moment as her eyes settled upon the still form before her. “I’ll avenge you, Cool Guy,” she murmured with heavy promise in her voice as she ratcheted her second gun. “I’ll shoot that bastard for you.”
Her heels clicked as she took off at a run, retracing Gin’s path by the number of bodies that littered the hallways. Gunfire and screams echoed through the hallways, and she zeroed in on the sound. She slid around another corner into the converted office warehouse and swore under her breath at the thought of searching for Gin in the individual rooms. She began peering into each and every office, moving on when she did not find a head of long silver hair. She glanced into a conference room and found her target.
He really was the ideal killer, she reflected, all cold indifference and precise efficiency. He released two bullets, one to immobilize an MI6 agent before killing him with a headshot. At the sound of her footsteps he turned, eyes narrowing as he greeted, “Vermouth.”
She nodded in faux cordiality before bringing up both guns and firing. He dodged, ducking behind the conference table while returning fire.
“I should have killed you long ago, traitorous wretch,” he growled as he moved around the room to keep himself from becoming a stationary target.
Vermouth moved in counterpoint to Gin, searching for an opening while keeping herself protected. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of blowing your brains out,” she replied with casual lightness that belied her murderous intent. A shot grazed her cheek, leaving a stripe of blood and she soundlessly snarled, aiming between the chair legs. She caught him once by sheer luck in the leg and another in the arm, sufficiently slowing him down enough to where she felt she could take him head on. She leapt on the table, sliding across the blood-slicked surface to where he was, clipping his hand hard enough to flip his weapon from his grasp. Several more rounds into his legs and hands kept him pinned to the spot and defenseless, and Vermouth slid off the table with the grace of a hunting tigress closing in on her prey.
Gin glared up at her as he clutched his ruined hands to his chest. “I hope you rot in hell, you b***h,” he snarled with absolute hatred.
Vermouth smirked, pointing her guns at him. “You first,” she answered, and fired. Gin keeled over, dead from the dual shots to his brain, and the blonde sighed shakily as she whispered, “For you, Silver Bullet… For you.”
Written by Taliya
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Vodka
Thursday, September 7: Twenty minutes after initiation of Operation Raven
The sound of gunfire was disorienting, and somewhere along the way he had lost sight of his partner. That mane of silver hair was rather distinctive, and yet somehow he had turned for one f*****g second, and when he swiveled back, Gin was gone. “Godd****t, Aniki,” he grumbled as he shot an FBI agent in the chest and dodge the fire from someone from the BND. He ducked behind the forklift in the shipping warehouse, wincing as sparks showered upon him from the spray of bullets contacting the metal skeleton of the machinery.
He snarled and twisted as he took aim, grinning in savage satisfaction as he nailed the German through the heart. He took off at a run, firing at anyone he did not recognize as he tore through the connective hallways into the laboratory warehouse. The equipment here had been thoroughly desecrated, and bodies and glass littered the floor. His shoes crunched on the shattered remains of beakers and test tubes, and as he walked through the partitioned expanse he came across a corpse that did not quite fit in with the rest.
He appeared to be much too young to be an agent, and yet he was familiar. Checking to ensure that there was no threat to him in the immediate vicinity, he squatted down and thumbed open an eyelid in curiosity. A dilated but bright blue eye gazed sightlessly up at him, and he sprang backwards in recognition.
The teenager on the floor, with a bullet between the eyes was none other than Kudo Shinichi—the detective that he and Gin had killed that one night long ago. But… why was he here? He recalled the inquiries Irish had posed regarding the high school detective, but as Gin had brushed it off, he had also discounted any thought of the so-called Great Detective of the East.
Shrugging, he continued his way through the laboratory warehouse, his destination the office space. The mystery of the detective’s presence here was of no concern to him—particularly since said detective was dead, so he gave it no further thought.
A flash of yellow blonde hair ahead caught his attention, and he watched as Vermouth ran further down the hallway, guns in each hand blazing a path of blood as she went. He shrugged at her seemingly maniacal behavior and continued his search for Gin.
Upon reaching the conference room, however, he froze, his gun slipping out of nerveless fingers and clattering onto the concrete floor as he stared in helpless horror. Gin’s vacant green eyes stared at him from the ground, silver hair spread in a bloody halo from the twin circular and cauterized wounds above each eye. “Aniki…” he breathed in shock as he fell to his knees, unable to tear his gaze away. “Aniki…”
The survivors of the national security bureaus found him sitting on his heels as he stared at the man who had been his mentor and partner. As they cuffed him and roughly hauled him to his feet, all Vodka could think about was how he had never thought that Gin—someone so strong, smart, invincible, and just plain cool—could die so easily.
Written by Taliya
---
Takagi Wataru
Thursday, September 7: Eight minutes after Operation Raven
Takagi still could not fully comprehend what had happened.
Just two weeks ago, he and select members of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police had been called in to participate in a covert bust operation by the FBI on a secret underground organization—an operation whose mastermind had been a nine-year-old child who they were all very familiar with, but the familiarity still had done nothing to dispel the shock at walking into the briefing room to see him poring over building blueprints with some of the FBI's top agents.
The almost unnatural spark of intelligence in those large blue eyes was more prominent than ever, and Takagi wondered how anyone had ever thought that Edogawa Conan was nothing more than a normal child.
“Who are you?” he had blurted out one day when everyone else had gone off for a lunch break, and he had found the boy sitting alone in the meeting room with drawn blinds blocking out the sunlight.
Conan had looked up from where he had been tracing out a potential infiltration route on a large-scaled building plan and smiled with utter seriousness in his too-mature eyes.
(It was not one of Conan's saccharine smiles, nor was it the smirk that Takagi sometimes caught when the boy thought no one was looking. It was a smile that felt sincere, somehow. More natural than anything about the child.)
“I'll tell you after we're done with all this, Takagi-keiji.”
And now, Kudo Shinichi's chilled body lay on the ground before them, red blood still trickling from a unmistakable bullet wound, painting a grotesque picture on a too-young face. The FBI officer who had brought him out—Agent Jodie Starling, Takagi remembered from their previous encounters—had not said a word as she laid him down in front of their shocked eyes with so much gentleness.
Why? Why was Kudo Shinichi here when they had neither seen nor heard from the youth for at least a whole year?
And why, as Takagi stared at blood-rimmed closed eyes, was he remembering intelligent blue eyes?
(They wouldn't have looked out of place on this face.)
He still had so many questions, and his eyes sought out one person that he felt could answer them. But the agent who had brought the boy out to them was nowhere to be seen, almost as if she had never been there, leaving Takagi with his questions and the cooling body of a boy with bright blue eyes.
(And some small part of him told him that he already knew the answers.)
Written by stelraetnae
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Vermouth
Thursday, September 7: Ten minutes after Operation Raven
It was almost laughable how easy it had been to pass through the lines of police stationed in a circle around the warehouse. Agent Jodie Starling was well known to those involved in the operation as one of the FBI’s representatives, after all. But, they would still have been more careful about checking her identity had it not been for the shock rippling through the ranks, wildfire whispers about how Kudo Shinichi had been found dead in the warehouse. With that kind of news spreading around, who would bother detaining a familiar face walking away from the scene?
And so Vermouth strolled away from the warehouses with even steps that betrayed nothing of the turmoil she felt inside. She had killed Gin, had avenged the death of her Silver Bullet…
But she only felt colder. The same cold she used to feel years ago was slowly seeping back into her soul.
At the edge of the warehouse district she turned her head back, staring back into the distance where she could still see the indistinct mass of the police ranks. And in their midst, somewhere, one of the two people who had helped her feel again lay still and dead, once-warm heart no longer beating.
With a practiced hand she tore off the mask she wore, tossing it aside. No, there was still something she could do. She had lost one of them, but not both. She owed it to him, and to herself.
“I’ll watch over Angel for you, Cool Guy,” she whispered before she disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Written by stelraetnae
---
Jodie Starling
Sunday, September 10: Twelve minutes after Operation Raven
Chaos. Utter pandemonium.
Jodie sat on the back bumper of an ambulance, having been bundled in a shock blanket with a cup of hot cocoa pressed into her hands. She was so terribly confused, though primarily on two topics:
One, why was it that the previously “disappeared” high school detective Kudo Shinichi was here, dead; and
Two, how had she been the one to carry him out of the warehouse complex when she clearly had not?
A white sheet covered the teenager’s body over the stretcher that his body lay on. Before they had covered it up, Jodie had seen that the boy’s eyes had been closed despite the obvious wound—which made no sense, seeing as the shot had been near point-blank. Kudo had to have seen his murderer, and she highly doubted that he blinked at the exact moment his killer had pulled the trigger…
… which meant someone else had performed that small courtesy for him. Jodie glanced around the frenzied scene around her. Cop cars lit the area with their strobes of white and red; restrained Organization members were being led to various vehicles to be processed and detained while medics treated those who had been injured in the firefight.
Her eyes returned to the draped body nearby, and she frowned as she wondered, If everyone thought that I carried him out, and yet I know I did not, then… who did?
Written by Taliya
---
Haibara Ai
Friday, September 8: Two hours after Operation Raven
Like any other ordinary late-night research work, Haibara Ai sat on her usual place in the basement in front of the computer screen. However, unlike all the other nights before, her mind was nowhere near her task.
Late last night, Kudo had dropped by asking for a temporary antidote. And as usual, Ai had played the stingy card and questioned him to no end about what he was going to use it for. Through the years, the female genius had learned how to ignore any plea coming from her test subject.
“You could die,” she used to say. Once that stopped working she opted with, “You’ll get your cover blown,” and, “She’s getting suspicious, you know.”
Only, they were empty threats to the Modern-Day Holmes, because he knew very well that as long as the Organization existed, whether or not he temporarily returned to his teenage self, people would keep dying either way… People like Ai’s older sister.
So, even despite her defiance, in the end she gave in to him anyway. Even if it meant the antidote might not work on him in the future—if only to give him a chance to be her superhero…
If only to make herself believe there was the slightest chance that a mere child could win the bout against the Crows...
And so it was that the uneventful last hours of that dull, foggy Thursday ended like usual. The click-clacking of the keyboard against her fingers were not enough a distraction from the noises inside her head. What was his deal? What is he doing? What exactly was happening where he was? More importantly… what made him believe that he had an advantage?
That was until, just a few minutes prior, Agasa came down not to check up on her, or give her a mug of her favorite earl grey tea, but to inform her that he had to “check up on something,” and that “he’ll be back right away.” She merely shrugged as if none of it was a concern to her. But once the door clicked shut, the shrunken scientist paused halfway through her typing.
Agasa not giving her any information about this “something” was enough of a hint that the old man would be going to where Kudo is. A terribly dull move, if she may say so herself. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. That it’s several minutes past midnight proves that.
The black cursor on the brightly-lit screen blinked idly, almost mockingly, even, as if it was a time bomb set to explode any minute. Before she knew it, she was taken back to the first weeks without her dear sister. They were dark, lonely times for her, since she was unable to get the answers she needed and bound by the cold, cruel shackles of the ones who had caused her sister’s life to come to an end. She had been more than ready to give herself up, more than ready to die with her secrets so they could neither use her nor learn from her research any longer. Instead, it was her research that had given her another chance at living…
And in a way, it had been Kudo who had given her another chance to redeem herself.
She did not know how long she had been staring blankly. All she knew was that, eventually, and without any warning, the laboratory door creaked open very slowly. In its wake was the mustachioed old man, with trickles of liquid tracing his face. The professor told her that he had been unable to reach her by home or mobile phone—apparently, she had been too deep into her thoughts that even the ringing did not bring her back—so he had come back as fast as he could like he had said he would.
Ai, puzzled by the intrusion, sat up from her position, leaving behind the still blinking cursor (“time bomb”) on her screen.
“Hakase,” she uttered in hushed tones as she walked over the elderly man. She placed a hand over his, as if urging him to tell her what he knows.
“Shinichi-kun, he’s…” Agasa choked before a fresh batch of tears fell down his cheeks, further moistening his moustache and spectacles.
A lump formed in her throat upon hearing the news. The old man’s sobs were enough indication of what had become of the detective. In contrast to this, however, Ai kept a straight face.
“Oh,” said the younger one, eyes filled with the understanding that her would-be hero would never be coming back. Once again, they returned to being lifeless, like how they once had been before Kudo Shinichi had given her a purpose.
“Oh, I see,” she tried again as she returned to her place by the computer. “So I guess the idiot never learned his lesson, huh?”
And there she was—Haibara Ai, in her usual place in the basement, click-clacking away like usual as if nothing even happened. This non-reaction caused the inventor to look up.
“Ai-kun—”
“Leave me alone. I’m busy,” the shrunken scientist ordered, not even bothering to meet the old man’s gaze.
With that, Agasa muttered, “All right. I’m… turning in for today,” before he walked out in silence and closed the door behind him.
Not for the first time that night, the click-clacking stopped, and once again the time bomb ticked without a sound.
“Baka,” Ai whispered to no one in particular, as the image of his silly, spectacled face flashed through her mind.
Ai bit her lip as frustration built up inside her.
“Baka,” she said yet again in the same hushed tone, when the movie-like scene of him throwing the both of them through a thick-glassed bus window played in repeat.
Cold, white hands clenched to fists, and soon, she found herself shaking.
“Baka,” she sniffed, when she heard him say, “Don’t run away from your fate,” like a broken record.
Before she knew it, droplets of clear liquid wet the keyboard in front of her. Slowly, Haibara Ai—no, Miyano Shiho—shrieked and drowned in her own thoughts.
I trusted you! You were supposed to stay safe! You were supposed to stay alive! How can you be such a heartless, stupid idiot?!
All that and more streamed across her mind as Ai let out a high-pitched scream and slammed her hands against the keys, the same way she slammed her fists on him when she first broke down in tears in front of him. All the while she repeated the same word over and over.
Baka! Baka! Baka!
Written by neonquincy1217
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Hattori Heiji
Friday, September 8: Nine hours after Operation Raven
Nineteen-year-old Hattori Heiji shuffled down the stairs, yawning a greeting to his mother and father. Despite the fact that he was now in college and studying at Osaka University, it was cheaper to stay with his parents. They did not mind, and this way Heiji was able to stay up to date in the goings-on of the Osaka Prefectural Police Headquarters courtesy of his father.
Hattori Heizo was already at the table sipping a cup of coffee as he read the morning paper. His mother, Shizuka, was making another plate of tamagoyaki for him.
“A large sting operation went down last night,” Heizo summarized, informing his wife and son. “Apparently it was a covert international operation involving a lot of undercover agents and an extensive crime syndicate.”
Heiji perked up, as it sounded—oddly enough—like the group Shinichi had been after. “What were the results?” he asked as Shizuka placed a plate before him and he thanked her. He muttered, “I humbly receive,” before he popped a roll into his mouth.
“A large number of casualties on both sides,” the Osaka policeman said. He scanned through the list of the deceased mumbling the names of the bodies identified. “Inakawa Haruko, Kiba Tarou—a good man, he was—Kudo Shinichi, Masa—”
“DID YOU SAY KUDO SHINICHI?!” Heiji interrupted rudely, ignoring his mother’s admonishment not to yell at the table.
“I—” Heizo consulted the paper once more. “Yes, I did. It says right here: Kudo Shinichi.” He angled the paper towards his son and pointed at the name.
Heiji stared at the printed name, mouth slack in shock and betrayal as his entire body began to tremble with a flurry of emotions. He ducked his head as he squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenching into shaking fists.
“Heiji…?” Shizuka murmured as both she and her husband noticed their son’s unusual reaction. She glanced at Heizo, who shrugged helplessly—neither had any idea why their son was so affected by the news, as he had barely mentioned his name in passing to them before.
“Heiji…” Heizo did not get a chance to speak further because Heiji abruptly stood up.
“I’m done with breakfast,” he announced stiffly. “Excuse me.” He swiveled without another word and marched himself back up the stairs to his room, refraining from slamming the door behind him. He flopped on his bed face down and hugged his pillow, only then allowing the tears swimming in his eyes to fall.
Kudo… he thought angrily, D**n it all, Kudo! You promised! You promised that I would help you take them down, you b*****d! You… you…
Heiji pounded a fist into his mattress as he began to sob harshly, the realization settling in that he would never talk to the Modern-Day Holmes ever again.
Why’d you do it without me?! I could have helped! I could have… I… you…
… You weren’t supposed to die, Kudo.
Written by Taliya
---
Akai Shuichi
Saturday, September 9: Two days after Operation Raven
Masumi had cried her heart out on his shoulder the night before, raging against him, the Organization, the world, and even that stupid, self-sacrificing idiot Kudo Shinichi himself because she did not know who to blame until she had finally fallen asleep exhausted with puffy red bags under her eyes.
Shukichi had been there as well, smoothing down their little sister's hair in a soothing caress and letting her clench his other hand in a too-tight grip without complaint. Shuichi felt his brother looking at him, could see that Shukichi wanted to say, “It's not your fault,” but the younger man kept his silence, knowing that those were not his words to speak. So Shukichi simply reached out his hand to gently curl around his, offering wordless support. Shuichi squeezed back in response, tucking Masumi's tear-streaked face more comfortably against his side.
They mourned that boy together, remembering him as not the teen detective Kudo Shinichi nor the intelligent child Edogawa Conan but as the boy Masumi had called a magician.
And it killed Shuichi inside that he was allowed to hold his family like this while just a few steps down the hallway, another family could no longer afford that luxury.
Written by stelraetnae
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Kuroda Hyoue
Sunday, September 10: Three days after Operation Raven
He had seen it all.
After all, Chief Inspector Kuroda Hyoue had been through hell and back. He had spent ten full years in it, and his memories were still all over the place. That was why the high school detective’s death was nothing but mere bad luck in his opinion… He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Having grown inured to loss by his line of work, it was of no surprise to anyone that, on the day of Kudo Shinichi’s funeral, Division One’s respected big boss stood there with a straight face, leading the rest of his men to pay their final respects as the nineteen-year-old was laid to rest. The one thought that echoed in his mind was that the boy had not taken enough precautions. If he had, he would have stayed alive that night, much like the rest of the Metropolitan Police in attendance.
He knows it all.
The middle-aged chief knew about the brain behind Detective Kogorou. That was why it came as no surprise to him when Takagi broke the news about Kudo and Edogawa being the same person.
The boy had been cunning. He had a strong sense of justice, of what was right and wrong, of what he had to protect and what mattered most… He had been smart but reckless. And that recklessness was what had killed him.
He felt that presence.
By the time the ordeal ended, the sun was just setting. The people were just dispersing, going back to their own lives, as if nothing really happened. Kuroda settled with letting the rest of his men leave ahead of him. He would catch up, he said, as he had pressing matters to attend to.
He rearranged his glasses, took one last look at the Mouris and the Kudos, said his final condolences, and left.
Alone with his thoughts, he walked in silence to where his instincts took him: down the flight of stairs, around the corner, and down the alleyways. It was not until he turned another corner that he took in the sight of a wide-brimmed black hat on a crown of platinum blonde hair.
Instead of stopping, Kuroda kept walking. It was when the woman spoke—with just one word—that he paused.
“Rum,” she called.
“Vermouth,” was his answer. “Why am I not surprised you were at the funeral?”
“You noticed?” the woman hummed, except the usual playful tone in her voice was no longer there. “I merely paid my respects to the Heisei Holmes—”
“And to see his Angel, I bet?”
Vermouth’s lips curved in a frown from behind the thin black veil. “What do you know?”
Chief Kuroda—no—Rum let out a low snicker before turning to face the woman.
“Oh I know a lot… even the fact that you put an end to the Silver Bullet’s murderer.”
“That was not part of the plan,” she said in defense as he detached herself from the wall. In response, Kuroda reminded her, “Be careful. You might be Ano Kata’s favorite. But if word gets out, you could be deemed a traitor, Vermouth.”
That warning raised an alarm in Vermouth’s mind... but for reasons she never thought possible.
With a suspicious glare, the former actress queried, “Why are you telling me this? Is it possible you’re…?”
She paused, letting the statement hang in the air. Could it be... that Rum, the Organization’s number two, was…?
Without another word, the elder lifted his fedora in polite deference, turned, and walked away.
What Kuroda knew, no one else in the Organization has to know.
Even with his memories all over the place, the fact that it was Them who caused him his hell—and that he has been waiting for a chance at vengeance—will forever stay in his memory.
Written by neonquincy1217
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Mouri Kogorou
Wednesday, September 14: Six days after Operation Raven
Kogorou’s back collided with a thud against the main door, eyes glued to the ugly splotches on the ceiling. For the seventh consecutive night since “that incident,” the famous detective had been coming home this way. At a glance, empty eyes, disheveled hair, and prickly stubble on his chin made him looked as though he has not had a case to work in for weeks. In reality, however, his nose had been buried from one incident report to another in an effort to solve what could be Detective Mouri Kogorou’s toughest case yet.
Lost in thought, one hand went up to ruffle his mane. His head finally followed suit and tilted back as his fingers sluggishly moved to loosen his tie. Slowly, he let out a long, exhausted sigh.
His mind was still blurred with all the details, but when he found out from Detective Takagi that something had happened to the freeloading brat exactly a week ago, his knuckles had turned white against the phone’s receiver, had said a quick, “I’ll be right there,” and shouted to Ran about not taking a single step out of their house, and had almost got himself killed in an effort to stop a speeding taxi. He had kept bickering about the car being slow all throughout the drive to police headquarters. Once there, it had been the scary-looking Chief Kuroda who had met him. He had met the guy on a few occasions, but that had been the first time that he had truly feared his presence.
The next turn of events were blurred in the middle-aged man’s memory. But out of all that happened, one event stood out above the rest… Kudo Shinichi’s tragic end.
It has been a week since the four-eyed brat had moved out of his house. Every day since then, Kogorou had woken up with an depressingly heavy feeling in his chest weighing him down like an anchor—a complete contrast from what he had expected he would feel once the nine-year-old left his dominion. He had been nothing but a nuisance to him—even more when he had found out that the brat he shared a room with and the so-called Detective of the East had been one and the same.
Damn, but he had sworn he wanted very badly to burn the kid to death back then.
As if on automatic, the father of one shuffled to his daughter’s bedroom, taking care to be quiet in case he caught her asleep.
“Ran?” he whispered, only to get silence in reply. It was not the first time he had talked to the nineteen-year-old’s unresponsive form like this. But as a parent, he just could not help but feel like he at least had to do something—anything—to keep her from spiraling down into the dark abyss of depression.
“Ran, your mother’s worried about you,” he blurted out when what he really wanted to say was, “I’m worried about you.”
Kogorou took one careful step after another until he stood beside her bed, only to confirm that she truly was asleep.
The elder man sighed yet again. Even in the darkness of the room, the single ray of fluorescent light coming from the direction of the door was enough to illuminate her face. With the way Ran looked, puffy-eyed, red-faced, and curled up like a pitiful rain-drenched kitten, it did not take a detective to know that his daughter had once again cried herself to sleep.
Instinctively, he reached for the blanket by her feet and covered her with it—something he admittedly had not done for her for more than a decade.
As he tucked her in, a sudden realization occurred to him.
The Kudo brat had lied to both him and Ran: that was a fact. But even despite his lies, in his own way, it had been Kudo who had helped keep him and Ran together. It had been Kudo helping him solve his cases. He had helped him care for Ran.
And… well…
Growing attached to Conan, the freeloading brat, the know-it-all, the annoying four-eyes, the… shrunken form of his daughter’s best friend, was something Kogorou would never admit to anybody.
Because the truth of the matter was, that even in her dire need of comfort, he could not be there for her.
He had always resented the Kudo brat because he might just be the one to take his daughter away from him, but now…
Seeing as Ran would not stop grieving for him, his only wish was for him to come back so he could resent him all over again…
Written by neonquincy1217
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Mouri Ran
Thursday, September 14: One week after Operation Raven
It had been a week.
A week since Conan had left with his mother for America, exchanging teary goodbyes and wishes.
A week since Shinichi had... returned, but with his eyes closed no matter how much Ran cried out to him.
A week since she had lost two of the people she loved most, together.
(And it was together, no matter how much her heart refused to admit it.)
Blindly, her fingers dialed the familiar sequence of Conan's phone number. And the part of her that refused to accept the truth made her press down on the call button, letting the dial tone ring—just like she had done so many times already.
(Her mind lied to her heart, telling her that it was because Conan was in a different country; of course he wouldn't continue to use his Japanese number...)
The dial tone rang, and rang on...
And suddenly with a click that sent her mind in a whirl, an achingly familiar voice answered.
“Hello, Ran-nee-chan?”
Her knuckles had turned white from the force that she gripped her phone with both hands to the extent that it was a wonder the device did not cracked under the pressure. Her voice shook, disbelieving, hoping beyond hope that this was real. “C—Conan-kun?”
“Yes?” The simple answer, uttered with the innocent curiosity that had always characterized the child's voice, brought tears to Ran's eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she struggled to regain control of her emotions before managing to speak with a voice that only slightly shook.
“Conan-kun? A-Are you having fun in your new home in America?”
As she listened to Conan chatter on about how he had watched a cartoon during the long flight over and how there was a big park in front of his house with a pond that had ducks, she turned her head up to stare at the looming structure that her feet had unconsciously brought her to.
It seemed dark, somehow—cold—which was ridiculous since it was the middle of the day and the sun was shining without clouds to block its light.
(It was a chill that even Conan's cheerful ramblings could not cast away.)
Just like she had done so many times before, she slowly walked up the driveway to Shinichi's house, fishing out the spare key from the flowerpot on the porch. Without giving it any more thought, she turned the key and stepped inside.
(It was darker inside the house. Colder. Quiet. It was a place where the sunlight couldn't reach.)
There was a pair of shoes in the doorway. Subaru-san—no, Akai-san had moved out a week ago, right after the... incident. So there should be no one living here anymore. And the size of those shoes was much smaller than those that Subaru-san had worn. In a daze she moved through the house, seeing little signs of life. There was an upturned mug on the drying rack, a damp rag thrown carelessly in a corner of the pantry, and faint steam still rising from the half-empty kettle.
She walked further, steps light as though she was trying not to disturb the silence of the house. And then she heard it: the whisper of a voice floating down the hallway. A familiar voice, the same one that she was also hearing from her phone. The voice of someone who claimed to be a twelve hour flight away from here. Yet it came from behind the door she now stood before.
Before she knew it she had grasped the doorknob, flinging open the door to be met with wide blue eyes that stared at her with undisguised shock.
Conan's voice stuttered to a choking stop. With a thump two items fell to the carpeted floor: Conan's phone and an equally familiar red bow-tie.
“R-Ran-chan... I—I'm so sor—”
Ran shook her head, cutting the apology off. It was not from a refusal to accept the apology, but something different. Something different that made Ran's heart ache in a way different from how it had felt for the past week.
Blue eyes, almost childlike and vulnerable yet holding so much pain, stared helplessly back at her.
Ran's heart ached because here was a woman who had just lost her only son, and yet she was still thinking of others, trying her best to spare Ran more pain. She held out her arms even as her vision filled with tears, and she felt Yukiko fall into the embrace, returning it with warm arms that finally reached Ran's frozen heart.
As the two women who had loved both Shinichi and Conan the most cried in each other's arms, they slowly began to accept that he truly was not coming back.
Written by stelraetnae
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Agasa Hiroshi
Saturday, October 7: One month after Operation Raven
The living room was shrouded in darkness, lit only by the light of the three-quarter moon that shone through the windows that lined the large space. At the bar, a single figure sat, hunched over with an air of inconsolable misery and guilt. Agasa Hiroshi stared down at an innocuous red bowtie cradled in his hands as though it were more fragile than hand-blown glass, and he rubbed his thumbs gently against the fine-spun cotton fabric.
“Shinichi,” he breathed, and his lips trembled beneath the bristle of his moustache. “Forgive me, Shinichi…!”
His eyes closed, squeezing out tears as he remembered the genius teenager-turned-child who had come to him for help. Before that fateful night, Hiroshi had always considered himself an eccentric man with a number of what amounted to essentially useless invention ideas. But that night, the neighbor he had watched grow from an inquisitive infant to a bright young man had turned to him in his greatest time of need—and Hiroshi had never felt more humbled and honored. He had done his utmost to give Shinichi the best tools he could that suited his apparent age, creating each gadget with the hope of helping the teenager return to his former self, as well as keeping him alive and safe from the Organization that he pursued.
Hiroshi had always admired the dedication that Shinichi had possessed—that drive to seek justice in order to stop the cycle of revenge was one of the most remarkable things about that young man. It had made Hiroshi prouder than he could have imagined knowing that such an extraordinary young man trusted and depended so heavily on him for assistance. Shinichi had possessed a bright fire in his soul, one that had brought warmth and hope to all who encountered him…
… but now…
… now, that flame was gone, snuffed out like a candle with the merest puff of breath, the tail of acrid smoke a bitter reminder of what had once been.
My worthless inventions did nothing in the end. They could not save you in your greatest hour of need, and I’m to blame for not taking everything into account. If only… the inventor thought, droplets of water beading on the bowtie as he stifled a sob, hoping that he would not wake Ai, … if only…
Shinichi… I’ve failed you in every way…
… and I’m so, so sorry.
Written by Taliya
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Yoshida Ayumi
Friday, November 11: Two months after Operation Raven
Ayumi’s eyes watered as she stared at the empty desk, barely able to keep from crying right then and there. It had been two months since he had gone—two months since Edogawa Conan had told them his mother was finally taking him back to America. He had seemed cheerful about the transition to his native country, and though Ayumi tried to be happy for him, her heart had sank upon hearing the news. Genta and Mitsuhiko had not taken it well either, as both had vociferously tried to argue him into staying with one of them instead—except Ai had quickly put an end to that with the simple remark:
“Don’t you think Edogawa-kun would rather live with his own family?”
She set her book bag down on her own desk and sighed deeply.
“Ayumi-chan?” Mitsuhiko’s voice was soft and understanding as she tore her gaze away from that desk. “You still think about him a lot?”
“How can you not?” Genta grumped as he dropped his bag on the surface of his desk. “He was an important member of the Shounen Tantei.” But the large boy physically deflated upon seating himself as he muttered, “I miss him.”
“I hope he’s happy,” Ayumi commented quietly as she began to unload her satchel. “Do you think he’s happy, Ai-chan?” she asked the strawberry blonde, who had just entered the classroom.
Ai’s gaze was stricken with some deep pain for the most fleeting of moments before the emotion was snuffed out and her usual calm demeanor smoothed her expression. “I’m sure he is,” she replied placidly, though Ayumi could hear the faintest wobble in her voice. A quick glance at Genta and Mitsuhiko proved that she was not the only one. And yet, the three were reluctant to press Ai for more information regarding Conan. Ever since Conan’s withdrawal from the school, Ai had somehow become more fragile, more tired, more sad.
Ayumi could not explain—did not know the correct words to describe Ai’s new emotional fragility—or perhaps she knew, but did not understand the true meaning of the word. As their homeroom teacher entered and began roll call, Ayumi idly flipped through the dictionary she had brought to aid in writing an essay for Japanese Literature and stumbled across a word that suddenly made Ai’s behavior regarding Conan horrifyingly clear…
… and her heart shuddered at the implications.
Grief n. – deep sadness caused especially by someone’s death
One glance at Conan’s desk had her suddenly bawling without her permission, and it was Ai who quietly excused the two of them from the classroom so that Ayumi could freshen up in the bathroom. Once she had splashed water on her face, the brunette stared at the strawberry blonde in the mirror and asked with hesitant terror, “Ai-chan, what really happened to Conan-kun?”
And Ayumi’s heart imploded when Ai began to silently cry.
Written by Taliya
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Agasa Hiroshi
Saturday, September 7: One year after Operation Raven
The early morning sun was warm on his back despite the gentle breeze that carried a chilly hint of the coming autumn. His feet carried him to a stop before a polished basalt monument beneath a Bloodgood Japanese maple bearing the surname Kudo. His eyes traced the newest addition carved into the stone: Kudo Shinichi. A polished wooden board* rested against on the front ledge of the monument with a name engraved on the surface: Edogawa Conan.
With great care, Agasa Hiroshi, longtime friend and neighbor of the fallen detective, wiped off the stone, brushing fallen crimson leaves off with a damp rag he had brought with him before setting a bouquet of pale bluish-violet asters* and white chrysanthemums* in a plain vase on the ledge next to the sotoba*. He stepped back after his task was done, face pulled in a frown as he eyed the two names that had represented one person.
Withdrawing a stick of incense from his pocket, he stuck it in the shallow bowl full of fine sand and lit the end, clapping his hands together as he bent his head in prayer to pay his respect. After several moments, he straightened and carefully reached out a hand to trace the kanji of the detective’s true name.
“Shinichi,” he murmured. “I hope you are well, and that takamonohara* is every bit as wonderful as they say it is.” His arm dropped as though suddenly tired, and his fingers curled into a fist. “I…” His voice wobbled with the strength of his emotions, and he had to take several steadying breaths. “Ran-kun’s just begun dating Hondou Eisuke, who has returned from America. I think she has finally begun to move on, and though I know you loved her dearly, I hope you are happy that she is beginning to find her own happiness—even if it’s not with you.”
He paused once more to steady his voice. “Your parents, last I heard, were in Italy trying to escape your father’s editors. Ai-kun’s doing well, as are the kids—though they all miss you. And I… I miss you too.”
Hiroshi exhaled shakily. “Please forgive me, Shinichi, for failing you so terribly.”
The wind stirred, and for a moment, instead of feeling chilled by the breeze, Hiroshi inexplicably felt warmth instead. Then it was gone, the leaves of the Bloodgood rustling with a soft, seemingly content sigh.
Agasa Hiroshi was suddenly overcome with emotion and he fought not to cry as he glanced up into the blue skies and whispered, “Thank you.”
*sotoba - polished wooden board with the deceased’s name carved on it
*Aster tataricus - remembrance
*white chrysanthemum - truth
*takamonohara - heaven in the Shinto religion, where the principal deities reside
Written by Taliya
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Mouri Ran
Sunday, August 21: Three years after Operation Raven
Ran knelt down in front of the grave, reaching out fingers to touch the familiar contours of the name etched on the smooth stone.
“Hello, Shinichi. A lot of things have happened since I last came to visit. I’ve just graduated from university, you see. The graduation ceremony was last week. Mum and Dad came to it; so did Professor Agasa and Ai-chan.
“Ai-chan and the others are entering their last year of elementary school already. They’ve all grown so much—Genta-kun will soon be taller than me! It’s crazy how fast time is going; they’ll be high school students before we know it. Sonoko was there too, with Makoto-san. She wouldn’t miss her own graduation, after all. In fact, I think she was the most excited out of all of us.
“And do you remember Hondou Eisuke? He came back from America a few years ago to study at Touto University, and he graduated together with Sonoko and I. You never got to meet him properly, did you? I think you would have gotten along really well. I came today with Eisuke-kun. Shinichi…”
She paused, tears glistening in her eyes. She imagined Shinichi smiling at her, fond exasperation in his expression.
“Cry-baby,” he would chide gently, “There’s nothing to cry about, silly.”
She brushed away her tears, a smile of her own lighting up in response. “I still miss you, Shinichi, and a part of me will always love you. But I’ve moved on. Eisuke proposed to me last week, right after graduation—and I accepted. I’m going with him to America in three weeks’ time. He’s good to me, Shinichi. I love him and he loves me as well. I’m happy now, Shinichi, and I’d like to think that you’d be happy for me too.”
The soft tap of footsteps made her look up. Ran smiled up at Eisuke as he approached, a filled bucket of water in his right hand and a ladle and rags in the other. He had considerately offered to fetch the cleaning materials to give Ran a chance to speak to her childhood friend alone. He smiled back with a sweetness that always made Ran’s heart flutter as they began to clean the grave together, wiping the smooth stone and removing stray weeds.
The two of them had reunited by chance during their university days, and had finally started dating halfway through second year—which, according to their friends, had been a long time coming. The once shy and awkward youth had matured into a young man, steadfast but still just as kind-hearted. Eisuke was slated to begin his training with the CIA next month, having applied for the position after graduating from Touto University with a degree in Forensic Psychology and Criminal Justice. Ran herself had recently completed her degree in Criminal Law. It had taken a good amount of consideration, but the overwhelming support from her family and friends had given her the courage to decide to pursue her vocational training in America.
Done with the traditional routine of cleaning the grave, Eisuke knelt down next to Ran, giving a respectful bow and a soft smile. His hand found hers, covering it and clasping it warmly.
“It’s been a long time, Kudo-kun. Do you remember? Five years ago, I revealed to you my feelings and intentions towards Ran-san. Right now I would like to tell you that none of that has changed. My feelings have only deepened over the years, and—I truly love her. I promise to take care of Ran, Kudo-kun. So you don’t have to worry.”
They stood together, hands still linked. Ran smiled through the tears that wavered on her eyelashes, but these were tears of happiness, not sorrow. “We’ll come to visit again soon, Shinichi. Please watch over us.”
And through her hazy vision she thought she saw the familiar warmth of cerulean blue eyes, smiling back at her.
Written by stelraetae
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So while I cannot speak for stelraetnae or neonquincy1217 , I for one thoroughly enjoyed the experience and had so much fun plotting this thing out. I'm so happy with how it turned out, and thank you, stelra and quincy, for this amazing experience!