Adult-FanFiction.org : Inuyasha / Yashahime

The Mind Crime	By : QueenoftheDream Category: InuYasha AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 1432 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, nor the characters from it. I made no money in writing this fiction.

Chapter List
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He was a hoodlum bumming around Tacoma, never minding that the rain soaked his half-zipped grey jacket or that his tennis shoes seemed one rain shower away from sprouting mildew. Sometimes he used to chuckle at the way his soaked hair clung to his face like grey globs of seaweed before he cut it short. One would think that with silver hair, rain or water would make it glisten like a cap of moonbeams or starlight or some poetic shit like that. No, instead it became grey when saturated with water. Grey like an old man's hair. That's how he felt. Tired, unhappy, bitter. Like a disillusioned, miserable old man with a grudge against the government and a wicked craving for smack.
He was for all intents and purposes homeless. Daddy, Mr. Business Magnate Hotshot, left to start a new family with a new silver-haired brat half a lifetime ago, and Mommy dearest was probably halfway across the country, peddling herself for some cheap booze and cocaine under the guise of social intrigue. He hated them all. They represented a microcosm of everything that was wrong with society and the world. The closest thing to home was an old condemned building he'd claimed for himself by fighting off a group of homeless veterans. When he gutted that old man with a broken Heineken bottle, it was the first person he had ever killed. He lived for himself, and anybody who got in his way, be it war hero, mangy dog, or teeny-bopper junkie tramp, was marked for destruction if they didn't get out fast.
Essentially, he was a worthless vagabond of a young man that no longer had anything to offer society, and society couldn't care less about him. Fine. Bunch of corrupt assholes anyhow. He fumed and obsessed over how the country was just a giant circle-jerk of politicians, banks, and the rich, so much as to reach the point where it nearly consumed him. Everyone plays along so they get to steal their little slice of the pie from the unsuspecting proletariat. Between heroin scores, he dreamed of a revolution, of citizens rising up to claim their rights, their independence, and their freedom from a corrupt government and societal structure. Each injection, each sweet rush took him away and made everything okay. Life was bearable when he was high because nothing existed. Government? Poof, gone. Corrupt businesses? Gone. Pedophile-ridden churches? Gone. He lived for the short reprieves of false bliss that heroin granted him.
It was one afternoon just before his twenty second birthday that he was slouched against a building, nursing his last cigarette, when a strange woman approached him. If he was being entirely frank, she looked like a whore. A high-dollar whore, but a whore all the same. She picked her way on stilt-like heels through the cigarette butts, wrappers, and puddles of questionable goo to stand before him. She stuck two fingers under the bust of her shirt and held out a cardstock business card procured from the inside of her bra. He glared down at her manicured hand, and raising his eyes to meet her face, he saw that she was simply smiling like a cat that had gotten into the cream. Reddened lips were curved in a sly, smug grin.
"We've been watching you, boy. There's a revolution calling," she purred as he snatched the paper from her hand. He flicked away the dead cigarette butt and watched as it landed just at the toe of one of her black stilettos. Normally he wasn't in the business of talking to strange people, especially when they were selling something. This woman, however, was intriguing, and he hadn't had a good fight in a while. As he skimmed over the paper, she tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, making her jade earring jingle. He looked back up, and the woman handed him a disposable cell phone.
"Call the number if you so choose and someone will come and pick you up," she said, and without a further word, she turned and tottered back out of the alley to disappear from his sight as she turned the corner.
The card was a simple piece of white paper with the words "Anarchy X" emblazoned at the top. "The final revolution" was printed below that, and he nearly laughed. What sort of religious bullshit group was it this time that thought they had the final solution? He flipped open the archaic Nokia and dialed the number at the bottom of the paper. At worst, it would be a good laugh for him. Some idiots claiming that the apocalypse was coming and that if he joined their great society, they would give him a foil hat to wear when the end times come or some crap like that. At best, it was real. He, however, made it his personal mantra to always expect the worst because the best is never as good as it seems, and it rarely comes around anyway.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the line was low and gravelly.
"I've got this 'Anarchy X' card. Told to call this number. What's your spiel?" He drawled as he pressed his back against the damp brick of a building, fiddling automatically in his pocket for a smoke before remembering that his last was gone. The voice barked out a dark chuckle, and he pressed his lips into a thin line.
"Where are you?"
He paused. When he thought about it, he hadn't the faintest idea street-wise where he was. "Hmm. Meet me at the Old City Hall. Tacoma, Wash-"
He was cut off by the man on the other line. "Half an hour. Your revolution begins." The line went dead, and he slipped the phone into his pocket before he walked out of the filthy alley. The building was just down the street, and he could see the tall square tower peeking above the other surrounding structures. He set off toward the old hall, keeping close to the fronts of the buildings.
The young man tried to look nonchalant as he loitered around the entrance of the old brick building. People passed by him without a second glance, but he couldn't help the strange feeling of apprehension in his gut. He didn't feel in any danger, but an odd mixture of hesitation and excitement filled him. There was no time to ruminate on that feeling because a shiny black sedan pulled up in front of the building. The backseat window rolled down to reveal a pale dark-haired Japanese man with thin features and an immediately detectable air of superiority and intelligence. His heart skipped a beat. These people weren't messing around; they were serious about this.
"Your revolution awaits," the man said just loud enough that he could be heard over the sound of traffic, and his voice was even and low like a smooth whiskey.
The young man hesitated for a fraction of a second before walking to the other side of the car and sliding onto the black leather seat. The man occupying the back seat with him was dressed in a black suit, and his curly dark hair was slicked and waved back into a sleek style. He held a cigarette in one hand and was studying the world outside with critical eyes. He looked like a stereotypical rich villain sans the handlebar mustache and monocle, and if it wasn't for the clear intelligence behind his dark brown eyes, the young man would have stepped right out of the car and never turned back.
"You see all those people out there?" the man spoke lowly. "All of them are just like you and me: living day to day, paycheck to paycheck while the banks and the government openly filch from the working man's pockets. Organized churches and multibillion-dollar corporations are complicit, and the average man is squashed into nothing, nothing more than a smear on the boot heel of the system." He turned to the damp young man next to him. "Do you see this?" he asked, gesturing to the worn clothes and general disheveled appearance of the young man. "You've been pushed down by the system, trampled by powers larger than they have any business being. This country was founded on the ideals of freedom, of equality, but we live in a state of oppression and shackles. The ideals behind my operation are those of truth and freedom from the puppet strings of an unjust oligarchy. Do you follow?"
The young man nodded thoughtfully. It was like this guy walked out of his inner thoughts, like the personification of his revulsion for the government and state of affairs in the country. Never had he thought that his hatred could take shape and be able to be acted upon in the form of another human being.
"My operation, my revolution of anarchy, it serves only to free the people of this nation. Free them from poverty, from control, from theft and corruption. The time for man to rule his own destiny is now." The well-dressed gentleman's voice was even and tempered, but the young man could feel his blood ignite. Yes! This was exactly what he had been thinking these past few years. This was what he dreamed! Addicts and disrespectful punks made for a poor audience and he had begun to lose hope in his ideas of a social revolution, but this guy understood.
"What's your name, boy?" He turned and looked at the unkempt young man, who stared at him silently with one eyebrow raised in a challenge. When no answer was forthcoming, he shrugged. "No matter. We wouldn't use your birth name anyway in order to preserve both your anonymity and that of the organization. You'll be Sesshomaru from this point forward. The killing perfection." His voice lilted at the end, seeming to relish the taste of the meaning of the name in his smirking mouth. "Sesshomaru, you have much to learn, and I have much to teach you. You will know me by my own alias. Call me Dr. X."
Sesshomaru. He liked the sound of that. It sounded deadly, powerful. Like a promise. "Where are we going?" Sesshomaru asked coolly as he pushed the damp sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows.
"The airport," Dr. X replied. Sesshomaru's eyebrows rose. Granted, he had no real possessions of any value, but heading straight out of town without any goodbyes or pretenses seemed rather abrupt. He turned to look out the window, conscious of the restless nest of butterflies that had erupted in his stomach and filled his veins with fluttering excitement.
"Hnn."

We're taking a trip into the past, back to the beginning of the end for the man named Sesshomaru.
I figured I'd give you guys a little more material since Chapter 1 was a little short (chapters will be getting longer after Ch. 3). The next update will come next week, probably on Friday.
As before, please rate and review!
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The Mind Crime