Sometimes, after a job, Gackt wouldn’t even bother to undress.

He turned the shower knob as far left as it would go, so that the water poured out in a viciously hot, stinging spray. Then he stepped into it, still clothed, and let it soak him through.

His clothes stuck to him, heavy with the too-warm water. He ignored it and stared down at the water swirling in the drain. It was stained with dark, viscous red. Blood. Most of it wasn’t his.

Turning his face upward, Gackt let the water wash over his face and hair. It hurt and felt good at the same time, burning pinpricks that rinsed the death away, at least on the surface. For a long time he stood like that, eyes closed, letting the water have its way.

After a while, reason returned like a rush of cool air. Gackt opened his eyes, focusing on the smooth white shower tiles. Then he set to work stripping off his heavy, soaked clothing, till finally he stood in the shower properly nude. The water was too hot, he noticed at last, and with hands that didn’t shake (for it had been years since he’d been that weak) he adjusted the temperature to a more bearable one.

Later, upon stepping out of the shower, he paused to examine himself in the mirror. His eyes looked too large in his too-pale face. His hair, bleached blond, was plastered to his skull, and he noted absently that his roots were showing again. A bruise the size of a hand had blossomed across his ribs, marring his skin with its blotchy purple color. He touched it gingerly and winced; it would be weeks in healing.

The phone began to ring, its sound muffled by the bathroom door. Gackt padded out to the living room, naked, mindless of the water that dripped down to soak into the pale carpeting.

He answered on the third ring.

“Hello.” His voice was low and almost toneless.

“Gackt,” said the voice on the other end, “I have a job for you.”

Gackt closed his eyes, and for a moment concentrated only on the feel of the cool air against his wet skin.

“Gackt? You there, man?”

He took a deep breath. Opened his eyes. Thought about blood running down the shower drain, and about the cool, heavy weight of a gun, and about adrenaline and pain and fear and then blankness, total blankness, like a light going out in a room with no doors.

Then he said, “Tell me what it is.”