They were once young.
Once innocent.
Once.
A long, long time ago.
But to him, it didn't feel that long.

-

Let's call the baldy Tom. And let's call the quiet one Jerry.
Together, they were invincible.

-

They were seven years old
The fat old manager had put on a CD for Christmas, a special occasion. It was scratched and old. The images were blurry and statick-y, jumping from one minute to another. The little children sat in small huddles around the TV, staring at the screen with half-open mouths.
A baldy sat beside a spiky-haired boy.
"The mouse is a fucker!"
The spiky-haired boy did not reply.
"Hey!" The baldy shoved the spiky-haired boy, hard. He was strong for his age, and sported a couple of purple bruises. "I'm talking to ya!"
The spiky-haired boy turned, slowly. He looked the baldy in the eye.
"Touch me again, and I swear I'll break your fingers."
Baldy's grin widened, stretching to breaking point.
"Methinks we'll get along fantastically well."

-

They were twelve years old.
Raging snow and harsh winds, it was the most horrible winter in the history of some small town in Osaka. Most sane people were locked up tight in their homes, huddled up in blankets and sipping hot mugs of chocolate. The adults would probably be laughing at the antics of cute, chubby-cheeked children playing, the old would sit, contented in their rattan rocking chairs and drink hot sweet tea. It was the ideal world.
However, a spiky-haired boy was currently lying face-down in a drift of pure-white snow.
"Get up." A baldy was saying. "GET UP."
The spiky-haired boy did not move. He lay still and cold.
"GET UP -" The baldy was crying, "GET UP."
The spiky-haired boy moved a hand.
The baldy’s eyes widened.
"Stand up!" Baldy seized Spiky's arm.
The spiky-haired boy stood, calmly and slowly, brushing snow off his thin green jacket. His black-brown eyes met the baldy's.
"What?"
"BASTARD!" The baldy smacked the spiky-haired boy on the head. He rubbed his mess of spikes, slowly, thoughtfully. "Let's go, we hafta get out of this town by tonight!"
The spiky-haired boy nodded. He pulled the thin green jacket around his skinny shoulders. The baldy strode in huge steps, ranting loudly to the cold night air.
He would never know that the spiky-haired boy had planned to die that night.

-

They were fifteen years old.
"..."
"What!? Doesn't it look good?" Haku roared in protest as he stared at his new tattoo.
"You look stupid." Kuro was holding up a mirror.
Both were standing in a dirty toilet, and Haku was currently admiring his new tattoo. It was on the back of his head. It read, "Good Business". And it reflected Haku's wishes perfectly.
"It looks good, chicks like guys who have tattoos!" Haku swept an aggravated hand across the slightly pink skin.
Kuro gave him a Look.
"Not on the backs of their head, reading -" He peered at the mirror. "Good business. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Iwasthinkinofmoney -" Haku winked at Kuro and rubbed his first finger and thumb together. "Money - money - and money! It'sa good fortune bringer, I'm telling ya."
Kuro nodded slowly. He adjusted his black leather jacket. The small gun rubbed against his skin uncomfortably.
"But not the girls."
Haku seized the mirror from Kuro. He grinned, wide and huge, and smashed the mirror onto the floor. Kuro did not flinch.
"Money, Haku. Money."
"..." Kuro stepped on the glass shards. He surveyed the stained floors, the broken window and Haku coolly. "Weren't you supposed to be Haku?"

-

They were seventeen years old.
"Muthafuckers - fuckers - fatherfuckin mother-cunt-eatin bastards -" Gorou groaned. His white shirt was stained with blood. Movies often show blood as darker than it is. Gorou's blood was bright, bright red. Saburou knelt beside Gorou, one hand pressed onto the weeping wound. The other hand held a gun. He was panting slightly.
"You should not - shouldn't have went in like that -"
"How was I s'posed ta know!? I didn't know he hired SMOKE-S... Stupid man, he didn't tell us that guy hired SMOKE-S!"
Saburou stood up. The gun dangled loosely from his fingers. "It would be best if we left now."
"No." Gorou stared at Saburou with bright, bright eyes. "No."
Saburou looked at Gorou.
Gorou looked back. He smiled, a tight tight skin-stretching smile. "The money - We can ask them to tripe, no, quadruple our pay!"
Saburou sat down. He returned his gun to his jacket.
"Three days."
Gorou laughed. Then he winced and gripped his stomach. Fresh red stains blossomed across it.
"Always the cautious one - Saburou?"
"Saburou - yes, Saburou."

-

They were nineteen years old.
"Amitabha." Ryou bowed deeply to the golden statue.
Ryuu sat patiently, waiting.
"Done?"
"A bit more -" Ryou gripped the body, flipping it over with smooth, practised ease. Bodies were always heavier than they looked. He then dragged it to the adjoining room. Ryuu blinked.
"Why?"
Ryou reappeared, dusting his gloved hands. "Rude, y'see."
Ryuu's eyes travelled to the golden statue, its expression one of utter serenity.
"Ah."
"Yes."
"We're going to hell." It was a dead, matter-of-fact statement.
"Still rude. Still rude." Ryou frowned and waved a hand, tsking slightly.
The poor fool, Ryuu thought. He still wants to go to heaven.

-

They were twenty-one years old.
"You can call me Tom, and him Jerry!" Tom's smile was huge and happy, as he introduced themselves.
Jerry stood behind, silent.
The stupid man had asked whether they were good.
Tom had told him, quite accurately and with a straight face that if he wanted to die a quick death, he should talk to Jerry. For a slow death, a visit to Tom would be a better choice.
"Of course - I was just joking." Tom had said, smiling slightly.
He wasn't.
"Still the same." Jerry pronounced the words, slow and sour when they had left.
"Always the same," Tom shrugged, a careless, happy shrug. "All of them are the same, wherever you go."
Jerry nodded slowly.
Tom grinned at him.
"It shouldn't be any worse than that time!"
"A few more." Jerry spoke, ignoring Tom. "Just a few more times. And -"
"Okinawa, here we come." Tom said, voice low and reverent. "OKINAWA!" He screamed suddenly. Pigeons scattered and people's head snapped around, before turning swiftly away from the pair. Better not to invite trouble to their homes. Blank, featureless characters, leading blank, featureless lives. Tom's disdain for them was immeasurable.
"Okinawa." Jerry said. He smiled, a faint, tired smile. "Okinawa indeed."

-

Let's call the baldy Haku, Gorou, Ryou and Tom.
Let's call the quiet one Kuro, Saburou, Ryuu and Jerry.
Opposites.
Together, they were invincible.