Chapter One: “All glory comes from daring to begin” –Eugene F. Ware
Present Day: August 24th
Setting: Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo, Japan
The night shadows covered the boy as he slipped into the house silently, pulling down the mandatory hat all the servants wore. He looked a bit nervous, a bit out of place under it, sweat rolling down his face. The sleeves of the brown button-up shirt were baggy, hanging off his arm as he moved down the hallway, moving his arm against the wall to keep his balance. He carefully moved his arm, making sure not to disturb the knife that was strapped onto it. Thirty vials of poison hung around his hips, hidden under the baggy brown pants. Two needles were strapped to his left wrist, for easier access. He pulled up his pants as he walked down, watching the way that the pant legs pooled at his feet. He had stolen it off a clothes line and it was obviously two sizes too big for him. He looked down at his feet, stopping and sighing with annoyance. Finally he trudged on, ignoring the way it dragged behind him. He focused on the mission, the one his stepfather gave him before coming to Japan. He could not afford to mess this up. He prayed that this would be easy and less bloody than the last kill.
The black haired boy slipped up the stairs and down the hall. He walked towards the light that shined on the carpet, given by the cracked door. The boy's hand went to his wrist and he slipped it out of the strap. He fiddled with the belt around his hips, pulling up the orange vial. He took a deep breath and loaded up the needle with the poison. It was one he engineered himself, his favorite poison, the least painful one. He put the glass jar back into his belt and slowly calmed his racing heart. This was it, the final chapter for Mr. Yutifuka, and his only chance to prove to his stepfather that he was not useless.
The boy walked into the extravagant room, letting out a small sigh. He loved rooms like this. The bed looked like a king size and was huge compared to the frail man sleeping in it. Two more people could sleep beside him comfortably and the man would probably not notice. Curtains swayed back and forth as the wind blew from the window. The assassin walked over there and closed it, an annoyance to him. His eyes caught the sight of the dresser, but that did not widen his eyes. The riches spread out on it did: the watches, rings, necklaces, and scattered bills. The boy wanted to take them, for the man would not need them anymore. He shook his head, frowning at the thought. That would be just like stealing from the dead, an insult to the man he was about to kill. That would be something his stepfather would think of, not him. He felt disgusted to even think about stealing from him.
The boy made his way to the soon-to-be dead man. He listened to the ragged breaths and pitied the man. Soon, his suffering would be over. The boy pulled the needle from his wrist, the breaths matching his own now. His heart sped up and his hand began to twitch. It was now or never.
He plunged the adrenaline into Mr. Yutifuka's chest, shooting him up with a mix of antidepressants and accelerants. The boy estimated that the man had ten minutes to live. He hoped he would remain sleeping until then.
His hopes were short-lived. The Japanese man awoke with a gasp, clutching his chest. He felt his heart going faster, galloping through his chest. It was an uncomfortable feeling; the boy would know that from experience.
The boy began to tremble and immediately fell on his knees. "Sir, I am so sorry about this, but you are about to die," he whispered.
Mr. Yutifuka glared at him with brown vicious eyes. "You son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing in my house?! What did you inject me with?!" the man yelled, spittle flying everywhere. He glared at the trembling boy, which soon resulted in a coughing fit. The boy touched his shoulder to try and help, but the man threw him off him. "If you don't tell me what you injected me with, I'm going to call the cops and have your ass put in jail for attempted murder!"
The boy said nothing, only looked pointedly at the clock. After a bit of silence, he muttered, "You have eight minutes left, sir."
"Quit calling me sir and tell me what you did to me!" Mr. Yutifuka was to the point of yelling now. His face was turning red with frustration, but he was getting no answers. He pulled himself up and struggled through the curtain. "I'm calling the police. You can't get away with this. This is burglary and assault, you know that?!"
The teenager said nothing, only looked down at the floor. Through the light of the moon, the man could see the trace of a tear falling down his cheek. The boy bit his lip and muttered, "Six minutes, sir."
Mr. Yutifuka screamed with aggravation and launched himself at the boy. He toppled him over, and screeched, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!"
The boy said nothing as the man shook him, banging his head into the carpet over and over again and being screamed at. He expected servants to rush in and come to Mr. Yutifuka's aide, but this must have been normal to them. What a horrible life to live if fits like this were common. The boy looked up at him with pity in his violet eyes.
A hand came down across his cheek. "Don't pity me, stupid brat! You-"
The man froze in mid-sentence, his breathing becoming raspy. His hands began to shake, and Mr. Yutifuka looked down at them with horror. He tried to stop them, whispering curses and trying to hold his hands still. The boy watched him sorrowfully as he got up, only to fall down again. Shudders and spasms ripped through the man's body and the boy watched with horror as the seizure. Foam spilled from his mouth and there were desperate gurgles, begging for help. Tears rushed down the boy's face as he watched the man die.
When Mr. Yutifuka was definitely dead, the boy ran out the large window, fleeing into the dark night.
The boy was out of the servant's clothes and wore a hoodie and a pair of jeans now. He stood at a pay phone, his head looking at the people passing by the booth. He had fed the machine all the money he had and after the fourth ring, someone picked up. The boy's annoyance turned to relief as he began to talk.
"Hey Gene, it's Kioshi. I just," he began to choke as he spoke, "I just killed Mr. Yutifuka. Can you send me a ticket home now?"
The other line was silent for a second, and then there was laughter. "Good job boy! Tell me where dis hotel is and I'll send ya' the money."
The raven haired boy stood there awkwardly as he told his stepfather the address. "It's the Sakura Hotel, 2-21-4 Kanda-Jimbocho, Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo."
There was silence. "WHAT?!!! THAT'S WHERE OUR RIVALS ARE STAYING AT YOU IDIOT BOY!"
Kioshi bit his lip. "It was the only place that was cheap enough," he whispered.
"I hope they cut you up while you sleep. Serves you right for being such an idiot," Gene hissed, causing the boy to whimper. "Tch. Quit your crying and get your ass out of there as soon as you can. I'm sending the money this week, so last until then."
Kioshi felt something watching him, the presence of someone listening to his call. He could feel their eyes studying him, seeing the poison dripping off his needles and the knife hidden on his arm. The hair on his neck prickled with that knowledge and he felt like he needed to end the call early. "Thanks Gene, I'll see you then."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Kioshi tucked the phone into the cradle and looked around. No one was there. It must have been his paranoia getting the better of him. He always felt that way after a kill. There had to be someone who knew what he did. Maybe it was the old lady selling cheap fans, or the boy playing soccer with his friends; he just wasn't sure. He walked the streets with his shoulders hunched, his heart pounding. He would be ready to run if there were any suspicions surrounding him.
He made it to the hotel with no incident, and relief filled his face. He ran up to the room, watching warily as he ran. He slammed the door behind him and sunk to the floor, knees weak.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
~.~
Kioshi looked over his shoulder as he walked down the sidewalk toward the airport, something he did rather frequently this past week. It was paranoia, he told himself. He thought that he was going crazy. After all, why would someone watch everything he did? He was nothing of interest to anyone, except if they knew he was a murderer. He let out an involuntary shudder shake his shoulders and he turned around again. This time, there was someone unusual standing there. He looked like an American tourist, but his Japanese was something that sounded out of place. It was almost flawless, stumbling here and there with minor grammatical mistakes. It didn't sound like most tourists would.
Kioshi narrowed his indigo eyes and watched the blonde man converse with an old lady at a booth. He was flattering her, making her laugh. His eyes flashed up and caught Kioshi's, startling him. Cold icy blue orbs met his and a small smirk appeared on his face. He looked like the devil in disguise, and he made Kioshi's blood run cold. He whipped around the other way, biting his lip and pumping his legs faster.
He made it to the airport and almost collapsed with relief. After checking in at the airline ticket counter, receiving his boarding pass, and going through security, (for he did not have any luggage, so he didn’t have to deal with that mess), Kioshi finally boarded his flight. There were no incidents, no accidents, no terrorist threatening to kill anybody, just peace and quiet. That was good for him, since he had a fear of flying. In fact he had many fears, including boating, flying, spiders, rats, guns, shouting, etc., etc., etc. There were very few things that he wasn’t afraid of. Kioshi sat by the window, controlling his shaking by gripping the armrest near the window, forcing his thoughts to go elsewhere.
Kioshi planned to come back to Japan again, his beautiful homeland, once Gene had died. He’d take his mother with him, and then he’d work an honest job and retire at the age of 65. He’d move into a mansion then, since he’d save up enough money to do so. Kioshi planned to die watching the flowers bloom, hopefully the hydrangeas since he enjoyed them the most. Yep, that would be the good life.
As he imagined this going on in his head, Kioshi heard someone sit down next to him and say, “Ciao.” He ignored his presence, focusing only on his happy place in his garden filled with azaleas, hydrangeas, cherry blossoms, gardenias and other such flowers. He would take care of that in his old age, getting rid of all his poison plants that flood his garden right now. Of course, there were a few that he enjoyed, like the actaea pahypoda, better known as the doll’s eye, and the atropa belladonna, or the deadly nightshade. Kioshi owned a few and took extra care of those plants, since they were some of his favorite plants. He’d have birds in his garden, and hopefully they wouldn’t eat those plants. Trees would line the garden, guarding it from nightly intruders. They’d be spaced apart for the sunlight to penetrate the garden and let the flowers grow. A stone path would be laid in between the rows, one that would lead to the outside where the stone gate would be and lead in and out of it. He smiled softly to himself as he thought about it, his dream playing out in his mind over and over until.
“Ha, I told Meena that these Americans were rude,” murmured the person next to him, chuckling to himself as he said this.
Kioshi grumbled to himself but turned to say hello to the person next to him. He froze as he recognized the short blonde hair, the angelic face, the smirk that ruined the image, and the cold, icy blue eyes that stared at him with no emotion whatsoever. Kioshi recognized him instantly and let out an involuntary gasp. “You’ve been following me,” he said, pointing a finger at the man.
The man reclined in his seat, scowling at the teenager. “Why in the world would I follow a topo like you? T’would not be that interesting for me.” Kioshi began to glare at the man, his face becoming hot at the insult of being called uninteresting. His indigo eyes bored into the man’s blue ones, only to be ignored as he stared off into space. “Actually, t’would be a waste of my time if I even thought about studying you. You’d be a boring subject.”
Kioshi was completely red after he said this, hating the man in front of him. “But you know I’m an American. Then that means you have been following me!”
The man shook his head, letting his bangs hang in his face before pushing them back up on top of his head again. “No, that just means I pay attention to people.” He frowned, so the blonde continued. “You have an American accent, and it’s not like you hide it very well.” He sighed, shaking his head as if a child should understand this.
Kioshi just frowned, not used to being told that he had an accent. He turned his face toward the window again, staring down at the ocean. Fear gripped his insides and his mind instantly plunged into the depths as it raced to the worst thing possible. The immense black ocean that festered with sharks lie underneath them, waiting for a moment where it could strike and bring the plane down to its level. It would tear at the plane, pulling the passengers under the cold waves and toward the murky bottom where only Hell would lie. Kioshi gripped his armrest tightly as images of bloody water floated up, the broken body lying face down in the water, and the severed hand that would never leave his mind. It was the severed hand that kept him focused as gun shots surrounded him, the screaming tearing at his ears, the sound of a motor running out and leaving them stranded in the ocean. Then there was that unforgettable face, the one that caused all of this chaos around them. It was a girl’s face that looked no older than he was now that laughed at the blood began to spread, painting the ocean red. The ocean was red; the ocean was red; the ocean was red with his blood. The sharks began to pull up, snapping at the man and the child in the boat.
“Father, they’re coming! They’re going to eat us alive!”
Kioshi was pulled out of that memory when a hand touched his arm. He looked up at the man sitting next to him, who had slight concern in his eyes. “Are you alright? You look as if you had just seen death.”
Kioshi pushed the worry aside with a nervous laugh. “I just think that we are going to die, that’s all.”
“Tch, I should’ve pinned you as an aviophobic. You seem the type,” he said before closing his eyes, placing headphones in his ears.
He seemed not to want to converse anymore and Kioshi was relieved with that. He leaned against the window as he stared out, wiping his stray tears away. He waited patiently for the inevitable crash, letting his eyes droop close, and then reopen, then drop again.
He couldn’t remember what happened during those 14 hours on the plane ride, but suddenly he was awoken by someone shaking his shoulder. Kioshi jumped, brushed the bangs out of his eyes, and scowled when he realized that it was just the man who sat next to him. He thought it was someone important, not him.
“Ragazzo, it’s time to wake up. The plane just landed,” the man said, grabbing a computer bag from the top compartment that was over their seats.
Kioshi yawned and nodded, choosing to ignore him to go back to sleep again. He really wanted to get back to the dream about Mountain Dew instead of reality.
“I said, get your lazy ass up, togo!” The man hit him with the bag across the shoulder, which felt like it bruised the teenager.
“What the hell, that hurt!” Kioshi clutched his shoulder, feeling that it was sensitive to the touch and turned his hate-filled eyes toward the man standing over him with a smirk.
“That’s the point. Now get up before security has to be called and kick you off of the flight.” The man had a smirk in his eyes that made Kioshi even angrier.
“You’re an asshole. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone, so leave me alone.” He turned to go back to sleep and get a bit more before having to go back to work, but the blonde grabbed his shoulder (the one that he bruised) and pulled him out of the seat that way.
“Hey, let go of me, you asshole! That hurts! Stop it; I can walk on my own!” Kioshi swore as he was dragged out of the airport that way, turning red at the looks that the other passengers gave the pair. It had to look unusual: a young man dragging out a teenager like he was a parent of him. He would probably give that pair a strange look also if he saw a pair like that after exiting a plane. He stopped swearing after receiving a dirty look from who obviously looked like the mother of two young children. The dark eyes bore into his own, reminding him of his mother when she was angry.
Kioshi let himself be dragged outside the airport and staggered when his shirt was released. “What was that for?” he hissed, rubbing his shoulder with pain.
The man shrugged and lit a cigarette. After a long drag, he responded with, “You were being difficult. Force is the easiest way to deal with that, t’is not?”
Kioshi thought about punching the guy in the mouth for that. “Are you an idiot? Of course it isn’t. What would make you think that?” His fists were clenched in his pockets, fighting the urge to scream at the man. Luckily this was New York, and the yelling did not attract much attention as it would in a smaller town. There were a few passers-by that stared at the display, but it did not cause the teenager much grief.
The man shook his head and let out a small chuckle. “I was wrong. You are a rather interesting topo, I’ll give you that. Rivera certainly has good taste.”
Kioshi stared at him with utter confusion written across his face. He wasn’t sure if he was on drugs or if he was just crazy. Don’t get him started on this Rivera person, for he didn’t even know anyone named that.
The man laughed again before handing the boy a card, tipping an imaginary hat, and turning the other way and walking away. Kioshi watched him in utter astonishment before feeling something heavy in his pocket. It was a machine, he was sure of that, but that’s all he could tell since it was something he had never seen. It was the size of a cell phone, but it was like a block instead. A green light blinked on it, but that was the only thing on the surface.
“Hey, dude -”
The man had already mixed into the crowd, not to be seen. Kioshi sighed and pulled out the card the man handed him.
“Daymion Knowlles, of the Civiargentum,” he read before shoving it into his pocket. He would find him later. Right now he needed to get to work before Gene could give him any more work around the shop.
*topo = rat; ragazzo = kid; civiargentum = silver city
A/N: This is just an experiment seeing on my reception of this story. This is my major project, so be harsh on it and cruel and tell me what I need to work on. Haha, sounds horrible but this is what I work on during my summer. So help out and give an author some help? Haha, well review and tell me what I need. Ciao~
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