H.I.T.M.A.N. Mission - Protection
Squalo truly was pissed.
The Ninth's orders.
He's not a person to be angered easily, despite general consensus.
The Roverian Family. You probably have never heard of them.
But this time... Squalo would like to think that this time, getting mad wasn't just acceptable. It was inevitable.
Protect the information with your life.
So the general gloom that hung around him wherever he went was perfectly justified.
The boss dies, you die, scum.
...And to think it was turning out to be such a nice day.
--xx--xx--xxXxx--xx--xx--
"Ushishishi~ What's sharkie up to, the prince wonders~"
Great. Nothing put a smile on his face more than a psychotic delusional lunatic that has homicidal tendencies, with knives and an even more biting sense of humor to boot.
"You'll find out if you don't get the fuck out here, vooii!" Squalo threatened. He would've brandished his sword for added effect, but unfortunately, his trusted blade wasn't conveniently attached to his wrist as of now. With a snarl worthy of Bester, the swordsman gave his hair a last rung, shaking out the damp tresses and letting them cascade down his back. It was only during times like these that Squalo truly notices how long his hair had gotten, falling softly into a silver pool on the chair their owner currently occupied. A couple of contemplative blinks and a growled "Fuck this..." later, he was back to gathering his hair up, this time into a ponytail - for convenience's sake. No one truly understood the pain of washing out all the dirt, dust, blood, and wine from deadened cells connected to nerve endings every single day. No one but Squalo.
"If the captain didn't look so damn womanly, the prince might actually consider being frightened," Bel commented with that shit-eating grin of his, inspecting Squalo's reflection in the mirror. "Hm. Good thing you're kind of pretty. Else you'd never have been able to pull the long hair look off, shishi~"
"Are you done, dammit?!" Squalo truly felt out of his element when he couldn't turn around and simply run the obnoxious brat through with his sword. His words also lacked the venom necessary to back it up since all his focus was on his goddamn hair that just wouldn't gather up-!
"Aaww... Does the worthless plebeian need assistance?"
Squalo refused to acknowledge the skillful way Bel took over tying his hair, blaming his failure instead on the vantage point the blond had. Bel didn't seem to mind the indignant huff and the hunched-shoulder/kicked-puppy look, and if it was anatomically possible, his grin got even wider as his fingers moved expertly through soft silver strands and coaxing them together under the hair tie.
"Hmm~ Sharkie's hair is almost worthy of nobility~"
The swordsman offered him an incredulous look. "Uh, thank you...?"
"Shishi~ Be glad of the Prince's service." Bel straightened up, giving Squalo's head a loving pat. "Of course, I'm expecting gratitude."
"Vooiii, what the hell?! Did you turn into the baby overnight?!" Squalo complained, standing up and strapping his sword back onto his wrist. The weight was a comforting reassurance, and he gave it a couple of test swings, just to relish in the feel even more. Out of the corner of his eyes, the swordsman saw the prince shrug carelessly.
"I'm lacking funds because of Mammon," Bel hummed. "I need a source of income too."
"I'm not paying you to tie my hair! Go do a goddamn mission or something, voi!"
"The Prince doesn't want to," Bel pouted, dancing away from the blade that came swinging his way. "The missions left doesn't interest me."
"Then stop complaining and wasting my time!"
With the last exclaim, Squalo straightened up, adjusting his jacket and straightening his tie. After wearing the Varia uniform so much it felt like second skin, the Armani suit was foreign and - quite frankly - nothing but a hindrance. But for the sake of the mission, Squalo had donned this uncomfortable clothing. For the sake of the Varia's privacy, for the Vongola's ultimate goal, and for all the stupid money that went to waste to buy this. For all that, there was no way the swordsman could fail the mission. No pressure at all, especially with Xanxus's gun practically pressed to his temple. The dangers involved in this mission - all the possibilities of bodily injuries, all the chances of fatality Squalo was taking - were enough to put the Amazon rainforest to shame, wild jaguar attacks and all.
Luckily, Squalo was a shark, and sharks live for danger.
--xx--xx--xxXxx--xx--xx--
"Are you the bodyguard?"
Squalo rolled his eyes at the Roverian family boss - Mister Just-Call-Me-Antonio - and his attempt at conspiratorial whispering. The man was dressed to the nines, so to speak, decked out in a suit not unlike Squalo's, with heavy-looking wristwatch and rings adorning his weather-worn hands. Though the Roverian family was weak, Squalo wasn't about to criticize a man who's dedicated his all to building this family up. He just hoped Antonio wasn't so melodramatic. It took everything the swordsman had to lower his voice to a more-acceptable volume, and keep all the tempting curses out of his reply.
"No, sir. Just the driver."
"Oh..." Antonio stared at him, confused, until Squalo (after rolling his eyes again) glared at him over the top of his sunglasses. It was only then the family boss truly got it. "Oh!"
The swordsman nodded once, and opened the limo's door for him, as all proper drivers did, and gently closed the door once Antonio was in. No, he did not slam the door, and No, there was not a questionably sized dent in the side of the car from Squalo's steel-toed boot-kick.
He could swear Antonio was shaking when he slid into the driver's seat. At this point, only two thoughts were on Squalo's mind: "Oh dear God, why did it have to be me?" and "If he's shaking now, stupid fool's lucky the one driving isn't the prince-brat."
Mission? What mission?
Squalo could only hope something would goddamn happen already, that this won't be another boring, pointless mission.
He got his wish about five seconds into the drive, when the distinct sound of a bullet bouncing off the armor-plated side of the car reached Squalo's ears.
Maybe today was going to turn out okay after all.
--xx--xx--xxXxx--xx--xx--
An unmanly scream flooded the inside of the car, and Squalo winced at the high frequency of it. Considering there were only men in the limo, he couldn't help but feel embarrassment for the Roverian family boss. Seems like he was the only one with any sense of pride for manliness, though, for Antonio didn't even have the decency to look slightly flustered. Well, not in the way that counts. He was looking worse for the wear, as he tumbled back and forth in the backseat, Squalo steering them (quite professionally) through narrow back alleys of Namimori, dodging the rain of bullets pelting the car. So far, the swordsman counted three different sounding taps, which meant three different caliber bullets. So either the sniper was switching rifles between every other shot, or there were three or more of them, and Squalo was willing to bet on the second option.
"Vooiii!! You!!" Squalo was glad to revert to his natural way of speaking, though Antonio gave a jump and a shriek at his gruff voice. "Come over to the front and drive this goddamn thing!"
"Wait, what?! You can't leave me!! You're my bodyguard!" Antonio's protests fell on deaf ears as Squalo grabbed a handful of his suit and hauled him up front, flipping smoothly to the passenger's seat over the dashboard. The Roverian boss gave another squeak and moved quickly behind the wheel, grabbing it and steering them straight right before a potentially-fatal crash with a brick wall. "Are you insane?! Where are you going?!"
"Vooiii!! The door's gonna be opened for a minute, alright!?" Completely ignoring Antonio, Squalo moved to the back seat, pulling his suit jacket off long enough to stuff his ponytail down the back before fastening the buttons again. "They don't know what you look like, so they'll assume I'm you! When they come after me, drive into the third alleyway from here, kill the engine, and get into the passenger's seat. Got that?! Don't screw this up!!"
The swordsman gave his employer no chance to respond before pulling open the handle and tumbling out, much like a how a regular person would tuck and roll out of a moving car. Inertia proved its worth as the door slammed shut half a second later, right before half a dozen bullets lodged themselves into it. The snipers trailed their attacks to Squalo, and the swordsman was instantly on the move as the asphalt by his feet burst and cracked.
Hm. Large caliber guns, then.
Bel's shit-eating grin on his lips, Squalo dashed expertly up to the building where the shots came from. They were in a somewhat suburban neighborhood, so the buildings weren't quite high, and calculating the trajectory and angles of each shot, the snipers weren't at a particularly high floor (or were particularly good shots, either). Sure enough, a quick glance up allowed sharp blue eyes to spot the armed men, their guns pointed at the silver-haired man. For a brief moment, there was silence, as the nervous snipers regarded the man who was able to dodge all their bullets effortlessly, while Squalo slowly rose to his full height. From five feet ten inches off the ground, he could see the nervous perspiration dotting a sniper's forehead, and laughed with careless abandon. When the men finally decided he was too dangerous not to shoot, it was too late. Somehow, all three lost their ability to pull their triggers as blood and fingers flopped to the floor. Squalo wasn't one to toy with his prey, so quick slits to the throat followed, silencing each scream efficiently and swiftly.
Before the swordsman could even think about congratulating himself on a job well done, a ticking sound reached his attentive ears. He quickly spied out the source to be a black box - a time bomb by the looks of it. Scoffing at the idiocy of actually installing ticking mechanisms into a bomb meant for stealth, Squalo flipped over the windowsill and entered the building.
Straight into the face of a startled masked man.
With instincts built from years and years of dodging dangerous projectile weapons from Xanxus, Squalo dodged the punch sent his way easy, and with force built from years and years of dealing with Bel (and his knives), sent the man flying into the air, straight into the black box.
Turns out, maybe it wasn't a time bomb after all. More of a pressure-sensitive bomb, and a dead-human weight didn't need any sort of sensitivity to feel. Squalo had no time to react before the bomb went off, blowing out all the windows, all the corpses, and the one deadly assassin in the building.
He would've been alright, had the explosion not trigger what happened to be another bomb in the building at the opposite side of the street. When Squalo's vertebrae finally deemed itself non-liquidated enough to hold him up, the swordsman counted five bodies - three armed, and two not.
Well, whatever. He got rid of the attackers, as per his job dictated. That was good enough for him.
So Squalo marches off, heading for the third alley, where he told Antonio to wait. When he heard the sound of a revving motor, he grew irritated. Could no one follow instructions these days, when they're given to save lives?! Irritation turned to trepidation, however, when Squalo counted two, no five motors, and knew Antonio wasn't the one to blame.
The grin on his face when he turned the corner was a direct result of imagining all the wonderful things he could do to massacre the bitches that dared mess with his mission.
Turned out, they were just motorcycle gang members, looking for trouble, and found Mister Dressed-In-a-Suit-and-Driving-a-Limo. Sure, they shouldn't have messed with the Vongola's - thus the Varia's, thus Squalo's - employer, but the ultimate offense came when they dared to not-know Squalo.
Nobody not-knew Squalo. Even the littlest of babies knew of Squalo.
Henceforth, the Big Five was no more but a smoldering pile of ignorant teenagers by the side of the road. The swordsman found it disappointing, how he didn't even need his sword, and a few dodges and well-placed jabs to the stomachs took care of the job. Disappointing, and a bit pathetic.
So of course karma drives one of them to attempt for repentance, hot-wiring a local car and accelerating at Squalo and the limo (but mostly Squalo) 120 miles per hour. The best part about this brave stunt of foolishness was, to the swordsman, how beautifully his speed worked against him. With a simple pointed tip and waves of rain flames to redirect the pieces, the car was split clean in half, each part slamming into the wall a good twenty yards behind Antonio - too far away to do harm.
To Antonio and Squalo. Not to the limo.
And that is how a series of unfortunate events led up to Squalo's general degenerative state of negativity, which led him to reminisce to the Vongola brass's words, Xanxus's orders, that morning with Bel...
"ARG! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!"
"Shishishi~ Sharkie's going mad~"
"So says the Prince. The long-haired commander's really got it bad..."
The Ninth's orders.
He's not a person to be angered easily, despite general consensus.
The Roverian Family. You probably have never heard of them.
But this time... Squalo would like to think that this time, getting mad wasn't just acceptable. It was inevitable.
Protect the information with your life.
So the general gloom that hung around him wherever he went was perfectly justified.
The boss dies, you die, scum.
...And to think it was turning out to be such a nice day.
--xx--xx--xxXxx--xx--xx--
"Ushishishi~ What's sharkie up to, the prince wonders~"
Great. Nothing put a smile on his face more than a psychotic delusional lunatic that has homicidal tendencies, with knives and an even more biting sense of humor to boot.
"You'll find out if you don't get the fuck out here, vooii!" Squalo threatened. He would've brandished his sword for added effect, but unfortunately, his trusted blade wasn't conveniently attached to his wrist as of now. With a snarl worthy of Bester, the swordsman gave his hair a last rung, shaking out the damp tresses and letting them cascade down his back. It was only during times like these that Squalo truly notices how long his hair had gotten, falling softly into a silver pool on the chair their owner currently occupied. A couple of contemplative blinks and a growled "Fuck this..." later, he was back to gathering his hair up, this time into a ponytail - for convenience's sake. No one truly understood the pain of washing out all the dirt, dust, blood, and wine from deadened cells connected to nerve endings every single day. No one but Squalo.
"If the captain didn't look so damn womanly, the prince might actually consider being frightened," Bel commented with that shit-eating grin of his, inspecting Squalo's reflection in the mirror. "Hm. Good thing you're kind of pretty. Else you'd never have been able to pull the long hair look off, shishi~"
"Are you done, dammit?!" Squalo truly felt out of his element when he couldn't turn around and simply run the obnoxious brat through with his sword. His words also lacked the venom necessary to back it up since all his focus was on his goddamn hair that just wouldn't gather up-!
"Aaww... Does the worthless plebeian need assistance?"
Squalo refused to acknowledge the skillful way Bel took over tying his hair, blaming his failure instead on the vantage point the blond had. Bel didn't seem to mind the indignant huff and the hunched-shoulder/kicked-puppy look, and if it was anatomically possible, his grin got even wider as his fingers moved expertly through soft silver strands and coaxing them together under the hair tie.
"Hmm~ Sharkie's hair is almost worthy of nobility~"
The swordsman offered him an incredulous look. "Uh, thank you...?"
"Shishi~ Be glad of the Prince's service." Bel straightened up, giving Squalo's head a loving pat. "Of course, I'm expecting gratitude."
"Vooiii, what the hell?! Did you turn into the baby overnight?!" Squalo complained, standing up and strapping his sword back onto his wrist. The weight was a comforting reassurance, and he gave it a couple of test swings, just to relish in the feel even more. Out of the corner of his eyes, the swordsman saw the prince shrug carelessly.
"I'm lacking funds because of Mammon," Bel hummed. "I need a source of income too."
"I'm not paying you to tie my hair! Go do a goddamn mission or something, voi!"
"The Prince doesn't want to," Bel pouted, dancing away from the blade that came swinging his way. "The missions left doesn't interest me."
"Then stop complaining and wasting my time!"
With the last exclaim, Squalo straightened up, adjusting his jacket and straightening his tie. After wearing the Varia uniform so much it felt like second skin, the Armani suit was foreign and - quite frankly - nothing but a hindrance. But for the sake of the mission, Squalo had donned this uncomfortable clothing. For the sake of the Varia's privacy, for the Vongola's ultimate goal, and for all the stupid money that went to waste to buy this. For all that, there was no way the swordsman could fail the mission. No pressure at all, especially with Xanxus's gun practically pressed to his temple. The dangers involved in this mission - all the possibilities of bodily injuries, all the chances of fatality Squalo was taking - were enough to put the Amazon rainforest to shame, wild jaguar attacks and all.
Luckily, Squalo was a shark, and sharks live for danger.
--xx--xx--xxXxx--xx--xx--
"Are you the bodyguard?"
Squalo rolled his eyes at the Roverian family boss - Mister Just-Call-Me-Antonio - and his attempt at conspiratorial whispering. The man was dressed to the nines, so to speak, decked out in a suit not unlike Squalo's, with heavy-looking wristwatch and rings adorning his weather-worn hands. Though the Roverian family was weak, Squalo wasn't about to criticize a man who's dedicated his all to building this family up. He just hoped Antonio wasn't so melodramatic. It took everything the swordsman had to lower his voice to a more-acceptable volume, and keep all the tempting curses out of his reply.
"No, sir. Just the driver."
"Oh..." Antonio stared at him, confused, until Squalo (after rolling his eyes again) glared at him over the top of his sunglasses. It was only then the family boss truly got it. "Oh!"
The swordsman nodded once, and opened the limo's door for him, as all proper drivers did, and gently closed the door once Antonio was in. No, he did not slam the door, and No, there was not a questionably sized dent in the side of the car from Squalo's steel-toed boot-kick.
He could swear Antonio was shaking when he slid into the driver's seat. At this point, only two thoughts were on Squalo's mind: "Oh dear God, why did it have to be me?" and "If he's shaking now, stupid fool's lucky the one driving isn't the prince-brat."
Mission? What mission?
Squalo could only hope something would goddamn happen already, that this won't be another boring, pointless mission.
He got his wish about five seconds into the drive, when the distinct sound of a bullet bouncing off the armor-plated side of the car reached Squalo's ears.
Maybe today was going to turn out okay after all.
--xx--xx--xxXxx--xx--xx--
An unmanly scream flooded the inside of the car, and Squalo winced at the high frequency of it. Considering there were only men in the limo, he couldn't help but feel embarrassment for the Roverian family boss. Seems like he was the only one with any sense of pride for manliness, though, for Antonio didn't even have the decency to look slightly flustered. Well, not in the way that counts. He was looking worse for the wear, as he tumbled back and forth in the backseat, Squalo steering them (quite professionally) through narrow back alleys of Namimori, dodging the rain of bullets pelting the car. So far, the swordsman counted three different sounding taps, which meant three different caliber bullets. So either the sniper was switching rifles between every other shot, or there were three or more of them, and Squalo was willing to bet on the second option.
"Vooiii!! You!!" Squalo was glad to revert to his natural way of speaking, though Antonio gave a jump and a shriek at his gruff voice. "Come over to the front and drive this goddamn thing!"
"Wait, what?! You can't leave me!! You're my bodyguard!" Antonio's protests fell on deaf ears as Squalo grabbed a handful of his suit and hauled him up front, flipping smoothly to the passenger's seat over the dashboard. The Roverian boss gave another squeak and moved quickly behind the wheel, grabbing it and steering them straight right before a potentially-fatal crash with a brick wall. "Are you insane?! Where are you going?!"
"Vooiii!! The door's gonna be opened for a minute, alright!?" Completely ignoring Antonio, Squalo moved to the back seat, pulling his suit jacket off long enough to stuff his ponytail down the back before fastening the buttons again. "They don't know what you look like, so they'll assume I'm you! When they come after me, drive into the third alleyway from here, kill the engine, and get into the passenger's seat. Got that?! Don't screw this up!!"
The swordsman gave his employer no chance to respond before pulling open the handle and tumbling out, much like a how a regular person would tuck and roll out of a moving car. Inertia proved its worth as the door slammed shut half a second later, right before half a dozen bullets lodged themselves into it. The snipers trailed their attacks to Squalo, and the swordsman was instantly on the move as the asphalt by his feet burst and cracked.
Hm. Large caliber guns, then.
Bel's shit-eating grin on his lips, Squalo dashed expertly up to the building where the shots came from. They were in a somewhat suburban neighborhood, so the buildings weren't quite high, and calculating the trajectory and angles of each shot, the snipers weren't at a particularly high floor (or were particularly good shots, either). Sure enough, a quick glance up allowed sharp blue eyes to spot the armed men, their guns pointed at the silver-haired man. For a brief moment, there was silence, as the nervous snipers regarded the man who was able to dodge all their bullets effortlessly, while Squalo slowly rose to his full height. From five feet ten inches off the ground, he could see the nervous perspiration dotting a sniper's forehead, and laughed with careless abandon. When the men finally decided he was too dangerous not to shoot, it was too late. Somehow, all three lost their ability to pull their triggers as blood and fingers flopped to the floor. Squalo wasn't one to toy with his prey, so quick slits to the throat followed, silencing each scream efficiently and swiftly.
Before the swordsman could even think about congratulating himself on a job well done, a ticking sound reached his attentive ears. He quickly spied out the source to be a black box - a time bomb by the looks of it. Scoffing at the idiocy of actually installing ticking mechanisms into a bomb meant for stealth, Squalo flipped over the windowsill and entered the building.
Straight into the face of a startled masked man.
With instincts built from years and years of dodging dangerous projectile weapons from Xanxus, Squalo dodged the punch sent his way easy, and with force built from years and years of dealing with Bel (and his knives), sent the man flying into the air, straight into the black box.
Turns out, maybe it wasn't a time bomb after all. More of a pressure-sensitive bomb, and a dead-human weight didn't need any sort of sensitivity to feel. Squalo had no time to react before the bomb went off, blowing out all the windows, all the corpses, and the one deadly assassin in the building.
He would've been alright, had the explosion not trigger what happened to be another bomb in the building at the opposite side of the street. When Squalo's vertebrae finally deemed itself non-liquidated enough to hold him up, the swordsman counted five bodies - three armed, and two not.
Well, whatever. He got rid of the attackers, as per his job dictated. That was good enough for him.
So Squalo marches off, heading for the third alley, where he told Antonio to wait. When he heard the sound of a revving motor, he grew irritated. Could no one follow instructions these days, when they're given to save lives?! Irritation turned to trepidation, however, when Squalo counted two, no five motors, and knew Antonio wasn't the one to blame.
The grin on his face when he turned the corner was a direct result of imagining all the wonderful things he could do to massacre the bitches that dared mess with his mission.
Turned out, they were just motorcycle gang members, looking for trouble, and found Mister Dressed-In-a-Suit-and-Driving-a-Limo. Sure, they shouldn't have messed with the Vongola's - thus the Varia's, thus Squalo's - employer, but the ultimate offense came when they dared to not-know Squalo.
Nobody not-knew Squalo. Even the littlest of babies knew of Squalo.
Henceforth, the Big Five was no more but a smoldering pile of ignorant teenagers by the side of the road. The swordsman found it disappointing, how he didn't even need his sword, and a few dodges and well-placed jabs to the stomachs took care of the job. Disappointing, and a bit pathetic.
So of course karma drives one of them to attempt for repentance, hot-wiring a local car and accelerating at Squalo and the limo (but mostly Squalo) 120 miles per hour. The best part about this brave stunt of foolishness was, to the swordsman, how beautifully his speed worked against him. With a simple pointed tip and waves of rain flames to redirect the pieces, the car was split clean in half, each part slamming into the wall a good twenty yards behind Antonio - too far away to do harm.
To Antonio and Squalo. Not to the limo.
And that is how a series of unfortunate events led up to Squalo's general degenerative state of negativity, which led him to reminisce to the Vongola brass's words, Xanxus's orders, that morning with Bel...
"ARG! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!"
"Shishishi~ Sharkie's going mad~"
"So says the Prince. The long-haired commander's really got it bad..."