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THE SERIAL KILLER OF GOTEI 13

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As a rule, he didn't like waking up early. There wasn't much a reason besides the fact that it seriously pissed him off, for lack of a better word. He didn't like waking up early, really didn't, and yet… It all had to go to plan, he knew, all had to go this certain way, else it would not work and that would really annoy him, even more than waking up early did. There was a box in the closet, under the piles of rubbish and he took it out, carefully. Didn't want to wake anyone up. The lid slid off easily and the dim light of the early sun showed a silver chain, about a meter long. He picked it up and it clinked softly, the foreign weapon no one knew how to use. No matter, that was part of the game, after all, the equal playing field. Well… not quite. Not one of them had managed to get him thus far and he had managed to get at them though. Ha. A quick glance in the mirror and a straightening of his collar and he grinned, at the silver chain and at the assortment of knives and matches on the table. He took them and tucked them into his inside pocket and smiled again, to the sun. He was ready to kill.

Some of them were awake already and they grinned nervously at him, feeling it their duty to make the newest members of the squad at ease. He smiled back, genuinely, and they cowered, shrank into the empty shells of their lives. He moved on, his destination clear, the silver chain swinging casually from his left hand.

The door opened at a touch and the commanding voice of the captain pervaded the air, "Come in, ah! – It's you."

He frowned, disappointed, only slightly though and asked for the lieutenant.

"Right here, in fact. Hey! You! The little prodigy wants you."

The lieutenant came in then and his heart pounded a little faster, something much like hate pounding through his blood. It boiled, was the word, boiled. But how would he know, he had never felt hate. It was this feeling, coming back to him again, the feeling that destroyed all else and his hands itched toward the knives and matches in his pocket. Garroted. What a nice word, he thought. What a very accurate word, it pronounced exactly as the action sounded. Garroted. And the detached feeling followed as his fingers twitched nervously, but then the captain cleared his throat. Damn him, he thought. Yet it's good, it's good. He would have struck then if the captain had not indicated that he was there, would have forgotten all about the man. He smiled though, at them both. Would have to wait, would have to wait after all. The detached feeling evaporated and the boiling thing, that which must be hate in others ebbed away.

An apology made its way to his tongue and escaped, an excuse followed and he left.

"An odd child," commented Hirako, watching his third seat's retreating back.

His lieutenant nodded wordlessly.