A/N: Hello, everyone! This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so please bear with me! The pairing is ItachiOC, so if you don't like it, don't read it, and please no flames! R&R please!
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and never will. TT
Prologue
The sunset was beautiful. The flaming red sun lit up the sky as it sank slowly beneath the horizon, as if trying to grab a last moment of fame before it faded. The sky was clear except for a few wisps of cloud, and at the moment it looked as if the whole sky was aflame.
He sighed, a slow escape of breath hardly even heard by himself. He was not a man who sighed easily, for sighing is a sign of weakness. Still, he hasn't seen a sunset like this for years, ever since… that day. He closed his eyes and took a sip of soda, willing the memories away. It would not do for him to remember his past at a time like this. He had a job to do, and it would be pathetic if he failed it due to some old, useless memories. Besides, it's not like the sunset means anything… right?
He stood up and tossed his soda can over his shoulder, aiming without looking at the trash bin behind the bench he was sitting on. With a clunk, the can fell into the already full bin, and knocked several pieces of trash out and onto the ground.
More complications. Sunset, this is your fault.
Glaring at the setting sun, he decided to leave the trash alone. Instead, he surveyed his surroundings, checking for any signs of danger.
He was at a beach, by a seaside resort, which explains the wonderful (or not-so-wonderful) sunset he had seen and is still seeing. Clear waves washed ashore, indicating there was not much pollution here. Some children could be seen playing in the sand, building sand castles with their little shovels and buckets. One quick glance decided the plastic tools did not conceal lethal weapons. He looked up and down the stretch of sand, observing the happy tourists splashing around in the ocean. They were probably all staying at the resort behind him, he figured. Best to take a look.
He walked along the beach, glancing fleetingly at every smiling face he encountered. Then his gaze went to whatever the owners of the faces held in their hands. Two brisk walks up and down the beach revealed no possible threat, but his target wasn't there either. Looks like he would have to enter the resort itself.
Two girls tugged at the sleeve of his dark red shirt. "Hey, what's your name?" one of them cooed. "Wanna come and spend some time with us?" the other winked suggestively at him.
Girls were so annoying.
"No, thank you," he said as coldly as possible, and jerked the sleeve out of their grasps. However, the girls followed him on his trek back up the beach.
"Do you stay at the resort too?" "Which garden do you stay in?" "What's your room number?" "Do you have a girlfriend?" the girls bombarded him with questions. He shut his eyes in annoyance. Normally he would have just pushed (or kicked) them away or maybe even broken their arms. But he could not afford to cause a scene here. It would jeopardize his entire mission. Luckily, one girl's cell phone rang, and after much whining on her part (it sounded like the caller was her mother), she grabbed her friend and left with a seductive wink at him.
Finally.
He continued up the beach alone and viciously glared at anyone who dared to approach him. Luckily, no one disturbed him again, and he reached the resort driveway without trouble.
At the front of the driveway he stopped. There seemed to be a line of people waiting for something. He asked an old man in his most polite voice, "Excuse me, what is this line for?"
"The tram, of course. The resort is huge; you don't expect to walk all the way up to the front doors, do you?" the old man laughed genially.
He smiled slightly, then went to stand in the back of the line. He considered running to the front doors instead; God knows he'd still be faster than the tram, and it would provide a good warm-up. Yeah, and there goes his lie-low strategy. Best to wait for the tram instead.
After a three-minute wait and a six-minute ride, he was dropped off at the main building of the Sunrise Seaside Resort. Conscious of every female eye in the vicinity on him, he walked in the revolving doors and up to the registration counter. The girl sitting behind the counter (yes, it had to be a girl) took one look at him, and donned the most dazzling smile she could muster. "What can I do for you, sir?"
The poor girl needed a boyfriend. And not him.
"Could you please look up Mr. Clarkson's room? He said we'd be sharing his room, and he neglected to mention the room number," he politely inquired.
"Uh, I'm sorry, sir, we are not allowed to give away customer information—"
He cut her off. "We have an important business meeting here with another man, and Mr. Clarkson would hate it if I didn't make it because you refused to mention his room number." He leaned over the counter and fixed his gaze on her. "Would it be so impossible to tell me? I'm not asking for a key to his room or anything; he'd let me in. Now would you please enlighten me with the information I requested, sweet lady?" His eyes glinted red, just for a moment.
"Uh, umm… uh… h-hold on a minute please," squeaked the girl, blushing furiously. She frantically searched for Mr. Clarkson on her computer. "Uh, h-here it is. Mr. C-Clarkson, Palm Garden, room 916… please d-don't tell anyone I told you this, or I'll be fired!"
He smiled sweetly at her. "Don't worry, darling. I won't tell anyone." With that, he walked away from the counter, leaving the girl very flustered and scared.
He walked through the double glass doors marked "Palm Garden," smiling on the inside. It was too easy. Look them in the eye, and they can't say no to him. He almost wished he wasn't blessed with such good looks, if only to make the task a little more challenging; not that it would make much of a difference. He could always just hack into the system instead, but he enjoyed playing around with the people he encountered. Hacking in would take away half the challenge, and the fun.
The Palm Garden wasn't named for nothing. Palm trees were everywhere, and flowers and shrubs decorated their bases. Paths lined with benches wound between the greenery and led to various facilities, such as the indoor swimming pool, the spa, the fitness room, the tennis courts, and of course, the Palm Garden main hotel complex., which consisted of nine floors, meaning Mr. Clarkson stayed at the very top.
He walked towards the building, shivering a little from the evening breezes and almost relaxing in the comforting scenery. Almost. He never made the mistake of relaxing, for that is usually when the enemy attacked. His ever-vigilant eyes swept the shadows of the trees, half-expecting an assassin to spring out and strike. He wouldn't be surprised if it happened.
Inside the building it was warm and well-lit. He took the elevator to the ninth floor. As he walked out, his feet sank into the plush carpet. Not good, he thought. Anything could be hidden in this. Scanning the floor, he walked carefully to the end of the hallway, where the door with the gleaming bronze number 16 stood. The door was made of finely polished oak of the highest quality. It would be such a waste to break it. But maybe he wouldn't need to break down the door. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and rang the doorbell instead, then carefully stepped out of the way of the door viewer.
Sounds came from the other side of the door. Shuffling feet, and then the soft thud of a body pressing against the door, clearly trying to see out of the door viewer. Unable to find who rang the doorbell, a gruff voice came from the other side of the door. "Who is it?"
He smirked a little, and replied, "Room service!"
"I don't want room service, thank you!" with that the person inside the door made to walk away.
"But I'm sure your wife would want the room cleaned, right?" he asked in a sincere tone.
"I don't have a wife! I live just fine on my own, thank you very much! And since I'm in control of my own cleanliness, I decide I do not need room service!" the man inside yelled and moved back to the door.
He smiled to himself. He had just made sure of the number of people inside the room, which is only one: Mr. Clarkson himself.
"But sir, we received word that the previous occupant's cat had scratched and dirtied the room in various hard-to-spot places, and we would hate it if you had to live in that—"
"Fine, fine! Come on in and show me these hard-to-spot places you think I didn't find! Besides, I thought pets weren't allowed in here!" noises could be heard of Mr. Clarkson opening the door.
He allowed himself a victorious smile before the door opened. Then he pushed inside and locked the door behind him.
"Wha— I thought— aren't you room service? Where's your cart thing that you people always bring with you? Where are the fresh sheets and stuff? Where—"
"It's quite alright, Mr. Clarkson. I don't do the usual kind of room service. I'm here to clean up what the cat did, remember?" he smiled.
"Well— yes, but— how can you clean without any tools? You have nothing with you! Y-You are not room service! Who exactly are you?" Mr. Clarkson gasped. "Could it be— you're— you—"
"That would be correct," he said with a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. "Exactly, Mr. Clarkson."
In one fluid movement, he grabbed the man's left arm, twisted it behind his back, and forced him against the wall. He then took out two bandanas, one which he tied around the man's wrists and the other he stuffed in the man's mouth. Reaching down, he removed a silenced pistol from the strap on his right leg, concealed by his long pants. Embossed on the pistol was a golden dragon, extending its long body from one end of the gun to the other.
The man's eyes widened when he saw the pistol, or more accurately, the dragon on the pistol. He started to struggle and whimper, making incoherent sounds.
"Don't worry, Mr. Clarkson. I've got nothing against you. It's just my job, you see." He put the gun to the man's temple and pulled back the slide. "You can't blame a man for doing his job, can you?"
He pulled the trigger.
The gun fired, silent and deadly.
He released his hold on Mr. Clarkson, who dropped to the floor, dead.
He slipped the pistol back inside its strap, and removed the bandanas. He took a last glance around the place, making sure he did not leave behind any evidence. Of course, the fact that he "persuaded" the girl at the front counter into telling him the room would be evidence enough, but the police could not catch him by simply a description of his face and clothing, providing the girl even remembered what he looked like after all that blushing.
Searching around the room, he found the key card to the door. He opened the door and stepped out into the carpeted hallway. Sliding the card through the mechanism on the door, he locked it, and with a flick of his wrist he slid the card back under the door. Removing his gloves, he stuffed them into a special compartment on the pistol strap, and walked down the corridor as if nothing happened.
Twelve minutes later he was out the front doors of the main building, looking out at the twilight that engulfed the resort after sunset. The job didn't even take forty minutes. Smiling, he walked to the tram stop. Best to look normal and take the tram than to run down the road like a fleeing murderer.
His cell phone rang. Frowning, he answered it. Only a few people knew his number and no call from any of them meant anything good.
A few minutes later he snapped his phone shut. He was wrong; it was good news, in some way. It was certainly intriguing, and he was ready for it.
He had a new job, and Uchiha Itachi never fails a job.
A/N: So that was the prologue. Please tell me if you like it so far! Next chapter will feature the OC. If you read it, please review! Click that lovely purple button!