The night was cool and soothing to eyes and ears. Up above almost purplish clouds rolled past, and the calm felt almost surreal. And then screaming and gunshots filled the air. A redheaded teen burst from behind a warehouse, and began firing shots at the beefy looking man following him.
The man grunted, brutally firing at the ginger, who laughed with glee, dropping back into the shadows. A second later a voice on the complete opposite side of the parking lot called out a taunt. The man spun, spluttering in confusion, but the boy was already disappearing.
The man was sweating, perspiration evident on his upper lip, soaking through his sleeves. What in the hell is going on he thought. This kid is just a kid, how is he appearing like th-
They say death is silent. But the faint sound of a gunshot and the whoosh off life escaping a body could be heard . The man's body hit the floor. From either side of the parking lot, twoteens emerged, smirking at each other. Point 589, Hikaru and Kaoru.
Where are they? Tamaki thought, peering at his gold encrusted watch. Had they stopped to get ice cream on the way back from there assassination mission? Sometimes he swore, if he didn't like 'em so much, they'd be dead. Or would they? There was no arguing that Tamaki was the best, and most eccentric, criminal the world had ever known. But those twins were sneaky, and the best con artists you'd ever had the misfortune to meet. Outside the mansion walls, he heard a car pull up. Finally.
Honey was wolfing down cake like there was no tomorrow. Kyoya gave him a disapproving look, and Honey sent him the evil eye. He sighed, and rubbed at his glasses, careful to keep his expression neutral. They were rich people, but no amount of thievery could keep up with the boy's cake obsession.
Tamaki was chatting non stop across the table, about how he wanted a new door in the west wing library, to replace the one they'd broken down go kart racing last week . More bills. He checked his pocket watch. He really should be getting to sleep. Ah well.
Kyoya reached down, and elegantly moved his rook. "Your turn." Tamaki abruptly stopped talking, and reached out to study the board intently. Kyoya was sometimes impressed by the controlled killer inside of Tamaki, and inside of himself. He was afraid he'd look in the mirror one day, and his eyes would be blood, hate, and pain. Nothing more. They day when he could no longer recognize himself, was the day he truly became a monster.
Tamaki moved his piece, and the clocked ticked, again, and again, and again. Being a mafia boss tended to get boring, when you weren't on a job. Mori who had been playing cards with Hikaru, suddenly stopped, tilted his head, and then went to the window, peering out into the dark garden.
"What is it Mori sempai?" Tamaki asked, concerned. Mori turned, and met his stare, looking surprised. "Intruder."
"Damn rich bastards, and their fancy houses!" Haruhi muttered, viciouslykicking branches out of her way, and crushing flowers under foot. It was freezing, and she was shivering. She'd forgotten a coat, and she thought her toes might freeze off. All she wanted was to get out of this stupid garden, and go back home. But she was lost, dammit!
She thought she heard a snicker from behind her, and whirled. Nothing. Frowning, she sneezed, which turned into a violent cough. Rubbing her arms she muttered "Imagining things, never, a good sign."
But paranoia had seeped into her bones just as surely as the cold had, and she couldn't resist peeking around, as she walked. She felt numb, and cold, and her toes were burning. She began to run, ignoring her stomach,which was churning. And then a sharp sting in her left shoulder made her stumble to a halt. Ouch.
Suddenly, laughing filled the air. Her head spin, and she felt sick. Then the world did a sickening spin, and she blackout. Somewhere in unconsciousness, she could hear two identical laughs…
The twins crept along the, their feet not making a sound. Their victim was different. Loud and painting, the figure stumbled from around warily. The brothers traded looks. Surely no one would send such and amateur. To Ouran, of all places.
Kaoru scoffed. He'd learned early on to never underestimate your opponent, but it was hard not to underestimate, this short, cranky man. He reached in his pocket for a gun, but remembered what Tamaki had said. "No boys, we just want to capture him, not kill him. Yet." He sighed, reached in his other pocket and pulled out a dart gun instead.
Hikaru nodded to his brother, and they both snickered. They watched the man, spin, darkness still covering his face, and he muttered something to himself, before turning back around. Kaoru blew, and the boy hit the floor. They walked forward to grab the body, but were shocked at what they saw.
It was a young, fair skinned boy, with creamy skin, and large brown eyes, staring blankly at them. His body was small, and fragile. Hikaru and Kaoru however weren't surprised by that. They'd seen kids as young as six working in the mafia business. Some of their closest friends had been mobsters ever since they beat kids up and stole things in first grade. The boy's lips were blue from cold, and his head had smashed a rock, and was gashed.
Kaoru and Hikaru exchanged look, they'd seen people in way worse condition, mostly caused, intentionally, by themselves. But something about this boy was different, almost as if they cared. Simultaneously, they rolled their eyes, dismissed the thought, then carelessly hefted up the boy.