A pucca story requested by my best friend, I hope you enjoy it.
WARNING: Contains mature content as the story progresses, foul language and gory scenes. If any of those discomfort you, then please... do not read this story.
Leggings.
Prologue.
It was in days like these that he truly hated his job.
The many stenches that were emitted from their dancing forms, the glowing lights and the loud, ear-wrecking music managed to irritate him completely. Just what was it that they found so appealing in these clubs? Was it the music? Downloadable. Was it the alcohol? Hmph! Affordable. Was it the search for companionship? Better places. The need to talk to someone you know nothing about? Chatting websites, end of the story. The girls in tight, short skirts? Again, internet. Or... perhaps it was none other than the obscene, completely disgusting rhythmical acts that those barbarians refer to as dancing?
Perhaps that would have been believable... Except that if they were so tempted to rub their bodies against each other in such an animalistic fashion; they could've just went ahead to buy themselves a whore for that sole purpose. Why bother coming here, get into trouble and wake up the next morning in bed with a big mistake?
The answer was simple; it was all for the sake of getting into trouble, all for the sake of making mistakes and regretting it afterwards. The pleasure was apparently, so damn good that they just couldn't help it. There was no 'why' or 'what' or 'how come?' in whatever they were doing. Just simple idiocy that could make any citizen cringe.
Heaven was going out of business.
He harrumphed and took a sip of his plain bottle of water, amber eyes scanning the room.
A bunch of half-assed, dim witted imbeciles. He thought in mild amusement as he kept looking towards the dance floor. It wasn't like he came here for fun, or to witness any of this. In reality, he did it for his job, his career, his dream. And so far so good, he didn't fuss over any of his missions.
In such an environment, where everyone was lost in ecstasy, a drug dealer would be quite able, if not easily; to waltz his way in and out unnoticed, do a little bit of business here and there before leaving with his pockets full of green.
He snorted.
How laughable, that could've happened indeed, except that now... He was there, and no drug deal or whatever the heck those guys do was going to happen in any possible way.
No way... Not on his watch.
And this time, he smiled. Because his prey already appeared on his line of sight; leaning casually on the counter with a glass of whiskey in his hand and car keys on the other. The man looked like he was on his mid thirties, with bleached pink hair and a shit load of piercings on his face. Johnny Vergas, age 34. An ex truck driver with a lazy attitude. Mostly known for fooling around, sniffing a bit of this and that before going on a massive rampage in a common, friendly house. A drug dealer, murderer, some lowly scum. He thought bitterly, amber eyes fierce and intense.
He started walking towards his prey, slowly, calmly and steadily. Each step was calculated carefully, walking through the crowd like a mere shadow; his presence unnoticed. Sure enough, there were a few ladies that managed to actually see him. He wasn't exactly invisible, however; every time he gets this wild flow of testosterone and intent to kill, it'd be hard not to.
Wearing a black shirt, black leather jacket, dark jeans and black boots; he looked almost like an actual shadow aside from his amber orbs and pale complexion. He removed a strand of his shoulder length black hair from his face as he approached his target, who still didn't seem to notice him coming.
He removed the small knife he kept hidden under his shirt and hid it carefully within his sleeve, The job better be clean... He remembered.
The next second he was behind him, whispering in his ear; his voice low, manly, and completely dangerous.
"I've been looking for you, Vergas." He grabbed him firmly in place with his free hand, then pointed the knife on his back to make sure he knew exactly what would happen if he didn't obey. "You caused a lot of trouble for me, you know?" He chuckled darkly.
Johnny started trembling madly, eyes wide in terror, "Who the hell are you?!" He asked in his high pitched voice. The assassin pushed the blade to make sure he felt it better.
"Keep your voice low, we don't want to cause a commotion now do we?" He sighed and tightened his grip on Johnny's arm, "Let's just go somewhere and... Have a friendly chat, yes?"
He didn't seem to comply, "I-I know y-you..." his eyes widened like a fish's, "You're that modern day ninja, right? G-Garu, was it?"
Garu's lips pursed, he didn't utter a word and decided to simply drag him towards his demise instead. Johnny continued talking, regardless.
"L-l-look... I don't wanna' die! I'm just too young, a-and a virgin!" He looked up to search for any possible trace of mercy, but found a stoic; completely heartless mask instead of the compassion he longed to see.
Garu raised an eyebrow, still silently pulling him outside.
"I'll give you money! Lots of cash, just name the price!"
"Money is the least of my worries," he sighed, clearly not in the mood. "You're a scum, I despise scums... So I kill them," he said matter-of-factly.
Johnny looked at him incredulously, "What have I done?" He looked almost innocent.
Almost...
"You kill for the pleasure of killing, you sell your filth in exchange for hard-earned money, you lie like you breathe and you're not exactly honest either." He furrowed his brows dangerously, "Fifty-eight victims, in which twenty-seven men; severely injured and brutally murdered, twenty –three women, raped and killed in atrocious conditions..." his glare intensified into something terrifying, "Eight children... Seven girls and a little boy, who; in their turn were also raped, that is... Before being forced to watch their parents die by your hands."
Johnny peed his pants, looking at him; completely terrorized. He wasn't sure if it was because of the glare, or the blade that was no longer pointing at his back but his throat instead, or if it was because they weren't in the club anymore, but a dark, empty alleyway with an assassin.
"I...I... I won't do it again..." he cried, "Please don't... Don't kill me..." His trembling hand reached for his breast pocket, where he carefully hid his knife. Garu snorted, amber orbs glowing.
"Apologize to your victims in the afterlife, filth."
He ended it all by simply slitting his throat in a fast, careful and steady motion.
"How did it go?" The raspy voice of his boss asked on the other line of his phone.
"Fine," he replied, looking at the police cars from the top of the building, the wind blowing hard on his black hair.
"That's good, no witnesses... I hope?"
"No, but I didn't really have enough time to dispose the body," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "The police is now investigating on the matter, not like it'll be a problem, but..."
"You didn't leave any piece of evidence, did you?"
"No."
"Then there's nothing to worry about, Garu. You did good, I'll be sure to reward you handsomely."
"I don't need a reward!" He snapped, "I only took in this mission because you said the guy was worth the match!"
"And?"
"Sir..." he sighed, "He peed on his pants and begged for his life thirty seconds after our encounter."
"Well..." He could picture him rolling his eyes, "You're not exactly sweet either, Garu."
"I don't see the use of being sweet to any of those criminals."
"Garu, I understand how hard it is for you, however...There isn't much I can offer you, nowadays there aren't many interesting missions, you just have to stick with what you're given."
Garu's eyes narrowed at the sight of Johnny's body being taken by the emergencies, "I demand a real challenge next time, considering what I've been through in that... Club." He shuddered.
"You're being overly dramatic here, that wasn't as traumatizing as you think."
"I was nearly molested by those heavily perfumed, half naked clowns you people refer to as women."
"I'm starting to question your sexuality here, old champ. Any heterosexual male would've been more than glad to be pounced by young girls."
"Back to the subject..." he groaned and shivered at that thought, "Just remember that I'm not one of your lowly assassins, I'm a ninja; a shinobi of the modern day. I live to follow the path of honour. Your justice? I don't give a fuck about any of it. Sure, that guy deserved to die, hell... he deserved more than death, but he wasn't worth it. All I'm asking you, is someone competent, someone who can resist me, who can fight me without feeling numb on the knees whenever he realizes who I am. A challenge, I'm asking you for a challenge."
His boss remained quiet for a good moment, almost as if he was lost in thought. Then spoke slowly, "I'll see what I can do, in the meantime... Try to rest, we still need you."
"Fine." He muttered and ended their conversation, half expecting him to call back and add one of those annoying smug remarks, but allowed a relieved sigh to escape his lips when he didn't.
He looked up at the dark sky, the moon and the stars, and allowed himself to breathe calmly.
New York, the city that never sleeps; became his home now. After leaving Tokyo and coming to the states, he expected to live an exciting life, to finally have missions worthy of his strength.
But he found himself facing the exact opposite, and even worse than this... He started to miss Tokyo.
Sensei... He closed his eyes, remembering his master's kind and gentle face, his white beard and abnormally long braid. I'll do my best.
Garu opened his eyes slowly, his amber orbs returning to their normal hazel color. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation at the memory of today, in which he spent those entire 24 hours stalking that Vergas guy in the shadows so he could finally have his had earned showdown past midnight like he planned. He felt completely betrayed after he realized the guy was a wimp. Talk about a major letdown...
"No matter, at least he died for his crimes," he spoke as he began jumping from roof to roof at the speed of sound towards his house.
After five minutes, he found his apartment complex and entered it quietly. He took the mail, removed his jacket and opened his apartment door, where he met his beloved cat; Mio, waiting patiently for him.
"Why hi there, friend." He smiled as he took him in his arms, "How come you're not sleeping?"
"Nyaa..." the cat mewed in adoration for his master, rubbing his small little head on his hard well-built chest. Garu chuckled and caressed him.
"I get it, you're hungry."
The little black fur ball looked at him before resuming in his quest to rub himself all over his master, Garu laughed this time.
"Alright alright, I'll feed you. But please stop the rubbing, I've seen and experienced enough of that."
Mio didn't seem to understand, so he kept rubbing himself all over him. Garu rolled his eyes and took them in the kitchen. He grabbed Mio's cat food and poured its contents on the plate, then placed it gently on the floor for his cat to savour.
Mio rushed towards the food and ate it enthusiastically, Garu smiled and went straight for the living room, where he took the mail and started reading.
Junk, Junk, Junk, more Junk, hey, some more Junk! He sighed and threw it all on the table, not that he cared; it's just that this complex was the victim of coupons, announcements and anonymous invitations to heaven knows what. He somehow found himself with strip clubs coupons as well, and nearly murdered the mail guy because of that.
Prick.
As he looked through the junk mail, he noticed a bright flashy paper with a dragon drawing on it. Curiously, he opened it and found an announcement for some sort of noodle restaurant.
Noodles... He thought in amusement, his belly grumbling at the idea. I miss them so...
He folded the paper and gave himself a mental thought to go check it out soon, when he wasn't in his working hours.
Little did he know that that restaurant wasn't all about noodles.
TBC.
Been out for long, sorry. Now I'm back on track!
Review please.