Regular font indicates the present.
Italic font indicates flashbacking.
Bold italic font indicates thought.
Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.
It was quiet.
Almost a little too quiet for the likes of a certain Briton.
Since he had arrived in the Metropolitan Museum, Arthur's nerves had been stretched like a bungee cord. His heart was thumping in his chest, every footstep he took sounded as loud as a gunshot, and he was unable to stop his hands from shaking.
Get ahold of yourself, Arthur thought semi-coherently as he stood beside the security room door, quietly removing the glass cylinder from the bag Kiku gave him. It's not like this is your first time. Hell, this heist should be easier than the last one.
He inspected the container for any cracks or blemishes that could have prematurely released the gas, a smirk etching itself onto his cheekbones when it passed his inspections. He placed the cylinder on the ground and nudged it so that it would roll into the room undetected. As soon as someone stepped on the cylinder and cracked the glass, the masked blond closed the door to prevent the amounts of nitrous oxide from escaping into the hallway.
Though a series of sickening 'THUMP's indicated that everyone inside had been rendered dizzy enough to fall unconscious, he slowly opened the door as a form of precaution. Precaution was always a virtue to abide by.
The Briton entered the security room and maneuvered his way over the bodies, setting each guard up on a chair and removing the rope from his bag so he could tie the men up. While he had confirmed their lack of consciousness, they could have been faking it to lower his guard.
Stuffing fabric in the guards' mouths to muffle their speech and quadruple-knotting the material around their limbs definitely took a decent portion of time to do, but in the instance that the men came to, it would take more time for them to undo the knots and remove the fabric than it would for them to simply unlock a door. Arthur may have made a few mistakes in the past (like jumping out of two-story windows or kissing commercialized idiots in broad daylight), but he wasn't stupid.
So far, the biggest risk I've taken is the message sent to the NYPD, the Englishman continued to think when he finished with the security guards, flipping open his pocket-watch communicator so he could alert Kiku. As it was a move designed to enrage America.
"You want to what?" Kiku said, looking up at Arthur with disbelief written across his expression from where he sat near his desk. He shook his head. "I'm afraid I may have misheard you, Arthur-san. Please repeat yourself."
"I need to provoke America," Arthur repeated, his hands in his pockets as he cascaded his emerald gaze across the jewelry his Japanese roommate was working on. "That way he can act as rashly as he always does, but in a way that benefits us."
The brunette sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How would his rash actions benefit us in any way?" He wondered out loud, resting his hand on his cheek. "Isn't one of the main reasons you hate him because of his rash actions?"
The Brit's brow furrowed when thinking of the American nuisance, nodding in agreement with his statement. "Yes, but if we purposely provoke him, we can manufacture a scenario that will result in him looking like a fool."
"And what kind of scenario could we manufacture?" The Japanese asked, curious to hear what his roommate's plan was. He couldn't stop the surprise from dawning on his features when the blond gestured to the fake Etruscan jewelry currently residing on his desk.
Considering Arthur had kissed America two hours ago and caused the press to forget the Metropolitan Museum incident in favor of the America fiasco, he had been forced to remain inside their dorm when the pictures went viral. Since then, he proposed that the next item to steal should be none other than the Etruscan jewelry, as it was valuable (dating from fifth-century B.C and made of materials ranging from glass to gold) and the new highlight of the museum's collection. As a form of precaution, Arthur had gone off and began making replicas for the jewelry, which Kiku had already begun tweaking.
"The answer lies with the replicas," the Briton stated simply, relishing the look of realization that replaced the Asian's previous look of surprise.
"Stage one has been completed," 'England' informed the masked image visible on his communicator as he stepped out of the security room, closing and locking the door in the process. "The guards have been knocked out, bound, and gagged. I'm about to head to the highlights' section of the museum, meaning that the Etruscan jewelry cannot be far ahead. Any sign of America?"
The Kitsune shook his head, relief spreading through the Englishman's system like a drug injected into his veins. "No sign of America-san. Though keep your guard up just in case he decoded your message earlier than initially intended."
Arthur nodded. "Alright. Don't hesitate to contact me in case something goes awry." He reminded, closing the communicator and slipping it into his pocket when his partner agreed.
I doubt he decoded the message faster than anticipated, he shrugged, walking up the stairs to the second floor where the jewelry was located. He listened for the sound of police sirens and kept his eye out for an obnoxious personification of commercialism just to be on the safe side. With his emotions running wild it'd be difficult for him to think properly, much less deduce where I am at the moment.
He grimaced when thinking of how true the words in his message to America were. How he was stupid for discarding his conscience for the sake of indulging the whims of hypocrites, and naïve for trusting them. How he followed their orders without question, and was oblivious or in denial to the fact he was being used. His mindset is calculable and yet his actions are not, making him the worst type of enemy: an unpredictable enemy.
Though Arthur would never say it out loud, that scared him more than anything else. The idea that he could figure out how someone's mind worked all he wanted, but was powerless when it came to that person's outward conduct. Not everyone acted with their brain, some acted with the belief of their hearts.
And America's heart believed in New York's police.
You idiot, the Brit scoffed internally, picking up his pace when he caught sight of a 'Highlights of the Collection' sign hanging over an entrance not too far from where he was. They'll use you up and throw you away like a piece of garbage when you're no longer needed. Like all the dirty work you've done for them was meaningless, like you don't matter in the world.
A soft sigh escaped from his mouth when he saw the Etruscan jewelry resting in a glass case, glad that he had enough foresight to disable the lasers surrounding the artifacts while he was in the security room, again.
He removed the glass case and began wrapping the items in fabric, depositing them into his theft bag when they were protected. After taking the artifacts (consisting of disks, pins, rings, and a necklace) and slipping them into his bag, he removed the replicas he made and had Kiku check for last-minute adjustments beforehand.
It's probably for the best that I do this, he thought grimly, missing the sensation of his communicator vibrating against his hip, as he was too focused on putting the fake jewelry in the glass container the original jewelry previously rested in. This way, the NYPD will begin to lose their faith in him.
The British thief placed the glass cover over the fake artifacts, stifling a gasp when the lights turned off and a sudden rush of wind passed by his face.
A moment passed before he tenderly touched his left cheek, shock registering itself in his eyes when he saw blood on his black gloves, and a knife embedded into the wall facing him.
Arthur spun around to face the intruder, his mask barely concealing his panic when seeing nothing but an open window. He silently removed a gun from his bag, keeping a finger on the trigger in case he had to shoot. "Who's there?"
A low laugh echoed throughout the room, sending unpleasant chills cascading down the blond's spine. His eyes darted all over the room in an attempt to find the source of the sound, unable to decipher its origin as the highlights' room was pitch-black, save for the light of the full moon shining through the open window. "Your worst fear, 'England'."
This isn't America, 'England' thought, stepping backwards as he continued to look for the person, repressing the urge to shake as it would be letting this intruder win. He couldn't allow them to see him in a state of fear. Nor are they someone in the NYPD, as no one in the police force would try to take me down without backup.
He swallowed, for once wishing that this person was America. At least then, he could have an idea of his enemy's strengths and weaknesses, and improvise a plan based on his data. Was this was they meant by his worst fear, being unable to act accordingly given he was facing an unknown enemy?
"I said what you are, not what you aren't," Arthur replied, taking a huge gamble by closing his eyes. Perhaps he could determine the voice's whereabouts by relying more on his ears than his eyes? The room was spacious, meaning that there had to be a point where the voice was coming from as it bounced off the walls. "You know who I am; it's only polite you tell me who you are."
Another low laugh, though it came from a different side of the room than before. How could they move so quickly? "You know who I am, 'England'. America has told me quite a bit about you."
The Englishman's eyes opened and widened behind his mask. "Wait, are you-?"
He was cut off by the sound of rustling fabric, vaguely registering the sight of a figure dropping from the ceiling. The figure walked closer, obscured by the shadows of the room, as Arthur held his gun in front of himself to prove he wasn't defenseless. He bit his lip when realizing how shaky his grip on his weapon was.
The figure clad in black stopped, darkness still obscuring their face. "You've guessed correctly," they said, a voice modifier hiding their voice. "And yes; I am O."
~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~
Alfred internally grimaced when he saw 'O' climb from the roof of the Metropolitan Museum, panic biting at his nerves as he watched the male skillfully maneuver his way down the side of the building and swing through an open window in the highlights' section of the museum. As the museum was unused to the rapid attention it had received from the public, they didn't have enough time to repair the lunette window England broke.
Just thinking of England made his insides burn, as the superhero's gloved fists clenched at his sides. So, he was trying to lure him out, huh?
The American glanced down at his cellphone reserved for his hero duties, his white mask with blue stars unable to hide his surprise at seeing a single letter pop up on the screen:
'O'.
Why is he calling me now? He thought, answering the phone when he received a nod of approval from Vash sitting beside him in the police car, wondering if he'd be able to hear him over the sound of the car's siren. I didn't have enough time to tell him about the video, is it possible something else happened? Maybe he intercepted the video from the NYPD so he could personally view it, and he wants to talk to me about that?
Regardless, it was Oya. He couldn't just ignore his right-hand man, especially when he could provide crucial information. With that in mind, Alfred answered the phone. "Hello?"
"America," the voice, always dubbed by technological software, greeted the blond situated in the vehicle. "Did you view the video?"
"Yeah, I did," he said, looking through the window of the car in case he saw something England-related that would require Chief Zwingli to stop. "I take it you got into the system so you could see it too?"
"You've gotten more perceptive," 'O' complimented. "That's good to know. Yes, I hacked the system so that I could see it for myself. Have you already determined England's location?"
"Yep," the American affirmed, his blue gaze hardening when remembering it. "We're on our way. It won't be long before I'll get my hands on him."
And when I do? He'll run out of swear words to describe how badly he's screwed.
"You must not act unreasonably."
That statement caught him off-guard. "What do you mean by that?" He asked, a light eyebrow rising from beneath his mask.
"If you act with your emotions instead of with logic, then you'll only be playing into his hands," Oya explained, quirking Alfred's confusion further. "Allow me to handle this; I'm near the Metropolitan Museum already, so you need not worry about my estimated time of arrival."
"How will I be playing into his hands? I'm not understanding this, 'O'," the masked blond addressed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
"From what I've heard from you, England is not to be taken lightly," the voice acknowledged as Alfred leaned back in his seat. "He is a strategist; analyzing his opponent's movements and methods of thinking, and using them to his advantage. He's encountered you before, so chances are that he'll use your flaws against you."
"What flaws do you think he'll use?" The superhero wondered out loud as Chief Zwingli turned off the siren of his police car so that they could catch England by surprise when they arrived at the Metropolitan Museum.
"No offense America, but while you're intelligent, you've been known to let your emotions get in the way," 'O' admitted, a hint of guilt present even through the voice manipulator. "With that in mind, why else would he deliberately send that message to you if not to wind you up?"
His eyes widened, understanding and shock co-existing with his anger. England decided to toy with his emotions to gut a reaction out of him?! He wanted to use him as a puppet, how typical for someone by the likes of him! And to think England had the nerve to say that the NYPD was using him, the hypocrite.
That bastard, he growled internally, snapping out of his red stupor by the small crack of his phone. He really needed to stop almost breaking phones. He'll regret this.
He couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped his throat. "Okay," he smirked, staying in place when the police car stopped a short distance from the museum. "Go in there and scare the hell out of him."
"Got it, America."
"Oh, and 'O'?"
"Yes, America?"
"Make him squirm."
That had been almost thirty minutes ago, and Oya had snuck into the Metropolitan Museum through the lunette window about three minutes ago. In Alfred's opinion, that was three minutes too long.
I know this is his first time in the field, he thought distastefully, keeping a firm grip on his gun in case the worst happened and he had to use it. Precaution was always a virtue to abide by. But I'm not sure if this is the best time for him to start. While I have faith in him, I wouldn't want to risk him getting personally caught up in all of this.
The thing Alfred envied about Oya was the fact that he hadn't given the public a name or a face to associate with him. No one outside the NYPD knew that America, New York's famous superhero, had a right-hand man to help him. Because Alfred had given life to 'America', the public knew to praise America for the successful capture of criminals, and knew to bash him with hate for the failed attempts at capturing criminals. And, because America and the NYPD worked hand-in-hand, the glory and the negativity caused both of them to suffer, even if the fault rested entirely with Alfred.
But that's the price I had to pay, he continued to think, hoping nothing but the best for his partner-in-crime-fighting. So I have to go about making sure I don't make mistakes, to prevent the NYPD from suffering because of my inability to stop criminals. It's a double-edged sword, but it's one I'm grown comfortable with using.
His facial muscles felt uncomfortable when his features contorted into a frown. And yet it's one that England wants to use to his advantage. He thinks that if he causes the public to hate me, they'll hate the NYPD too. And that won't be good no matter how you look at it.
He made a mental note to repair his gloves later, as his palms had ripped open due to the intensity of his fist-clenching. He's the only criminal I haven't been able to catch so far, and he's been using that to his extent by making myself and the NYPD look like fools. But it won't be long before he's put behind bars, before he's everybody's fool.
The American's face returned to its default happy look, though this time not by default. Surely, with someone like him gone, Arthur can smile more often, right?
His thoughts were broken when black smoke broke through all the windows and engulfed the area in darkness.
~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~
"You guessed correctly," he said, still unable to get used to his mobile voice modifier connected to his attire. He knew it would have been easier to simply purchase one off the internet, but it was always more fun to make contraptions like this by hand. Not to mention that, since he made the replicas for the Ganymede jewelry, he had more time devoted to his more personal interests. Regardless, it was strange for him to move around with a lightweight, fully-functional modifier stored on his person. "And yes; I am O."
'England' laughed. "You're 'O'?" He managed to say between bouts of laughter, one hand holding onto his stomach while the other hand rested firmly on his gun. So he was appearing confident to hide how badly he hated the thought of being unable to anticipate an enemy's moves? Typical move, but a move nonetheless. "Well, glad to meet the person behind the letter. Somewhat. Portable voice modifier?"
'O' nodded. "I made it myself. I'm rather good with my hands," he commented, motioning to the knife still embedded deeply into the wall. The thief's free hand went from his stomach to his cheek, as if remembering he was hit. "As you experienced first-hand before, no pun intended."
If the Brit hadn't been wearing a mask, he would have assumed he made a sour expression based on the tone of his voice. "That was uncalled for," he grumbled, his emerald eyes narrowed behind his black mask with silver tree branches. "You should have at least bought me a drink before making a pass at my face."
Oya repressed the urge to laugh. This was the dreaded England who was the bane of America's existence? While America had super-human strength, it seemed this villain's weapon was a combination of his mind and sharp tongue. "I apologize," he drawled, wondering if his sarcasm could be detected through his machinery. "I'll make sure to purchase an alcoholic beverage of some kind before doing so."
"Glad to know there's some semblance of manners in this god-forsaken era," the blond shrugged, his gun unwavering in his grip. "I feared for my generation. You've brought hope into my life again."
"That hope will have to be diminished soon," Oya revealed, as all seriousness (or whatever seriousness was visible beneath that mask of his) left the thief's expression. "As I have been assigned to capture you."
A lengthy silence passed, broken by another laugh from the Brit.
'O' wondered if the curious tilt of his head could be seen from the shadows he purposely surrounded himself by.
"That won't do," 'England' started, as he ran a hand through his tousled blond locks, his gaze unwavering even as his hand on his gun began to. "That won't do at all."
"I'm afraid you have no choice, 'England'," 'O' informed, stepping a bit closer but not to the point where he could be fully seen. If he was seen, then-
"Interesting thing about that," the British male went on, oblivious to Oya's sentence, as he reached into the pocket of his black tailcoat and pulled out a glass ball full of…dark smoke? "Can you guess what this is?"
Oya's eyes widened in fear behind his black fabric mask. He extended a hand. "Wait, don't use that thi-"
His thoughts were broken when black smoke broke through all the windows and engulfed the area in darkness.
~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~
Arthur stumbled near the broken lunette window and climbed upwards with his heist bag, keeping a firm grip on the walls as he traveled up the side of the building. He assumed that, since the museum was unused to the rapid attention it had received from the public, they didn't have enough time to repair the lunette window he broke before. He also assumed that 'O' had shot the knife from that particular direction, through the window was the route he took in order to get inside and catch him by surprise. So, if he came that way, surely someone else could escape that same way?
That was what he was betting on, at least, as he didn't think the black fog trick would work so easily.
"It's a standard smoke bomb," Kiku informed as he set the glass ball inside the Briton's theft bag. "With black coloring to ensure a good escape. Effective, very easy to make, even easier to use as you just throw it to break the glass and release the substance."
"I'm not sure when I'll use this," Arthur admitted as he cast another glance to his bag. "It'll be good to have just in case, I'll make sure to use it only if I'm in a tight spot."
He raced across the rooftops with his heist bag in tow, as he kept his eyes peeled for the student dorms of NYU. When he was sure he was out of reach from the police, he slowed his pace until he stopped on the roof of a building. Arthur took a moment to breathe, as he suddenly felt lightheaded due to lack of adrenaline, and, after making sure no one was around, he swapped his tailcoat, green dress shirt, and tie for his white undershirt. He stored those articles of fabric into his bag, along with his gloves and mask.
For now, at least, I'm okay, he managed to think semi-coherently, unable to remember how he got back to his dorm as the world blended in swirling colors through his hazy mind whirling with adrenaline and exhaustion, only remembering how soft his bed felt beneath his aching body when he collapsed on the mattress. I'm okay.
His eyelids grew heavy on his face, the dull ache of his arms and legs increasing with every pulse of his heart. His reserve of energy had run its course and enabled him to evacuate the Metropolitan Museum in the face of an unpredictable adversary, and left him weary and shaky beneath his comforter.
"I just..." Arthur spoke dazedly, unsure what corners of his brain and body were still functional enough to even facilitate (albeit somewhat) proper English. "I just...hope Alfred's okay...w-wherever he is..."
And he succumbed into the arms of Morpheus, the inner-mechanisms of his mind truly an enigma to him as he dreamed horrifying dreams (if such things those atrocities could be called) of mechanical voices permeating throughout rooms of blackened smoke, the smoke of which dug into his lungs and nearly suffocated him like a python wrapping around its prey before swallowing it whole.
Author's Note: So that's chapter ten~! Sorry if it's badly/hastily written, as I typed this entire thing out today and fought writer's block to tooth and nail for it. I typed like, the first sentence on my laptop in McDonalds, but then I lost my motivation until now. However, someone leaked some pictures of Alfred/America as a supervillain, so there's that and I totally fangirled like crazy. On the other hand of awesome news, it turns out there's an episode of the original Batman T.V show from the 60s (with Adam West), where Batman's best friend turns out to be an anti-hero named 'The Green Hornet', who happens to have a Japanese sidekick. Yeah, I squealed too. Totally didn't see that coming. Big shout-outs to FabulousIzaya, LoveXOXOLuna, Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura, meapzilla2mouse, OutToGarden, Flover24, and HiItsUriChan for you guys' reviews~!
Anyway, sorry if this chapter was hastily/badly written, as my mind is numb and I could use some sleep. Please don't hesitate to favorite/follow as I'd like you to continue on this journey with me, I'll try to update soon. Please also don't hesitate to leave a review, as my heart leaps a bit everytime I see someone commented on my story. Positive/negative comments are welcome, as I appreciate constructive criticism.
Until then? Stay awesome.