AN: Sorry, it's been two weeks. XD I've been busy with school. : I Well, I shall reward you for your patience. Enjoy, loves~
Second Piquant ~ Marco Phoenix
Perhaps it didn't matter where you were. Whether you enter a rundown apartment or walk around an empty park in the middle of the night, as long as your life was at stake, tension will be there.
"We're here," Vista pulled over to park between two buildings, concealing the vehicle underneath the shadows. I got out of the car and glimpsed at the old building. This was the place.
Despite the tension everyone felt, Impel Down was very silent. All of us got out of the car—Vista, Juzo, Squado, Mihawk and myself. An agent who worked under Iceberg by the name of "P.T." was also with us. What did those two initials stand for? He wouldn't say. All of us were under disguise, thanks to Ivankov.
"You all know why we're here," I started, "Under the Boss' orders, we're to track down Krieg's location via the GPS signals. P.T. will gather the information, our job is to escort him." I eyed the agent who nodded before shifting glances to Juzo.
Juzo blinked. "What?"
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I had to be extra careful with him. "Juzo." Of course, being extra careful wasn't enough in this case. One had to be precise. "Listen well and remember."
"Remember what?"
I cleared my throat. I had to be crystal clear. "You do realize that Ivankov made our disguises the same—like we're all in uniform. If you see someone not wearing this uniform, you shoot. If the target carries no gun, let's be safe and assume that he or she is a civilian. Be discreet and observe everything for the Boss' report. He's asking you to write it, so I trust you on this."
"Right." Juzo grinned. I sighed again. Hopefully, I got through to him.
"Let uz be zilent now, Monsieur." I turned towards the Frenchman, seeing how his fierce sharp eyes fixed on the empty district.
Dracule Mihawk—age twenty three, pure French and the only heir to the noble Dracule Family. At a very young age, he learned hitman skills and underground business dealings as if it was in his genes. From what I heard from Patty, Mihawk was given a year off from college to be sent here to Japan. Why the Dracules would involve themselves against the likes of Krieg was still a mystery, but the Boss did ask Zeff for Mihawk's service. A part of me—and it was large part—felt that it was to compensate for Ace's defection.
"Our enemiez weel be ekspecteeng uz," he added.
"Of course," I unrolled the map of the area, nodding, "Everyone in formation point seven. Juzo, eagle eye at coordinates sixty nine, fifty four—North East. Vista, move a one-hundred thirty five degree angle around the building exterior from origin. Squado, cover the building interior, east wing. Mihawk, the west. I've already discussed the line of distinction. I hope you all remember. P.T. and I will advance to point twenty-nine, thirty-five."
"And, in caze we are ambooshed?" Mihawk raised an eyebrow.
"Don't hesitate to shoot. Pull back when I release the signal. We're only here for the data. Nothing more, nothing less," I answered, looking at all of them. Unanimously, they nodded.
As all of us went to our assigned positions, I took note of the building we entered. Its structure and appearance were very similar to the other buildings surrounding it. Going up with P.T., I couldn't help but think of Ace.
This was probably the exact same mood as that night. It was raining hard, and on some dark and abandoned building, Ace faced death and barely escaped it. Would I be just as lucky?
"Here," P.T. said while placing his briefcase down. We were already in the target unit, and he didn't waste any time. His laptop was switched on, settings were configured, and wires were connected between the laptop and the phone. Numbers were racing on the screen as the scanning ensued.
"How long will this take?"
"That depends on the distance," P.T. answered, fingers tapping on the keyboard. I nodded before keeping an eye on both the door and the window. Not a single sign of intruders. The night was pitch black under the rain. I picked up my gun and checked my ammo. There wasn't much I could do for now.
At least, that's what I thought.
First, I could smell gunpowder—faint yet still distinguishable to my senses, but where?
Next, there were gunshots—they came in twos, no, threes. Mihawk was right. There was an ambush, but from how many sides? Were we enough to handle all of them?
"How much longer?" I asked P.T. immediately, but he wasn't responding. As I rushed to his side, he landed on a pool of his own blood. It gushed from a bullet hole on the side of his head. Killed in action.
"Shit," I cursed under my breath. The enemy probably had a silencer, but what was his duration for both aiming and shooting? His timing was impossible.
I threw myself out of position, gun ready as I rolled towards the door. Beside me, I heard wood crunch as a bullet pierced through the wall. He was inhumanely fast. I slammed the door open and rushed out.
"Not a move, ya hear?" I stopped in my tracks. I felt the barrel of a gun nudged on the back of my head. Did someone predict our formation?
"Drop it." It was an order, not a request, and I had to think of my next move. I was cornered so retaliating was out of the question. If I dropped the gun, this asshole behind me wasn't making promises to keep me alive. I felt sweat form on my forehead.
So, which was it?
There was another gunshot. "Blimey!" the man yelped. I heard glass shatter behind me.
"Move!" This other voice had the diction of broken English. I already knew who it was.
I didn't waste time in looking back. As there was another exchange of gunfire behind me, I raced down the hallway and onto the staircase. Mihawk could handle it, but what about the data? We couldn't leave without it.
I dodged another incoming bullet before immediately firing. Someone was on this floor.
I took cover when he shot another bullet. "Marco," I heard a familiar groan beside me. It was Squado, and he was on the floor, bleeding. Another bullet flew past, and I kept hidden before moving into shooting position. Shit got real.
One shot. Two shots. Three—I reloaded. All of them missed. Six bullets wasted on one man.
I caught sight of the enemy shooter. He had a strong built and black hair which was tied in a loose ponytail. He had his gun pointed towards me. He rapidly shot twice, and if that wall hadn't been there for cover, I would have seen red in an instant.
"Squado, just hang in there," I mumbled, revealing myself to the enemy again and shooting. A low groan sounded from his lips as he fought the pain of his wound.
I gritted my teeth, triggering a few more shots. Squado barely dodged this guy. Whoever he was, he meant business.
There was another gunshot that pierced the air and the man jumped at this. I blinked—there were four gun shots, but I only shot thrice.
"You two!" A familiar voice yelled. Vista pointed his gun at the man, facing my direction. He signaled me to move. "I handled the rather fat guy from their group. Just get out of here, and allow me to take over!"
I nodded and quickly took the initiative. Squado needed to take refuge. "Stay sharp." I took flight, carrying my comrade by my shoulder. There was another exchange of bullets and the smell of gunpowder was so strong in the air, but I trusted Vista and his skills.
We later arrived at a place for rest, hidden from any possible enemies. "Thanks,man," Squado breathed while ripping of a piece of his shirt. I watched as he pressed on his wound, hissing. The bleeding eventually stopped, and then he bandaged himself with the same cloth.
I handed him an extra gun from underneath my jacket. "Just in case. Shoot when you have to." Squado nodded. Of course, he knew standard operations.
Quietly, I left him and moved from the sheltered alley back to the apartment. Rain drenched me, and I couldn't see worth a damn. Still, keeping my breath silent, I trailed forward with my gun held tight and my finger ready to pull the trigger. After a few steps, I heard my cellphone ring.
I pressed the answer button. "Yo! Marco!" I got their sniper out of position! Did you get the info yet?" Juzo asked behind cellphone. I was now running up a fire exit as he spoke.
"I'm on the way," I said while climbing up the next flight of steps.
"Well, you should have seen me against that sniper! I finished my drink just now, and I'm kickin' A up here, Mark! Tellin' yeah! This stuff beats protein—"
"Stop getting drunk in each and every mission!" I hung up, finding myself at the same hallway I fled from. It was already empty—no gunshots were heard, no footsteps, no potential assailants. Where was Mihawk, though?
I shook my head and approached the room. I thought of just grabbing the laptop and leaving, but I saw something that shouldn't be—light crept from the door's hinges.
Silently, I swept to the side of the door before the shadow of my feet could be detected. I clenched my gun tight—it was my move. I had to make it count. Quickly, I kicked the door open and pointed my gun.
There was a woman sitting where P.T. sat awhile ago. Shades and a scarf concealed her identity, and as if she knew I was coming, she had her gun aimed at me.
I was quick to shoot in reaction, but she was fast. She dodged, sustaining only a scratch on her upper arm, and while hissing on the floor, she pulled the trigger. I only felt a graze on my cheek before I heard the breaking of glass. The room went dark.
I cursed under my breath, pulling the trigger once more. The only source of light came from the laptop, but I couldn't see her. Did she move?
I stepped to the side and paused. I could hear shifting and behind me, and there were creaking sounds. I stared ahead, adjusting my eyes to the darkness. The shape of the woman was seen, and she was crouching under the shadows, eyeing me while clutching her wound. The creaks grew louder, and I stared.
Someone else was behind me.
A skull cracking blow landed on my head. My knees sank, dragging me to the floor. I landed next to what I felt was my comrade's corpse. Gritting my teeth, I didn't release a sound. I was awake, but whoever it was, he or she didn't know that.
There was a shaded figure that carried the woman. He was lanky and tall, and he was able to assist the woman in returning to the laptop screen for analysis. The man spoke to her in a different language—it sounded like Spanish. She answered in the same tongue before giving the laptop a quick glance. After awhile, she nodded. It was as if code was her first language.
With the young woman on his arms, the man ran out of the room. It became quiet all of a sudden, but I remained in my position. He could turn back, after all.
As I laid there, I began to think about things. These people didn't seem to work with Krieg—no, Krieg wasn't Spanish. He was Italian—and perhaps, part German. Also, why would they even try to identify his location as well? It wouldn't make sense. There has to be a third party. The question now was—whose side were they on?
I winced a little, feeling the impact of that blow on the back of my head as I crawled to the laptop. The analysis was still flashing on the screen, completely loaded, but I couldn't decipher it—not like that woman. I pulled the cords and placed the laptop under sleep mode. At the very least, I could preserve all the results.
Just who was she? Even under disguise, she seemed young. She could even be Ace's age. Does this third party hire minors to do the dirty work?
My cellphone was ringing. I staggered to pick it up and answered.
It was Squado. "Marco! Get out of there now!"
"Squado. What's going o—?" I stared.
He cut me off. "There's a bomb planted there! I overheard it from the fat guy that Vista thought he killed. He was running and telling his own team to get ou—"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Marco?"
~*~ Omake ~*~
This should be fun. Marco cocks his gun, and I am on my first drink. Squado takes fire as Marco counters. Shot FLOORS Squado. Doesn't look too hurt. Vista enters now. Counter-fire traded again. Audio-feed confirms the neutralization of a "fat" assailant. Marco provides support for Squado with Vista providing cover. Squado gets bandaged while Marco reloads, and I am on drink two. Marco begins a sweep of the rooms. Damn, this is strong liquor. Audio-feed confirms mysterious figure as Marco begins the diversion. He shoots all traces of glowing lights to maximize stealth. He reloads, and that means drink number three.
Sniper fire threatens Marco. I fire counter shots for defense. Why? Because my last name's EVER, first name's GREATEST! That's why. More sniper shots traded. Laser point is on Marco now! Shot fired! Counter fire from me! Bullets COLLIDE mid-air! We stylin' now, bitches! Reload and I'm drinking the whole bottle. Tense face off now. Slightest moves set up shots from both sides. I compromise my position to inch closer, but am I afraid of death? No. Sniper fire getting more accurate. Counter shot from me KILLS the building. Holy fuck! I'm awesome!
Juzo: Is this good enough?
Vista: …
Squado: …
Vista … Do you… really believe that a single shot from a sniper has the capacity to destroy an abandoned five floor apartment?
Juzo: Well, did the forensics find anything else?
Squado : THERE WAS A FUCKING BOMB THAT ALMOST KILLED US!
Juzo: Oh… well, that's my fault, then.
Squado: What?
Juzo: After reading the report, it's clear that yes, I'm the bomb.
Vista: Get out.
AN: Do you know why I chose the initials "P.T.?" XD It really stands for "Puffing Tom." Originally, I intended the guy to be Paulie, but no. I love Paulie, and I didn't want him shot like that. That really sucks. XD
... Did I just kill Marco? Well, I killed Marco. Wow. I killed Marco. I love him, still. May he rest in peace. With his BESTEST BEST FWEND in the WHOLE WORLD, Thatch Newgate. : )
. . .
If you give me good enough reviews, I might consider resurrection. MIGHT. XD
