Another AU (Alternate Universe/Timeline). What if Seguchi had been there to save Yuki after the Kitazawa incident? How would the Gravi lives be different?

Trust in the Gun

Prologue

The young man stalked the darkened alleys of New York City. Most people would have been afraid to brave the areas of town this man called home. He was most comfortable in the dark shadows walking amongst the litter and garbage. He was more comfortable here than most people felt in their own homes. He like to prowl at night through the refuse and garbage, it matched the darkness in his soul. He no longer stopped to wonder at the monster he had become. At one time he might have had a bright future ahead of him, but that was in the past. A past he now chose not to remember. A past that was too painful for him to allow any interference with his life now. He was a dead man now, dead as much in spirit as he was with his past identity. It had all happened in a few short minutes, his soul had died and he had become someone else. Everything had changed with the sound of gunfire. Now, that was the only thing he was really good at, using guns.

He could remember clearly the first night he had fled into the streets of New York City. He was so young, cold, and scared. He also had his first blood on his hands, never to be a child again. He had killed and would continue to do so until the day he died. He couldn't stop and continue to live himself. It was his life and livelihood. He had even learned to enjoy his craft. The world held nothing else for him and since he was already dead, what did it matter? What did anyone matter, dead was better, wasn't it? When you were dead, you didn't have to feel anymore.

After his first killing he knew that there would be people searching for him. Not just the police, but friends and family. He somewhere dimly remembered that he had come from a wealthy, powerful family. His family would never allow him to just disappear; they would use everything in their power to try to find him. He did not want to be found, then or now. Besides, the search for him probably ended years ago. In running from any pursuers he had made the alleys his friends, the place where he could hide. The only place he really ever felt safe.

During his first few years on the streets, his life was rough. Prostitution was never an easy profession. He had been so innocent. Until he had hit the streets, he never knew that anything other than women sold themselves. He did not even understand that boys could be used as women. His initial custom had been great and he had made his pimp a great deal of money, being the prettiest little boy up for sale. But, even though he looked very young, he was already sixteen. It did not take long before his 'little boy' looks faded and he took on the jaded cynical look of the long time street walkers. The customers dried up and he still wasn't even 18 years old yet.

Determined to prove that he could still be useful, he talked his pimp in to allowing him to become of the enforcers. He would hit the streets, collecting money from the active prostitutes to be turned in to his boss. It was also his job to make sure that all of the active girls and boys were doing their job. Sometimes he was even called in to protect property that was in danger. He had usually enjoyed the job of 'property' protection. In the short time he had been working as an enforcer, he had learned that he was not working for just a small time street pimp, but for a powerful syndicated crime organization.

He had been doing this job for nearly a year, when feeling intruded into his life again for the first time in years. He and his partner had been doing collections when he had gotten a call from on of the girls. The organization did not mind a little 'rough play' treatment from the high paying customers, but they drew the line at mutilation and death for what they considered 'valuable property'. Valuable property was usually defined as virgin girls or boys out for their first time. They would usually bring in what a normal hooker could make in a year. Of course, a person was sold repeatedly as a virgin until they became known on the streets. This particular girl just happened to be a true virgin and only 11 years old. She was on her first trick. A group of seemingly respectable businessmen had paid top dollar for the night. They must have decided that one whore in a city full of whores would never be missed. The men had been hyped on crack when they decided that slicing the girl with their razors to get her to scream louder as they used her would be very entertaining.

Every one of the organization's newest stock carried a type of pager with them, affectionately called a 'panic button'. It was him and his partner that were called in when the girl hit her button. His partner was under the impression that the girl had just gotten scared and panicked. No matter the cause, it was still their responsibility to check out the situation. Arriving at the hotel, they found the suite quiet and no one answered their knock on the door. Busting the door down, they walked in to a scene from a bloody nightmare. As soon as they entered the room, on of the businessmen pulled a gun. Without hesitation he found his own gun in his hand and all three of the businessmen were dead in a few seconds. All of them had bullets directly through the centers of their heads. Unfortunately, the girl was dead also, surrounded by a puddle of blood and semen.

From that moment forward his fate within the organization had changed again. They knew talent when they saw it, and they had recognized his right away. He was a devilishly good shot, fast and nimble. He was just what they were looking for in an assassin. From his very first professional hit, he had proved himself worthy of the designation. His ability, not only to shoot, but his knowledge of the streets and how to blend in made him one of the single most valuable people in the organization. He quickly rose to the number one assassin's spot and was used for all of the major jobs they needed done. He was a ruthless killer with no conscious or morals. He didn't want them or need them. They would only hold him back or worse yet get him caught.

Tonight was one of those nights that he certainly did not plan on getting caught. He was on the prowl tonight for another businessman. This particular man had the audacity to attempt to start a new non-union shipping business within the organization's territory and he was also daring to undercut the prices set by the organization. The man had refused to deal with any of the competition and had declined any sort of communication at all. All of his properties were heavily insured and any destruction of his property had only made the man more money.

Also, the man was a recluse. He hardly ever left his heavily guarded apartment and office building. The assassin hated this sort of assignment. There were way too many things that could go wrong. He had to make some arrangements that might later be traceable. Also, he had been forced to leave the backstreets and alleys that he so loved and knew so well. The only way he could get to this guy would be by taking an apartment across the street from the man's office.

This meant that he would have to be able to take the guy out from a considerable distance. He would have to use a scoped rifle to fire from the apartment he had rented across the street and still remain unseen. The windows of the building he needed to penetrate were bulletproof and he needed armor piercing bullets to get the job done. Most assassins would have considered this job impossible. But, for this assassin, it was only another challenge he would be able to easily conquer.

This was a totally impersonal hit. The impersonality of the hit was what made it so distasteful to him. He had become so deranged with his craft that he actually liked to get to know his victims now before killing them. There was no chance for that here and it ruined the entire experience for him.

Arriving at the apartment he had rented in someone else's name, some street punk he had rolled for fun just last week, he scaled the fire escape so that he would not be seen. He jimmied the window and slid inside. Once his equipment was set up, he had nothing to do but wait. Wait for the mark to pass by a window, no matter the condition; he knew his shot would fly true.

An hour of time passed, the assassin never twitched a muscle and even staring constantly through the rifle scope, his vision did not blur from watering eyes. After all, he had done this before. Sometimes he had to wait for days before his mark came into view. He would then disappear during the daylight, sleeping in some abandoned building until night would fall again.

Tonight would prove lucky for him. After a little over an hour his mark passed by the window and actually stopped to look out at the city. The assassin did not waste any time.

Tightening his shoulder muscles he squeezed the trigger. One shot was all that was fired and the mark was driven clear back to the wall by the force of the impact. The assassin could see the blood smear on the white wall of the building across the street. In a matter of moments the assassin had packed up his rifle and scaled back down to lose himself in the streets one more time.

I'm sure by now you have all guessed who the assassin is. If not, you hve to wair for the first chapter.

Review to let me know what you think!