It's a suicide run.
Chokoreto knows it.
Belphegor knows it, and he's grinning as he stares Chokoreto down over the desk.
"Well?"
It's a suicide run, and it's not even just one of the insanely difficult suicide runs that you might possibly be able to squeak by alive with enough luck, it's one of the ones where done or not you're going to die. The kind you're not supposed to complete.
Chokoreto stands and silently gathers the papers spread out on the desk in front of him. That's all the response Belphegor needs to kick and and laugh.
Tripoli in Logistics knows it's a suicide run too, and he waves Chokoreto into his office to see to him personally like rumor said he did with all suicide runs. The few Varia supplied bombs he still had after the last couple utter failures of missions he'd survived
Despite that, Chokoreto finds himself gently discouraged from the more expensive bombs and encouraged to trade in the ones he still has from his last missions. Tripoli lets him keep a couple of laughing gas and knock out gas canisters, but the majority of his grenades get turned in, and all knives but the knife he brought with him are put away until confirmation of his death.
It's only once he's been stripped of most of his Varia equipment that Tripoli helps him plan out transportation and a cover story. Tripoli chooses the name, and it's a bit weird, but not that bad. (Though Chokoreto is fairly sure that Gokudera - which means prison temple - is poking fun at the fact that he ran away from his fairly well off family to be a starving street rat. Whatever.)
The fight to Japan is fairly easy; the Varia private jet is arriving the next day, and there was already a stop planned in Tokyo to pick up a pair of assassins. Tripoli then spreads a huge map of Japan over the desk with the train lines in high contrast red. Namimori is in the Miyagi prefecture, so Chokoreto can just take Tohoku Shinkansen up to Sendai and make his way south on the subway.
With that settled, Tripoli pushes him out of the office, telling him to come back tomorrow for his new passport and other identification information.
Chokoreto goes all the way back to his room before he realizes that there isn't actually anything there for him to pack up. He always carries all of his bombs and knives on his person, and his poison equipment is all stored in a Bovino-Brand Pocket Pocket-Dimension ™ anchored on one of hs rings. All of the clothes in the closet are Varia 8niforms - new or used - that he won't be able to bring, and there isn't anything else in the room that wasn't there when he was shown in.
Chokoreto sits on the bed and buries his head in his hands. He tries to think - is he really going to go through with this?
He thought he wasn't suicidal - worked damn hard not to be suicidal - needs to not be suicidal, and here he is, letting himself get pushed into a suicide run.
He should call Bianchi. Or - not call her. He'd called her every ten minutes in the immediate aftermath for Enrico's death, and at least ten times a day for the next month the month, but listening to her pick up the phone wasn't why he wants to call her.
He should write her a letter. He doesn't have much to say, just Dear Bianchi, I'll be dead by the time you read this. I know what father said and I forgive you. Love, Your Stupid Little Brother. At least she'll get some closure. Maybe he'd even write one to the perverted doctor, just in case Bianchi doesn't share hers.
Gods. Chokoreto leans forwards, letting his hands drag through his hair until he's the hair at the back of his bowed head. Why is he so resigned to this?
He could just - if he just called Bianchi, well. Vongola is Vongola, and even a former Guardian should have enough pull to get him out of this job. All he'd be giving up is his place in the Varia and whatever sheds of respect he still has, calling his big sister to get himself out of a mess like a whiny rich kid. And he'd have to talk probably. And he'd have to see Bianchi.
But he can't see any other way out of this because Varia Mooks can' turn down contracts because they're supposed to have been picked out specifically so that mooks could get a feel for the harder missions without dying and attempting to drop out of the Varia would only get him a knife in the back faster than he could say I resign without the Mook Protections and there's no way he can get himself in the next fourteen hours to veto the contract without anyone remotely interested-
And really isn't all of this sad? He'd rather die than see his sister again, for all that he loves her. A thump against the wall to his left startles him out of his funk, and he winces when it comes again, and again, and again-
He doesn't need to know when those sharing walls with him are having sex.
Chokoreto smooths his hair down and quickly escapes into the hallway. He pauses for a moment as he decides where to go, then turns on his heel to make his way to the cafeteria. He leaves the door to his room open behind him. There's nothing in there to steal, and since he's not going to get any sleep all night worrying, nothing to try either.
()
(He calls Bianchi anyways, once he's done writing the letter in the dim light of the cafeteria, a half-finished plate of cookies and a glass of milk sitting next to his elbow on the table.
"Riiiiing . . . riiiiing . . . riiiii-Hello? Mac- . . . Bianchi Superbi speaking." She sounds half asleep, her voice low and rough and some of her consonants slipping.
Someone else mumbles something in the background, and he can hear sheets rustle as she shifts and murmurs a reply. He swallows around the lump in his throat.
"Hey. Anyone there?" Bianchi asks. She pauses. "Are you the person who kept calling me when Enrico died?"
He doesn't answer.
"Okay. Well, bye."
There's a click and the dial tone, and he listens to that for a minute too.)
()
Of course, Chokoreto falls asleep on the plane. He was up all night - it's a foregone conclusion that he falls asleep on the plane somewhere between muttering insults at Tripoli for not filling out the registration paperwork for school and trying to remember what he's been vaccinated for.
He wakes up hours later with a start as the plane drops sharply. There's another Varia squad on the plane with him, and his paperwork had been meticulously completed in his own handwriting, though he knows that he only got through half the first page.
He stares at it suspiciously.
He goes a step beyond that and Stares at it like Shamal taught him, trying to find the illusion. Nothing.
He Stares the way Iwolintshi taught him in the Varia because sometimes it takes one to see one. Nothing.
Chokoreto rubs a finger over the ink that notes (truthfully) that he has no allergies and watches as it smears. It's even all in kanji.
Huh. He doesn't know what to make of that. Apparently some illusionist was feeling nice, for once in forever.
The plane jerks again, then the hum of the engine lessens slightly. The PA system crackles to life and pilot announces that they're starting the descent to Tokyo. Chokoreto checks his seat belt and leans back.
Landing doesn't take long, and he follows the signs in the airport to the train station. He follows the signs to the subway. He follows the signs to the subway. He follows the signs to taxi pickup. He follows the signs in the apartment building to the apartment. He opens the door and- . . .
"Alessandro." Lambo Bovino looks surprised to see him at least, which is something. Chokoreto isn't really pleased with the name though.
"How many times have I told you-"
"Yes, yes, that you are no longer Alessandro Superbi, that you left that name behind with your family, that your name is Smoke now - now wait, you joined the Varia, your name is Chokoreto now-"
"You're certainly acting lively for someone who recently failed to protect their best friend," Chokoreto snaps back. He immediately regrets it of course, watching Lambo go pale, but to his surprise, Lambo's shoulders hunch, and he lifts his chin.
"I can't mope all day. I have to - I have to eat and exercise. I have to be healthy on Saturday."
Chokoreto recognises that line of reasoning. He remembers that line of reasoning - I have to eat well because on Saturday I hack into Superbi surveillance to see Bianchi, and I'm really not the best at hacking, so I need to be healthy so I can concentrate.
He steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him. He toes off his shoes and walks into the kitchen to settle on the chair across from Lambo, letting the briefcase with his paperwork thump onto the floor next to the chair. "Just on Saturday?"
"Well, that's all Yamamoto-san asked about, but it would be rather hard to be healthy only one day of the weak and not the others. Health is a continuous thing, after all." Lambo studies Chokoreto, propping his cheek up with one hand. "Why are you here, Alessandro?"
Chokoreto weighs his options. On one hand, a Varia assassin has very little reason to be in Vongola protected space, especially when the heir is nearby and vulnerable to revenge. On the other hand, Massimo had been dead for two weeks. That wasn't exactly the normal timeline to start calling in assassins to test the next heir, even if the family is likely to fall apart in a year. On a third hand, Lambo is much less suicidal than rumor has it he was not too long ago, and he doubts that Lambo was in close contact with anyone outside the new heir's group.
Chokoreto puts his hands flat on the table and lets them slide forwards until they're on either side of Lambo's book. His voice is muffled by the table and completely deadpan. "Oh no. You've caught my dastardly plan. Whatever shall I do? I guess I'll have to give up. Go ahead and lock me up- ow."
"Stop it. I know the Varia won't kill assassins for a failed mission, but you're still a mook," Lambo says with a frown. "Besides," he leans back, "I think I'd like to see you try. Tsuna knows how to fight. I want to know what else he can do."
"You sound like you think I'll survive."
"Alessandro, Smoke, Chokoreto, whatever you're calling yourself now, if you don't survive, I will be genuinely surprised, and I will probably follow you right down into the bowels of hell because no matter how nice Tsuna is, I've always hated people who kill the messenger."
"I'm an assassin."
"You're a bloody messenger who didn't have any choice in the matter."