Jou collected his weapons from the store room. A M24, VSS and Macmillion tac50 He stuffed them into an oversized holdall, before shoving it into the boot of his Mustang and zooming off. His mind burned with the images he had been showed. Who the fuck was that sick and twisted? Strangely, stopping the twisted guy wasn't his main priority. Stopping the twisted guy before he killed Kaiba, was. Jou didn't know why he cared. He had never liked the CEO, but something inside him twisted when the thought of seeing the brunet's name printed across one of those documents. It was true they had never gotten along, and they had never had any interest in it either. They had an interesting rivalry and it had worked well for them both. Joey let his blond hair flail in the wind as he drove from the barracks, back to his home town. The boot contained some clothing and necessities. He looked down at his khaki pants tucked into large black boots as well as the white vest top. He loved been in the army. It had given him a sense of pride, something worth fighting for. He had become more accurate, more controlled. He'd made new friends and learned amazing things. Yeah, he was an army man and proud.

Yes, there had been days he regretted. He regretted killing people, taking lives that he had no power over. He hated the early mornings and loud battles. He often questioned what kind of soldier he was if he didn't like to kill. He was compassionate. He had learned it's not about killing people, it's about saving people. And for an enemy to lose a life, was to save one of a comrade. He smiled to himself. His comrades had always been there. It would be strange to work alone.

He glanced down to the paper on his seat. It featured the address which he would be living at. He had his own home, but the army insisted that they'd pay for one as he was at work. Jou had accepted and was now driving to his new abode. Beneath the address were the files from his sergeant. The paper work also included new information on the murderer. He had also been given a cell phone, from which he would receive texts on the murders, where they where, who the victim was and their position in the business charts. He'd been given information on the murderer as well as updates on the crime from forensics and where to attack from.

Attack. That word made his insides tear. Though he had no problem with a street fight, he had serious issues whipping a gun on someone. Beating someone half to death with his hands had never been a moral issue, the person would always live. Some nasty scars and bruises, but they'd be ok. But a gun? They left holes. Huge gaping holes that tore through skin and muscles, bones and organs. Guns killed. He hated them. He was a sniper. He never had to get close enough to see the damage. From his distance, he only needed a target. No emotion, no fear, no person. It was a target to him and that was all. He told himself those words everyday, because without them, he couldn't sleep.

He pulled up at an apartment block in the centre of town. He pulled his bags from the car, before checking the number on the paper. 537. Ok. He locked the car, hauling the bags to the elevator. Fifth floor, 3 hall, number 7. Got it. He had to admit, the hallways was nice. Not dark and dreary like his old home, but carpeted with cream walls and flowers, similar to a hotel. He pushed open the wooden door, dropping the bags inside. He was definitely glad he came here. The place was furnished with huge glass windows on the far side that looked out onto the streets. He loved the urban scenery, and from here he could see the lights and busy nights from above. The crème living room with brown sofa was the first thing in sight when he walked in. An open plan kitchen dining room and two doors across to the left. He looked inside to a bathroom with a shower, and a large bedroom with a double bed with gold blankets. He walked over, flopping onto the bed, loving the soft cushions. It was luxury compared to the barracks…hell it was luxury compared to home. His room even had it's own en-suite and TV. He unpacked, before flopping on the sofa. He clicked on the TV, after grabbing a pepsi from the fully stocked fridge. 5pm. 6 hours to go until he was due to leave.

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Hey!

A short chapter as it's 2am!

I hope you like and it wasn't too short. We go back over to Seto next.

Please R&R

Much loves

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