A/N: This is where the language and the gore comes in D. Gahh, that guy's so sexist... -_-.

But anyways, if anyone's actually reading this, please review and tell me your thoughts!

Oh, and BTW, Fran comes in the next chapter! (...THAT FROGGY 8D.)

Chapter Two: Killing Off the Messenger

"(R/N)."

You glanced up at your flatmate, who was standing at the door to your shared bedroom.

"What?" you mumbled. Anyone who knew you would know that you were anything but a morning person. Sure, if you had an assignment, you could wake up early, but you'd end up taking out your frustrations on whatever target you'd been given.

Felicia was well aware of that, though she was one of the few people you wouldn't slice to pieces for committing the offence. She was, after all, your childhood friend, and even though you'd gone your own ways after elementary school, you'd somehow ended up together again in Italy.

"(R/N)," she repeated

"Go away," you growled, pulling a pillow from beneath your head to shield your eyes from the light.

"Someone's looking for you. Or rather, for Trapper."

Trapper was your nickname among the Vongola, coming from your preferred method of killing. Because yes, if your desire to join the Varia didn't give it away, you were an assassin. In fact, you were actually quite good at the job. Among the assassins of this Family, you were one of the few in the top ranks who wasn't in the Varia.

You really, really wanted to change that. After all, Varia would mean more fame, and therefore more assignments, as well as less accusations that you were somehow a fake.

Right now, though, you really just wanted to sleep.

"Tell them to come back later, and if they refuse, guillotine them." You'd set up a contraption in the main room of the apartment for Felicia to use, in case any of your enemies decided she'd make a good hostage. You called it the guillotine, since it basically chopped in half the bodies of anyone in the room, other than the operator of the device. Felicia always refused to touch it, though, treating it like everything else in your life: something whose presence had to be tolerated, but not necessarily accepted.

"Isn't killing your clients bad for business?" she asked.

You ignored her, sleep the only thing on your mind.

There was a loud crash, followed by the sound of Felicia cursing her head off.

"Get back here, you fucking idiot!" she screamed.

Footsteps pelted towards your door. You couldn't help but smile in anticipation of what would happen in three... two... one...

A piercing scream, then dead silence.

"Get rid of the body, (R/N). I hate how you always end up with these around."

Sighing, you reluctantly pushed yourself up, off of the bed, and surveyed the scene. The man, whoever he'd been, had ended up slicing himself open on the invisible razor wire trap that you'd set in the doorway. He was clearly in agony, but still had minutes, maybe even hours to live.

You grinned, and Felicia sighed. "Text me when you're done here." You didn't take your eyes off of the dying man as you nodded.

"You have something to say to me?"

His first comment, ground out in a voice that clearly indicated that he was in pain, pissed you off.

"What the fuck? Trapper's a goddamned woman? Get me out of here and get back into the kitchen, bitch!"

My grin widened. "No, I'd rather not. Playing with weak little prey is much more fun, after all." You knew there was an evil glint in your eyes as you spoke, examining by sight the wires that trapped him.

He seemed to only belatedly realize that that might not have been the smartest comment ever.

"I'm sorry Trapper... ma'am... I'm under the command of Prince Belphegor, and it's under his orders that I'm here, to deliver a letter. And might I add that you look stunning?"

You cackled, in your own unique way, and he actually pissed himself with fear.

"P... please don't kill me."

"Give me the letter."

His right arm twitched, drawing your attention to his right pants pocket. Sure enough, there was a letter in it.

"P... please... Help me... I... I don't wanna die!" he wailed.

"You lost any chances of survival you might've had the moment you disturbed my sleep. And besides, I don't think Prince the Ripper really needs a weakling like you for anything other than target practice. This, though... this'll be fun."

Taking a coil of razor wire from your nightstand, you unwound it and smiled, and the blood drained from his face.

Sighing, you wiped the last traces of blood off the floor. It was ridiculously troublesome, really, trying to avoid discovery here. But that was better than being arrested for murder, although how much better, you sometimes wondered.

You quickly texted Felicia with one hand, using the other to rip open the envelope and skim through the contents.

To Trapper,

You might be what we're looking for – maybe. Meet me at the Vongola headquarters tomorrow at midnight.

Prince the Ripper