Brothers and Trials

Mr. Tux

Mr. Tux, ooh, he hated that name. It wasn't even his, and yet... it was. They had taken almost everything away from him. His brothers, his home, heck, they even changed his hair! He growled at the reflection in the mirror. In it was a suave looking golfer with golden blonde hair, a red bowtie to offset his black tuxedo, and he was carrying a golf bag with various clubs, balls, and a few rifles disguised as clubs. The baby blue eyes staring back at him had seen death so many times that they themselves were dead. "To make a deal with Mr. Tux is to make a deal with the devil." That's what they said about him. Ha!

He hated killing. He was the best shot on the planet, sure, but he had something in his gun that no other assassin did. He had tranquilizers and a few bullets. His kill record was only about 250, but his record for bringing people in alive when given the option was higher than any other. Mr. Tux never missed a shot.

"Um... Mr. Tux...?" Tux looked towards the door. It was his mentor, The Amarillo Kid. He had surpassed his master within the span of a year of being taught how to hold a gun. "Are you sure about this?" He was a sandy haired teen with brown eyes from Texas. He had been shocked to learn he had to train a five year old to be an assassin, but the little boy had outdone him.

"I don't much care for their threats. They won't kill me anyway. They know that they can't touch me. As for Uncle Nigel, he's smarter than they give him credit for. I read his files. Heh."

"But to actually quit... you aren't even ten..."

"True, but think about that. I'm not even ten and yet I've been a government hitman for a few years now, gone through all sorts of training, and know how to do more than any kid should. They took away my childhood and the only thing I want back is my family. Is that really so much to ask for?" The Kid looked into those cold deadened eyes and sighed.

"I've already got all the paper work sorted out, but now you need a guardian... I managed to pull a few strings. This fall I'll drop you off at a school back in New York. I found your grandpa and called him up. He was happier than a tick at a dog show to hear you were wantin ta quit."

"My grandfather?" Mr. Tux looked at the teen with amusement. "So they were lying when they said that my brothers and uncle were all I had left?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Tux, that seems ta be the case. Anyway, he says he'll be there droppin off another ward of his and ta tell ya he's workin on getting you home." He gave a soft smile as he saw his apprentice... no, his partner... smile for the first time before. It was a weak smile, but it was still improvement. "So, you think this worth waiting all summer and going to that golf tournament in Texas with me?"

"Heh, sure, but I'm getting my hair dyed back after the match, deal?"

"Well Hot-dog, you're a shrewd negotiator, Mr. Tux, hehe. Sounds like a plan, but ya know we've got a few jobs ta do while there too, right?"

"Of course we do..." Mr. Tux grabbed the #7 from his bag, pulling the cover to reveal a specialized Rifle that he had made. "Crikey, I hate this job..."

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