Guilt (SBI Mafia AU)

Chapter 2: Training

Finally, after what felt like hours, he'd finished what Techno described as a 'warm up'.

"Please, no more. What was even the point of all that!?" Wilbur panted out, breathing in as much air as he could in between words.

"To simulate the physical activity of breaking into a compound or the start of a mission. I'd have you climbing up the practice wall but it's currently being used by the trainees."

"Just give me a moment to catch my breath."

"Relax, we're starting easy. I'm assuming your gun's loaded?" Wilbur tried to ignore his burning muscles and screaming lungs and instead turned to focus on his next task.

"Always," he nodded.

"Great. Hit the targets," Techno motioned at the clearly labeled circles around the courtyard.

"That's... it?"

Techno scoffed. "Relax smartass, you're still warming up."

Wilbur sighed, bit back a snarky response, rolled his shoulders and aimed the gun. He'd done this thousands of times before - it was practically all they'd done after their mum-

Focus.

Wilbur knew what he was doing. He pulled the trigger and reloaded as if it were one motion: a perfect bullseye. The sound reverberated around the courtyard. He turned to smile at Techno.

Techno did not smile back. "I said targets, as in plural. One lucky shot doesn't mean you're suddenly just off the hook."

Wilbur sighed, but rolled his shoulders once more and let out a controlled shower of bullets. The firing echoed around the training space, sending any loitering curious members scuttling away. Each bullet landed directly in the center of a target, only causing Wilbur's hands to move slightly every time he shot. There was a soft clatter as empty cartilages hit the floor beside his combat boots.

"How's that then?" Wilbur asked, afraid to let the silence drag out for too long.

"Pretty impressive... I mean not bad for a guy with less than a hundred kills. You're surprisingly not terrible at this."

"Thanks... I think?"

"When Dad said you needed training I thought he meant your aim was off. I mean with that little music hobby of yours I wouldn't be surprised. You're training the wrong arm movements into your body."

Wilbur chose not to ignore the obvious jab at his passions. "But that was good! I can do it again if you need more proof-"

"No, I think you've caused quite the racket already," Techno wore a fond smile on his face as he spoke, seemingly pleased with his younger brother. "Perhaps it's your blade fighting that's the issue. When was the last time you practiced hand to hand combat?"

"A few weeks ago?"

"Well that's probably the issue then. Go grab a knife or something."

Wilbur nodded and walked with a brisk pace towards the weaponry. An assortment of knives, blades, guns, pistols, bats and, if they were in an extravagant mood (Techno was more often than not) swords and axes.

The brunette took a moment to glance over the wide array, before choosing a bland-looking knife. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was long, double edged and could probably cause enough damage. Twirling it in his hand, he made his way back towards Techno.

"Stand tall, shoulders back, steady on your feet and prepare."

"Prepare for what?"

As soon as Wilbur muttered out the question, a gold-plated dagger came hurtling towards him. He barely had time to duck under the sharpened blade before another one came, this time targeted at his feet.

"I thought blade fighting was supposed to be close range!" He yelled while graciously ducking to the left.

"It is," Techno smirked, throwing another sharpened edge at his younger brother, "if you can get there."

Wilbur could strangle him. A resolute glare found its way onto his face and he began more determinedly dodging, marching closer to his brother with a rage-filled glint in his eyes.

"Wow, you're really getting the hang of this."

"Fuck off," Wilbur gritted out. He was so close. Too close.

One of the flying blades gashed his shoulder, tearing his clothes, leaving a small scratch on his skin. It wasn't a lot, but it only added to the burning inferno growing inside of him.

"Getting snarky? Sounds like you didn't get a good nights slee-"

Wilbur drew his blade across Techno's cheek, leaving a thin line of blood dripping down his face before the older could finish his sentence.

They stared at each other for a moment before Techno sighed and broke the silence.

"You cut me. That's against the rules."

"You cut me too."

"You should have defended yourself better."

"So should you."

"Letting rage get the better of you will not win you any fights."

"Well I sure seemed to win this one didn't I!?"

"Wilbur. Enough." Wilbur sighed, but dropped his weapon. He looked at his brother who had taken a handkerchief and was dabbing away the blood. Only a single drop had managed to stain his collar, but anyone who knew Techno would know that's more than enough to get him livid.

"I will admit," the older said after a moment's pause, "you can fight well in close range. That's not the issue either. Your skills are great, I don't know why Dad wanted you to train."

"I didn't kill the main guy-"

"Well yes I know that, but I don't think your skills were the issue." Techno paused for a moment. "Why don't you come on my next mission with me?"

Wilbur hesitated, "I really don't think that's necessary-"

"It's starting in an hour, don't be late." Techno flicked his hair and began sauntering away.

"But you said my technique is great!" Wilbur called after him.

"It is."

"Then why-"

"I have my theories. I'm going to talk to Dad about them."

"You better fucking not."

"And what if I do, huh? Sorry baby brother, you have no power here. Too many important people survived on your watch. That last mission you failed could have jeopardized our whole operation."

Wilbur clenched his fists, "It was an accident and you know that!"

"Accident... or on purpose? Dad told me how you never took the fucking shot," Wilbur's eyes widened, "Listen Wilbur. We're your family and we don't want you to be a screw up. We are trying to get you over this fucking phase. Now get ready for the mission."

Wilbur huffed, but complied.

It wasn't like he got much say anyways.

Word Count: 1585

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