The Plan's Off

Risotto gazed at the canal from behind the railings with his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on the water as he pondered. The branches of the trees rustled in the wind as it gently blew. The forecast had predicted a cloudy afternoon with a chance of rain. It made for a peaceful atmosphere, contrary to what was going on in the team.

Formaggio was burnt to a crisp, bullet holes lodged everywhere into his charred body. Illuso was recently reported to have been mutilated and disfigured beyond recognition, his carcass nothing but a pile of melted skin and bones.

Their inevitable ends had led Risotto to one conclusion; this mission was far too dangerous, even for his squad. A part of him wanted to follow along with the mission, to finally have vengeance for his fallen comrades so their deaths were not in vain, but avenging them came at the cost of their lives as well.

They didn't need to bear another loss. They didn't want to bear another loss.

In short, the plan was off, and he would have to let the others know. However, being their leader was not an instant cure to their stubbornness. He knew none of them would listen to him, no matter how hard he tried.

Footsteps approached him, getting louder with each second. His eyes widened, shoulders tensing up. Risotto turned around slowly, before he sighs in relief upon seeing Prosciutto. His expression softened.

"Risotto," he said with a smile, standing next to him.

"Prosciutto."

The two looked down on the calm waters below, watching any boats pass by in silence.

Ever since the two entered the world of crime, they were ready to accept that it would be a life of loneliness and solitude, even with a team. However, if one were to tell them that one day their paths would cross, they would never believe it. They viewed each other as their better half. They were birds of a feather, some might even say.

Prosciutto turned to face him, "It might rain soon."

"...I know."

Risotto was always hard to read. His usual vacant expression and taciturn nature always left others wondering what went on inside his head. Not even Prosciutto, who's known him longer than the others had a clue. The man always kept his thoughts to himself. However, today his silence felt... off. Almost deafening.

"Anything on your mind?" he asked.

As much as he wanted to lie, he just needed to get it out of his chest. He sighed, "Yes."

Prosciutto smiles, "Tell me."

He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking back up at Prosciutto. "About... retrieving Trish Una --- I think it's best we abandon the mission."

Prosciutto's eyes widened. He stared at Risotto as he chuckled nervously, hoping this was all some sick joke, "...You can't be serious."

"I..." Risotto took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "...am being serious."

He wouldn't admit it, but the rage in Prosciutto's eyes filled his heart with a sense of dread. Though, he kept his composure, awaiting his reply.

Prosciutto grit his teeth, "We are not abandoning the mission."

"It's for the best," he said, attempting to keep his voice steady. He knew it, none of them would agree even if it was for the better. "We can't afford to lose any more of our men," he explained.

Prosciutto clenched his fists, angered at Risotto's dismissiveness, "We also can't afford to lose our only chance of avenging our men."

"You don't understand-"

"No, YOU don't understand."

It was clear as day, Prosciutto wanted vengeance. They all did. But Risotto did as well, just as much if not more.

Except... after facing the consequences, after seeing what happened to Sorbet and Gelato, and now... Formaggio and Illuso... he realised the dangers of it all, and he couldn't risk putting his team in that danger just to satisfy the hunger pangs of justice.

"Our fallen comrades," Prosciutto spoke up, "They would want us to finish the job, and to finally get revenge on the boss for what he did to us, for what he did to Sorbet and Gelato."

Risotto's expression softened. "...I understand that you only want to seek justice for them, however you must also put into consideration that if this goes on, one by one our teammates will drop dead like flies," he explained, "And adding onto that, as much as I hate to admit... we are no match for Bucciarati's team."

"Did their lives mean nothing to you, Risotto?"

"...What?"

"Sorbet and Gelato."

"Well, of course, but you have to-"

"Forget about Sorbet and Gelato," he quoted as his eyes darkened, "That's what you said, right?"

Risotto kept his mouth shut.

He scoffed, "I didn't think you meant it literally."

The shadows of the clouds loomed over them, and thunder rumbled from afar.

Prosciutto crossed his arms, "Not gonna say anything?"

Risotto still doesn't move a muscle, keeping his gaze directed towards him.

Prosciutto speaks up. "I don't give a damn what you think," he turned his back to Risotto, "I'm going to get Trish, on my own accord."

Risotto's eyes shot wide open, the fates of his fallen members flashing in his mind along with the lightning. He reached out for him and placed his hand on his shoulder, "No, you can't-"

"Don't try to stop me," he spat as he smacked his hand off, "I'm already starting."

The rain gently sprinkled onto the asphalt as he watched him fade into the distance. He kept his mouth shut, only the pitter-patter of the raindrops, and thunder booming in the distance to be heard.

Gradually, it started to pour. He lowered his head, standing under the rainfall. He was drenched, his clothes, and now his hair soaked from the rain. Droplets of water rolled down his face, and whether they were raindrops or tears, he couldn't even tell.

Prosciutto, please take care of yourself.