One-Shots [Boboiboy]

Made for Blood

You were made to hold flowers, not guns. Thorn would always hear it again and again, even as he progressed further as the executive's subordinate. What once was a tease that ran amongst friends, soon became an insult that was on everybody's lips with the flick of a tongue.

The warm air was uncomfortably moist, yet the silence stood out amongst it. Thorn could feel the warmth of his breaths on his lips, never saying a word as he pushed the bullets into his handgun, the click quick and snappy in the quiet warehouse.

By his feet was a pool of red, with a limp hand lying in it. It was severed, the ends jagged and uneven, the bone poking out like it was violently ripped apart by extreme force.

In the darkness, he heard footsteps. Footsteps that were purposefully implemented to warn others of their intrusion. Whether it be a warning or a threat, his intentions were never clear.

Blaze licked the blood from his thumb, his face splattered with the same liquid. So he's playing rough again, Thorn noted, taking the carnage into consideration. The clean up's going to have a hell of a shift.

"So, he didn't reveal any information?" Blaze asked, flicking his hand repeatedly to dry it. There were still mats of blood on his fingertips, but he didn't seem to mind.

Thorn shook his head, sliding his gun into his pocket with one swift motion. "No. They were just hired men," he said light-heartedly, as if he were lying in a field of flowers. His smile only implied his optimism and innocence. "They were only told to move shipments."

The red-haired teen nodded, though he looked disinterested with the lifeless corpses and blood. What was his motivation to come with him, again? It was the drive to tear human flesh limb from limb.

Thorn didn't like his company.

It would be better if someone precise or straightforward would join him in his missions. Someone like Gempa or Solar; but not Blaze. Blaze didn't care about their objectives. He was only here for the massacre.

"I know you don't like me, kid, but stop looking at me like that."

Thorn turned away from him. "Is it really that obvious?"

Blaze shrugged, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Perhaps."

Thorn then smiles at him. How hard work it is to smile; to look like everything's okay when it isn't. He kills to protect himself from the world, but lately, it's getting harder to smile.

Later in the day, Blaze was called in by his superior. Thorn wasn't surprised as to why he was summoned. All his summons was always about his excessive fights and torture, even for the Mafia. But all those beatings and scoldings never penetrated his thick head. He would always go back to what he was doing.

Thorn felt pity for Blaze's superior.

He turns to his tea and picks up the porcelain cup. The fragrance of a rose fills his nose like the wind in a warm summer day. He holds it up to drink, but he stopped himself as someone walks in and sits across him, sharing a smile that was a rarity in their line of work.

Thorn sets his cup back on its plate, looking to the man sitting by his table. He looked just like every other high schooler, but his heterochromatic eyes were eye-catching. Blue and gold, both complimenting the other.

"Do you need anything, Glacier?" Thorn asks, his smile closing into one of exhaustion and irritation. He really needs to go somewhere private, not an open-air café next to their operations. "Or is this a social visit?"

Glacier nods, understanding his subtle hostility. "Frostfire's spent the last few hours screaming about your partner," he mentions, scratching the back of his neck as he recalls his endeavours. "Why didn't you restrain him? He's increasing the risk of being caught."

Thorn trails his eyes on the Executive's face for a lie, but he found none. Glacier's face was a perfect mask of calmness and friendliness, yet it could shift into one of killing in the face of fire.

"I'm only there to extract information." Thorn picks his cup up, and drinks. It burned his tongue for it was far too hot, but he doesn't mind. He wants to be rid of the Executive before he decides to chide him out for his behaviour.

Instead, Glacier stands before Thorn finished, his gaze elsewhere.

"Very well," he says sternly. "I will see to assign you a better partner."

The cup clinks as it was let down. Thorn stares up to the Executive's face, nor with hostility or appreciation.

"I can work on my own," he rebuts, hiding the ache on his tongue. "I do not require a partner, especially in times like these."

"The civil war is one thing, missions are another." Glacier cuts back to him. "Every apprentice must be assigned to one, unless you have proven yourself to the Boss."

Thorn doesn't say anymore when Glacier walks away. There was a bitter taste on his tongue, whereas the tea was sweet.

It didn't take long for his superior to summon him, though he wished that they weren't so active in the nights, where he prioritized his sleep over any other event.

Thorn glanced at the lit offices he walked past. Office workers that handled the Mafia's finance and regulations while the fighters handled any disputes. A clear line between night and day.

He warrants his sight towards the bridge between the buildings. He belonged in the more flamboyant parts of the organization, where he was surviving by guns and knives, not paperclips and printer ink.

The bridge was made entirely of glass, with only support beams made of metal. The floors were frosted and glazed, but the other three dimensions were translucent.

Despite the marvellous view of the city, Thorn did not relax. His body was kept tense as he approached his superior's office, each step heavier than the last.

Finally, he reaches the twin doors. They were painted black, made of steel. Even in the cold air of the building, Thorn felt sweat pool in his shoes. It's only nervousness, right? He would be meeting the one who he would be working with for the next few years.

Months, if his partner wasn't careful enough.

His fingers touch the cold surface of the doors, the little bit of pressure enough to open them wide. There was a table at the end of the room, and two people. One sitting behind that wooden table, the other standing by it.

His eyes falls onto the figure. He looks shorter, and non-athletic compared to Thorn. His skin was paler, but there were knives hidden in his jeans. A common practise for all assassins.

"Nice to see you're finally here," Supra says, though not kindly. His fingers were laced in front of him, his mismatched gloves a signature attire. His glare was firm and unrelenting.

Thorn bows as he reaches the front of the table. "My apologies, sir."

Supra doesn't pester the matter, instead, turns to the other man and gestures towards him. "This is Taufan," he introduces without a second thought. "He recently transferred from Glacier's department. You'll be working with him unless I see otherwise."

Thorn straightens himself and turns to the man. There was a meek smile on his face, almost looking like he was forcing it. He's anxious, Thorn realizes. It's not a surprise, seeing that Supra was the most menacing man in the entire city.

"Now scram," Supra scolds, waving them out of the room.