Shit shit shit shit shit. SHIT.
This was a mistake. A very large, very stupid mistake.
If Kurro looked back, really looked back, he wouldn't probably have wanted to meet someone like an assassin. But fate works weird like that.
'Kenma. Kenma. Kenma.' The name was a constant chant in his head ringing like broken bells, as he pulled fast around the corner on his motorcycle, effectively pulling the break hard and coming to a stop. He climbed off the bike throwing it to the side, ripping off his helmet.
The hard material made a cracking sound as it connected with the pavement, landing into a puddle. He reached up to touch his face, cringing at the tears now sticking to his finger.
"Fuck." He cried, "I've lost him again."
-A Hindrance Of Grand Plans-
"I-I'm very sorry! What did I do? Tell me and I'll fix it, I'll even give you money! " A man- about 5'9, with black curly hair, let out a pathetic whimper. He scooted back on carpeted flooring, already soaked in blood. A gash visibly was dripping from the man's dark curls showing that he had just taken a hard blow, his glasses were askew on his face, not concealing the fear in his eyes.
The carpet was soaked enough for the blood to bleed back up to the surface of the fibers when stepped on, and the smell of the apartment was over barring. Trash cans were filled to the brim- probably from not being taken out in weeks, and there was only what Kuroo could assume to be Cat shit on the floor by a dead, poorly potted plant.
The victim's back connected with the wall and his eyes grew wide, shock from being cornered settled into his face quickly. Kuroo would have appreciated this look if he was any more of a sadist- The victim whimpering at his feet, puppy dog eyes swiveling around, looking for any weapon or a way to escape.
"Sorry to break it to you man, but the amount of money I'm getting for killing you is more than what you could ever give me." Kuroo grinned sending a chill up his victim's spine. Tipping his chin up Kuroo locked eyes with the man through his bangs, lifting the handgun in his right-hand parallel to his shoulder.
The target was whimpering more than before, tears threatening to spill down the already blood-stained cheeks. It was like this every time. The victim would try to bribe him in their last minutes, choking out rushed apology's, and offering large masses of money, gasping through the pain.
It always ended the same though. Bullets through the left or right eye- depending on the day, knife in the back of one of the many other killing tricks the hitman had learned over the years, all of them ruthless.
To Kuroo, everyone on his hit list was a sack of shit. They were practically scum if someone was willing to pay Kurro's requirement sum for a mission. Sometimes it wasn't like that though, so he always made sure to double-check or the deal would be off.
They all were worth killing for the money but not his time. Most of his victims were rapists, murders, assassins, or overpowered government officials. Most of them being cops, the fuckers.
Kuroo steadied the revolver with his non-dominant hand, finally aiming it towards the target right eye. Grin stretching from ear to ear, Kuroo sighed, looking down towards the now sobbing human being beneath him.
Kurro smirked, "Shall I come to say hi in hell?" The man's eyes widened, and he gasped.
The victim had got up into a kneeling position, and now was trying to crawl forward on his knees quickly, reaching out for the gun.
Kuroo curled his finger around the trigger and squeezed. Crimson hit every surface in a foot radius, heavily sprinkling on the Hitman's face, as he watched the victim hit the ground face first with a soft thud. Cringing at the man on the floor, Kuroo reached his hand up to wipe his face, carefully stepping away from the corpse.
"Bokuto." He said quietly. Immediately his earpiece connected with static, and shortly after connecting, Bokuto quickly started to flood information into Kurro's attentive ear.
"Hey hey hey! Nice kill!" He chuckled, "The police haven't been called yet to my knowledge-" a pause, "You have maybe 5 minutes to exit the building before they are contacted. That should give you about 10 minutes. I think."
Kuroo grinned, "Oh? Questioning yourself, Bo? Why do you sound so Unsure?"
"Somethings different this time. Errr, Don't worry about it though. You still have time." by the sound of it, he knew Bokuto was now grinning too.
"So I better get to work then." Kuroo pulled off the backpack around his shoulders, grinning, and he moved swiftly towards the kitchen. He went to work with Bokuto's peaceful buzzing coming through his earpiece.
He went through all the cabinets starting at the bottom- a trick he learned from Bokuto. It was the quickest way to go through things since he wouldn't have to close each drawer, especially if you had to make a quick departure.
He pulled out a pair of gloves and slid them on, a wet wipe, and held it as he opened everything in reach, being careful to not leave any fingerprints. Kuroo worked quickly as he could with the time limit clicking down each second.
Pulling open the silverware drawer he grabbed a handful and shoved them into his bag. He moved throughout the rest of the house with skilled hands and feet, trying not to leave any traces of his "adventures".
Kuroo picked up anything that looked valuable and shoved it into the black bag. Later once he got back to the apartment, Kuroo would empty the bag of his findings, and he and Bo could list them on the black market.
Bokuto stuttered over unsaid words, finally seemingly able to decide on one he gasped.
"Fuck."
Pausing in the process of stealing a PlayStation, he shivered at the stress in Bokuto's voice. This could be bad.
"What is it, Bo? What happened?"
"The police-" bokuto started, "they're already on their way."
Kuroo dropped the device into the bag, flinging all the wires to the gaming system and remote, and squishing them down quickly to make more room.
"What? Weren't you listening to the operator calls?" Kuroo said in a panic.
"Yes! I swear! They didn't say anything. Four police cars just started heading that way on the scanner." After a short pause, he spoke again.
"I don't know how they found out without being connected to the police coms but they must have Some sort of hidden channel- I'm... I'm sorry. I'll dig around. But based on the info I have, you need to be out in three minutes."
Kuroo sighed, ready to head home anyway. He dreamed of soaking in the hot water, lathering up with soap, and washing off the guilt and sweat. Kuroo swung the backpack over with a grunt and looped his arms through the straps.
"Kuroo, they're downstairs... run."
Kuroo chuckled darkly, "I seem to be doing that lately. Maybe I should invest in a new hobby."
Bokuto for the first time since the earpiece had been on was silent, and the Hitman could already sense one of the hacker's infamous shifts in mood, making him sigh for what must have been the 100th time that night. Making his way swiftly over to the balcony window, he shortly panicked about the drop. Lucky for him the target residence was on the fifth floor, making him an easier descent. The backpack was a problem, however.
He opened the doors to the balcony, letting the chilly air ruffle his messy hair, stepping out slowly to climb over the cold railing. It stung his hands as he touched it. Once over, he bent his knees clinging onto the metal bar, till his hands were the only things holding him to the apartment.
He swung his feet out and in, like a child's playground swing, and at the right time, Kuroo let go, successfully landing in the balcony a floor below, landing with a soft thud.
Going carefully, he repeated this process using people's balcony fences to work his way down. Eventually getting closer to the emergency escape ladder, he decided it was time. He jumped onto it successfully and began his fast descent down the fire escape.
After a good 3 minutes of parkour, he finally jumped down the last railing and onto
The wet ground near his motorcycle. Upon inserting the key, he pulled the choke and roared down the alleyway, making his way towards his and Bokuto's place.
After double-checking if his earpiece was off, he gasped for air as he let a few tears roll down the side of his cheeks.
"You're okay." He hiccuped. "It's okay. It's all for the money. It's all to find him." Kuroo then squeezed his eyes shut, letting the remaining tears fall down his face.
Kuroo shook his head, accelerated the bike forwards, and made his way to get his check. He'd take care of himself and his mental state later. Right now- like always, he had to run.
————
"Shit." Kenma hissed sharply as blood bloomed under his white button-up, cringing at the metallic smell. He had been running in a Construction site, maneuvering fairly easy until he ripped his arm on a piece of metal sticking out from the building's skeleton. The gash stung, but he had a job to do.
His target walked faster down the alleyway, obviously starting to feel the paranoia creeping up his spine. Which was good. He had seen his call card. Kenma growled as he picked himself up, running after the man. He held his arm tightly in one hand, and a gun in the other.
Fleeting, and being light on his feet was never the issue, but the fact that Kenma Kozume, an assassin, was not only lazy as hell but had no motivation for life in general, made obvious setbacks in the grand schemes of his planned murders.
Kenma had gotten the contract around 3 in the morning, and even though he was up, he still groaned when he squinted at the bright phone screen showing the time it needed to be done.
He reluctantly got up and dressed lightly, expecting this to be an easy kill. He even kept his long hair in a ponytail instead of pulling it into a bun at the back of his head.
All of his piercings had been hooked into his lobes, and tongue as well. The victim, however, made it harder than it should have been, and the effort Kenma had for once put in himself to look half way decent, went against him in the end.
The victim had gotten a tip from the person that hired kenma- damn bastard-always testing his strength and shit, and after seeing what side of town he had "accidentally" wandered into, he broke into a run.
Kenma moved throughout the construction site, the building he had been running on was old and needed a repair. The skeleton of the building giving him hiding places and openings that normally the city had, but this was nice too. It was different.
Climbing onto an escape latter he ran up and began jumping in between the close apartment roofs only nearly missing a few jumps. A bullet grazed his skin and he yelped, clutching his arm.
From the file, Kenma had received he knew exactly who the victim was. Turns out he was from America. Being a foreigner didn't have any perks in this situation, and it was proved when the victim had started running south towards the police station, taking the lounger route to his destination. Even if he had taken the smarter route it wouldn't have made a difference. A bullet would still be lodged in between his eyes before he had a chance.
Kenma jumped down and ran down a back alley. He walked around to the corner and held his gun in a ready position. Spotting the target at 16 meters, Kenma was ready to get it over with.
He breathed in, released the safety lever of his gun, and aimed. The man stopped in his tracks looking around obviously paranoid. Kenma would have him in 5 seconds.
Five.
He aimed the shot, not even looking at the scope as he studied his victim. He was tall, not very muscular, but looked quite good in a suit.
Four.
He breathed in and concentrated. He could tell from here the man was blonde, hair cut off short and perky, almost in a feminine pixie cut.
Three.
He opened his eyes and tightened his curled finger on the trigger.
Two.
The man moved suddenly, sprinting towards the police station.
One.
Kenma's eyes snapped open, catching the movement. He moved the gun slightly and pulled his finger back, driving the trigger home.
He was small, and not as built as the other assassins in japan, but the kickback wasn't a problem. It absorbed into his body, and he took it with the ease of someone who had been doing this since the ripe age of twelve.
The bullet whistled out of the gun into the air, piecing the target in between eyes. It seemed to be at the perfect angle, going all the way through the head. At 16 meters, Kenma could still hear the thump of the body as he hit the pavement. Kenma stared for a second, and then climbed up the escape ladder to make his departure.
Exhaustion had just started to hit as he arrived home, barley dragging himself up the stairs and threw his apartment.
Being an adult was hard, everyone knew that, but it could be so much worse. The job takes a toll on you eventually, and normally by now people opt out, quit, or just die. And now the demon of hell's taxes had come to give him a weekly visit.
He had to be pristine, perfect, clean. He had to be ruthless if he wanted to live. He had to be ruthless so he could find his mothers murderer.
His father.