Work Header

Alfred "Hitman" Jones

Chapter Text

Alfred sighed as he walked down the nicely decorated hall to the room where Arthur Kirkland, one of the most feared mob bosses in town waited for him. Alfred knew he was only ever summoned when there was a very important, or very dangerous, mission at hand.

Soon Alfred stopped in front of a beautifully carved oak door which he knew lead to the gang's meeting room. He sighed again and opened the door, it creaked hideously.

"You really gotta' get these hinges oiled, dude," Alfred lamented as he entered.

"You mean 'got to,' kindly stop ruining the Queen's beautiful language. And I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I'll get to it, eventually," came a mildly annoyed, obviously British voice from inside the room.

The room was simple, it had a long table with chairs lining the sides. Two of the chairs were occupied at the moment. At the head of the table sat a rather short, blond haired man, with forest green eyes and hair that was more mustard yellow than Alfred's own wheat color. The man wore casual-formal beige pants, a short-sleeved, white button-up shirt with a green sweater and tie to top it all off. Next to him sat a much simpler looking Asian man, who had short, black hair, brown eyes and wore a simple black suit.

"I reckon you already know why you are here," the blond spoke.

"Yeah, you wanna have an epic threesome, don't you Artie?" Alfred joked.

The two at the table did not look so amused, Arthur was blushing and sputtering indignantly, while the Asian man, Kiku Honda, simply looked flustered, even if it didn't show on his usually emotionless face.

"Bloody git! You are here for a mission!" Arthur shouted angrily before he could calm himself. When he trusted himself not to strangle the American, he began to talk again. "This mission is very dangerous and risky so–"

"So you want his help, don't you?" Alfred cut in.

"Yes," this time it was Kiku who spoke. "He is our best chance at completing this mission. Judging his track record and reputation, we have deduced that out chances of success will be large if he is to carry out this particular mission."

"Alright then, what's the details?" Alfred questioned.

Street lamps lined the high-class neighborhood's empty streets, casting a faint, flickering glow on the concrete below. The posh and pristine houses all around were dark and quiet, there was no one around, it was to late at night, everyone was asleep. Even if there had been someone around, it would still have been hard to spot the figure dressed in dark clothes scaling one of the many-storied houses.

The figure was quick and quiet, precise and focused, a perfect hunter, looking for prey. As the dark figure reached its goal, a large window on the third floor, one of its strong arms reached down to a belt at its waist, the other still holding onto the window seal. A few tools were pulled free from the belt and the figure got to work, deconstructing the window as quietly as possible from the outside. Soon enough the frame became loose and the darkly dressed figure crawled through.

When the figure was sure it was out of sight of any possible peering eyes, it reached up and pulled off the dark hood covering its face. The dark material fell away to reveal a head of wheat colored blond hair and sharp, light blue eyes. "Now that that part's over," the man sighed, running a hand through his hair, smoothing down a strand of hair that bounced back up stubbornly, and putting on a pair of rectangular glasses. "Time for the fun part."

The blond searched the room, which happened to be a large study. He was glad he had found his way to this room first, it would save him time. He began to search through bookshelves and drawers until he eventually found his prize, an orange package of paper tied together with a red ribbon. The blond pulled out a folded piece of cloth from one of the few folds in his cloths and unfolded it into a bag, he stuffed the package in carefully and put the bag back into its place on his being. Next he approached a door on the other side of the room, he opened it and walked into it, before quickly realizing that the door was, in fact, just leading to a closet. He immediately stepped out and shut the door, happy that he was on a solo mission and didn't have a partner to laugh at him, not that anyone would dare. The blond nimbly crept towards the only other door in the room and opened it, this time peering out to make sure it wasn't another closet, it wasn't. It was a long hallway, which, he thankfully knew from heart by studying the blueprints he was given. The closet's position had given him the gist as to where he was in the house and where he needed to go. He was throughly surprised, however, that there was not many security measures. He did not see a chip nor a camera anywhere. But that didn't matter, he just had to find that room now. The lack of security just made his job easier.

Once again the man crept along the hallway, sliding in the shadows like a black panther tracking her prey. Soon, after going through the mental map again, the man stopped in front of a door, it was simple and unsuspecting, but the blond knew better. This was a dangerous job, even for him, he needed to be careful. The door was locked, but it was simple enough to pick. When he heard a quiet click from inside the door he knew he could start, he turned the door knob and prepared to quickly dispatch his target if the door creaking had disturbed him. Strangely, the door offered no resistance and silently opened on well-oiled hinges.

The blond looked into the dark room, his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting long ago, so he could make out the large rises in the sheets on a bed in the center of the room. This was it, the room he would end his mission in. His finale goal: Assassinate rival mob boss, Ivan Braginski.

He snuck towards the bed, and pulled out another item from his belt of knick-knacks. This time it was one of his favorite tools, his sharp and trusty hunting knife. The blond raised the knife above his head as he snuck even closer to the bed. He was within a foot of the bed when he noticed something wrong.

The lump under the sheets was not moving. As in, it did not rise and fall in the peaceful pattern that sleeping people's chests usually did. How could he be so stupid?

He began to spin around to look for his prey, but he was to slow, he realized, as the hunter became the prey. He felt a needle jam into his arm and a substance injected into him and then blackness invaded his mind.