[fic] Eyes (2/2) | Irie-centric, PG
this thing deviates from canon so bad... and i forgot to put AU warnings in the first installment haaahaha. LEMMEDOTHATNOW.
sharing a mood song: [ Placebo - Infra-red ] (thanks to a_lighter_side for the file ♥)
part 1 is here.
Eyes
Part 2
Irie had to convince himself that he was not without his resources. He was smart, he was at the top of his class in university, had published scientific papers internationally, had been granted several academic awards for his innovative projects.
Of course he could think his way out of this.
He didn't think he could leave Japan now that he had been marked (by whoever left that paper on the diner table - the "tall man"), but the best he could do was go somewhere obscure. He rented a room he didn't have to give a name for, far from Tokyo, where he had hastily withdrawn his meager savings.
He needed to be in a city, however, as he constantly needed tools and implements to survive: weapons. Security devices. Anti-surveillance safeguards. Everything a paranoid techie needed to somehow sleep at night.
And as it was easy to trace purchases of ready-made items, Irie built everything himself from scrap. The first restless night, he spent building a handheld plasma gun capable of blowing a hole the size of a golf ball through a man's torso. The combination locks, the trigger bombs, and the bug scramblers, he made only when he couldn't sleep, which was often.
Many quiet days passed, but Irie he was far from at peace. Heavy bags had started to appear under his eyes. Lack of proper nutrition and rest made him start to look pale, ghostlike. He refused to talk to anyone more than necessary - which invited suspicion, he was sure, but at least it did not invite enmity.
He lived like this, like a fugitive, untroubled save by his own guilt, and the fears gnawing away at him.
Until one night.
Irie was awakened by a series of explosions. It took him a while to process what was going on, but it wasn't until the last bomb went off, somewhere right outside his building, and the makeshift monitors by his bed abruptly shut off, that he realized -
These were no ordinary bombs. These weren't designed to cause property damage. They created noise, but only as much noise as was necessary while projecting bursts of static energy that shorted out any electronic device within the blast radius.
Just a few well-placed explosions, and all the lights in the neighborhood went out. All of the monitors, alarms, safeguards Irie had set up in his room were disabled.
- All except for one. Irie reached for it from under his pillow, grasped the handle tight.
The now perfectly ordinary wooden door to Irie's room burst open in splinters. One could easily guess that this was caused by the strangely gleaming sword held by the first person who entered - a tall young man about Irie's age, with broad shoulders and close-cropped hair, and a thin but expressive face.
A... sword? Who would be carrying a sword in this day and age? Much less one that gleamed?
The stranger looked at Irie. Irie froze. But the stranger was not the one who spoke first. This was his companion: a young Caucasian man with silver hair that fell to just below his ears. Irie knew it was silver in the shadows of the unlit room because for a split second, his features caught the glow of the sword the first stranger held.
"Irie Shouichi," the Caucasian said with a perfect Japanese accent, as well as a note of hostility, "come with us."
"W-what?" Irie stammered. "Who are you people? How did you find me?"
"We're... representatives of the Vongola family," the taller one said casually. It was not the same voice Irie had heard over the phone a lifetime ago. He smiled at Irie. God forbid that Irie in his panicked state should find that smile reassuring. "Sorry, it took us a bit long to find you."
"What are you talking about?" Irie's trigger finger started to itch.
"Your entire family has been kidnapped and tortured to death." Again, the silver-haired one, who didn't flinch even when Irie's shocked look fell upon him. "Your location has been traced and leaked, and now an army of mafia hitmen are headed this way. We're your only chance of surviving. Do you want to die or not?"
"Gokudera," the tall one snapped. He didn't sound too happy with what his companion had said. Gokudera... where had Irie heard that name before?
Why did these two seem somehow familiar?
Irie found himself unable to process anything. What was that the silver-haired one had said...? His entire family was dead? How could something like that happen... what was going on?
"We can't waste time," the silver-haired one scoffed. "He was bound to find out, anyway."
The tall Japanese paused to compose himself. He strode up to Irie. "He's right. Time is what we don't have. Please come with us." He had not sheathed his sword. In fact, he was holding it exposed at his side, while he extended a hand to help Irie up off the bed. And by its glow, Irie could see he wasn't smiling anymore.
Irie's eyes widened. That tall one - could he have been the one who -
(a newspaper on the table. a headline. his blood turning cold, his heart skipping several beats. the feeling of drowning, of blacking out, of being trapped, his friends were dead, his family was tortured, his sisters, his parents screaming in pain idon'tknowidon'tknowwwhyisthishappening)
Without even thinking, without taking his eyes off the tall stranger, Irie drew out his gun.
He had not yet even registered the stunned look on the tall one's face when he pulled the trigger.
Oh God.
Oh God...
He had just shot a man. No he hadn't, he'd missed. Hadn't he...?
The tall stranger staggered away from the bed. The hand he had extended to Irie was now covering his face. Was there blood seeping through his fingers? It was hard to see.
The silver-haired one let out a cry. That cry could have been his companion's name. But Irie's heart was pounding too loud in his ears for him to be sure. He pulled the trigger again. The silver-haired one fell back against the wall behind him as if thrown.
Irie might as well have had his eyes shut tight. One blind shot, then another, burning holes through his apartment room walls, not caring who else they would hit.
The next thing Irie knew, he was out of his apartment room and running down the street, still in the underclothes he wore to bed. And still holding his plasma gun, his one fang, his only defense.
How did he get here? Wait, it didn't matter...
Where was he going? That, at least, he had to decide.
The past several days had been spent in a paranoid haze. This moment felt like trying to wake up from a fever dream. Perhaps the two men had not meant to harm him. But he was scared, he was scared, he had no choice...
He might have killed one of them - he might have killed them both. He might have misheard when one of them said they were Vongola. He might have imagined the grenades (maybe the streets were unlit tonight for a reason. Maybe there was simply a power outage), and the door to his room exploding.
He didn't even remember how he was able to stumble outside his apartment. Maybe none of it happened. Maybe he had dreamed up the whole thing and had sleepwalked out of his room after all.
But who could he turn to for help? He still had a warm gun in his hand. And damned if he was going to let go of it. Damned if he was going to trust anyone.
He heard a car screeching to a halt somewhere nearby. Doors opening and closing. When hands as strong as iron clamped around his thin arms and led him into the car, he couldn't resist.
He was suddenly in the company of four large, unsmiling men, only one of whom immediately looked Asian. Seated in the car with them, Irie felt small and immensely breakable.
"Irie Shouichi," the Asian man greeted, then proceeded to say in formal Japanese, "You are now in the hands of the Gesso family. Please do not struggle and all will be well."
Even if he didn't trust anyone, even if Irie told himself he would rather die than be taken by any of the mafia scum that had caused all his troubles, his gun was pried out of his hands. In the end, he didn't have the strength to hold on even to that.
Then Irie was taken to a safehouse, where he was treated to a luxurious bedroom, a full-course meal, a hot bath, and a good night's rest.
In fact, he had several days of this. He even had people at his beck and call, ready to assist him at any time. The Gesso family's servants were alert, respectful and informative. They told Irie everything he wanted to hear.
Through them, Irie learned more about the Gesso - a large mafia family based in Italy. Over ten generations the Gesso have amassed enough firepower and influence to become quite strong, strong enough to take on the Vongola.
The Vongola, Irie discovered, was not the largest Sicilian mafia family, but it was recognized as the strongest and the unofficial "central" family. This was done with deference to Giotto, the very first head of the Vongola, who had brought together the different Sicilian families in an effort to consolidate their underground activities.
Thanks to Vongola Primo, as Giotto was better known, bloody disputes between families were kept in check. But after his passing, things seemed to go downhill, with the next generations of Vongola heads wantonly abusing the power they had inherited. There had been too many deaths, the Gesso servants said, too many wars struck up for the wrong reasons, and in the end the Vongola's supremacy became impossible for any other Sicilian group to contest.
The more Irie learned about the Vongola, the more he disliked them. In fact, by the end of his stay, he had grown to hate them. It didn't help at all that he learned about a childhood schoolmate, Sawada Tsunayoshi, being granted the title of Vongola Decimo only a few years ago - his memories of Sawada Tsunayoshi did not involve anything pleasant. Far from it. He could believe that Sawada's infamous "dame-dame" status was a front to cover up his true nature.
The Vongola family was central to a great many deaths and executions, lives ruined and futures destroyed. No doubt the Vongola were behind the killing of Irie's friends and family as well, if only because their beloved Vongola Decimo had wanted information on the Millefiore.
No doubt.
The Gesso, he was told, were getting ready to launch a coup against the Vongola. Gesso spies had discovered that the Vongola Decimo was planning to destroy his own family's Guardian rings (perhaps in order to create better, stronger ones) very soon, and immediately after that would be the best time to strike.
But the Gesso needed help. Specifically, they needed a leader who was stronger than the Vongola Decimo. They had the people, the money, the firepower - what they didn't have was someone with the strength to rival the Vongola Decimo's inherited dying will flame.
And this was why they needed Shouichi.
We will give you everything you need, they said to him - sweetly, seductively. We will help you finish your research. In return, we need your help in finishing off the Vongola. We need your talents to help us destroy the family that had destroyed your life.
It sounded like an excellent deal.
The Gesso already had a leader - a young man slightly older than Irie, who had inherited the blood of Gesso Primo, a selfless and noble man.
But he had not inherited much more of Gesso Primo than his blood. The young man was shy, awkward, perpetually confused, and basically useless.
When they finally met, Irie - who already considered himself weak in social situations - found himself in awe of how much of a loser the Gesso Decimo was. The slouching young man would fidget and avoid Irie's gaze, or look past him while talking in monosyllables, or fix his stare on his own shoes. He looked like he wanted to get the meeting over with as soon as possible.
I was told you wanted to help me. Help you... yes. Um... I need to finish working on the Millefiore machine. I will need a laboratory, funding, test subjects... Yes. Yes. And when I have completed my research, I will require your personal cooperation. It is for your exclusive use that I'm developing this machine, isn't it? Hahah. Yes. Me. Of course. Is everything clear? ...
Irie could not help but let out a sigh. This was the one who would lead the coup against the almighty Vongola...? He didn't seem competent enough to dress himself, much less head an army!
Do you want my help in crushing the Vongola? Irie thought to ask. And he thought he saw a flicker of life in those dull eyes, eyes that hid nothing, commanded nothing. The young man looked up and said Yes. Please.
As it turned out, the Millefiore device was not the only thing Irie had the resources to develop in the Gesso base in Italy. He also had the means to create cutting-edge weapons, vehicles, biological enhancements - everything one needed to start a war. And Irie took full advantage.
The Gesso scientists working under him were brilliant, and just as dedicated as he was to pursuing their family's vendetta. They all had their horror stories involving the Vongola, and even as Irie felt like he was in the most futuristic laboratory in the world he also felt like he was in a war library. There was so much grief, so much history of hate.
Their priority was the Millefiore machine. When it was done, they presented it to the head of the Gesso family and his aides. Irie was the one called upon to elaborate on the device's benefits, the risks involved.
"The device has been fully tested," he said to the entire room, "but the results between the test subjects varied. One constant finding is that the test subjects underwent a personality change. While the device gives them power to 'rewire' how other people behave, their behavior is 'rewired' as well." He looked at Gesso Decimo. "Are you ready to give up what you are for this?"
The tenth head of the Gesso clan avoided his chief scientist's eyes, barely audibly answered: "I don't exactly have much to give up, do I?"
The Gesso advisers were right. The Millefiore device was all they needed. Their plans for a coup were falling into place - thanks to their leader, who now called himself Byakuran and controlled all their operations with an iron fist.
Byakuran held "private meetings" with political bigwigs, heads of other mafia families, religious leaders, other influential men. When they refused, he resorted to blackmail and force, mowing down as many innocents as it took. He knew what he had to do, and he did not hesitate to do it.
Irie enjoyed some status as the power behind the throne. He would be stuck in his laboratory, listening to his favorite music while losing himself in his plans, drafts, formulae. He did not mind this - he preferred to keep his hands clean and let the butchers deal with the actual slaughter.
In fact, he preferred to know everything that Byakuran thought up, content as he was to simply follow through with Byakuran's grand schemes, as well as enjoy the feeling of not being hunted down.
As a sad result, Irie would not know a lot of things.
He would not know, for example, why or how the Vongola Decimo and his Guardians had been lured to the Gesso base for a meeting with Byakuran. What Irie was told, quite vaguely, was that the Gesso had in their "safekeeping" an individual who was personally important to the Vongola Decimo. A close friend, perhaps, or a lover - certainly someone whom the great Sawada Tsunayoshi would risk coming to rescue.
Irie said to himself that he did not need to know who this person was. All that mattered was that this person would bring about the Vongola's downfall.
He did not know.
That the one whose freedom the Vongola Decimo had gone to negotiate was his.
Irie Shouichi has been working for us. But we are aware that you have been looking for him. If you want him, state your price, and if it is acceptable we will consider a trade.
He did not know how that particular "private meeting" went. He did not know that the Vongola Decimo's dying will was stronger than his Millefiore device. That the talk ended in a bloody battle, with the Decimo being the only real casualty. That the six Guardians had scattered, taking with them as much of their family's resources as they could individually muster.
The Vongola family was as good as dissolved.
This was all Irie needed to know.
Byakuran's twisted sense of elegance dictated that he send flowers to his victims before he moved in for the kill. The Vongola Decimo had received a thousand white orchids when he was invited to the Gesso base for that fateful meeting. Irie knew this.
He also knew this was why whenever he saw white orchids, a chill ran up his spine.
This shudder did not escape Byakuran's notice. His eyes, now the most powerful eyes in existence, seemed to track Irie's every move. This time they could meet Irie's gaze without hesitation.
Those eyes - Irie had made them, fashioned them from the depths of his imagination. He had created them so he could take over the world.
And there they were, stripping him bare, devouring him.
"Stop looking at me," Irie said. Byakuran smiled.
"But I like looking at you, Shou-chan." The glee there was umistakable. And just a little mad, Irie was aware. Mad with the weight of over a hundred souls now. "You're... quite a piece of work. Did you know that?"
"A compliment, coming from you," Irie said dryly. "Leave me alone, I'm busy. I'll report to you later."
He tried to speak to this creature - this less-than-sane, more-than-human thing - as if he had power over it. He needed to.
Because when this creature slithered over to him, and ran its fingertips up his spine from the small of his back, rested its long, slender talons on his shoulder, he was paralyzed. Trapped.
"I see you," Byakuran whispered.
Irie could feel the eyes he made burning into him, piercing through any darkness to find where he hid. And he dared not look.
*****************
1. ...a plasma gun, m.e.? really??
2. i am sorry for never identifying "the tall man" who dropped the newspaper in the diner in the previous chapter. to tell you the truth, i don't know who he is, either XD let's call him Nameless Gesso Henchman #1.
3. i still think tsuna is byakuran. NO, THE CRACK, IT HAS JUST BEGUN ♥
sharing a mood song: [ Placebo - Infra-red ] (thanks to a_lighter_side for the file ♥)
part 1 is here.
Eyes
Part 2
Irie had to convince himself that he was not without his resources. He was smart, he was at the top of his class in university, had published scientific papers internationally, had been granted several academic awards for his innovative projects.
Of course he could think his way out of this.
He didn't think he could leave Japan now that he had been marked (by whoever left that paper on the diner table - the "tall man"), but the best he could do was go somewhere obscure. He rented a room he didn't have to give a name for, far from Tokyo, where he had hastily withdrawn his meager savings.
He needed to be in a city, however, as he constantly needed tools and implements to survive: weapons. Security devices. Anti-surveillance safeguards. Everything a paranoid techie needed to somehow sleep at night.
And as it was easy to trace purchases of ready-made items, Irie built everything himself from scrap. The first restless night, he spent building a handheld plasma gun capable of blowing a hole the size of a golf ball through a man's torso. The combination locks, the trigger bombs, and the bug scramblers, he made only when he couldn't sleep, which was often.
Many quiet days passed, but Irie he was far from at peace. Heavy bags had started to appear under his eyes. Lack of proper nutrition and rest made him start to look pale, ghostlike. He refused to talk to anyone more than necessary - which invited suspicion, he was sure, but at least it did not invite enmity.
He lived like this, like a fugitive, untroubled save by his own guilt, and the fears gnawing away at him.
Until one night.
Irie was awakened by a series of explosions. It took him a while to process what was going on, but it wasn't until the last bomb went off, somewhere right outside his building, and the makeshift monitors by his bed abruptly shut off, that he realized -
These were no ordinary bombs. These weren't designed to cause property damage. They created noise, but only as much noise as was necessary while projecting bursts of static energy that shorted out any electronic device within the blast radius.
Just a few well-placed explosions, and all the lights in the neighborhood went out. All of the monitors, alarms, safeguards Irie had set up in his room were disabled.
- All except for one. Irie reached for it from under his pillow, grasped the handle tight.
The now perfectly ordinary wooden door to Irie's room burst open in splinters. One could easily guess that this was caused by the strangely gleaming sword held by the first person who entered - a tall young man about Irie's age, with broad shoulders and close-cropped hair, and a thin but expressive face.
A... sword? Who would be carrying a sword in this day and age? Much less one that gleamed?
The stranger looked at Irie. Irie froze. But the stranger was not the one who spoke first. This was his companion: a young Caucasian man with silver hair that fell to just below his ears. Irie knew it was silver in the shadows of the unlit room because for a split second, his features caught the glow of the sword the first stranger held.
"Irie Shouichi," the Caucasian said with a perfect Japanese accent, as well as a note of hostility, "come with us."
"W-what?" Irie stammered. "Who are you people? How did you find me?"
"We're... representatives of the Vongola family," the taller one said casually. It was not the same voice Irie had heard over the phone a lifetime ago. He smiled at Irie. God forbid that Irie in his panicked state should find that smile reassuring. "Sorry, it took us a bit long to find you."
"What are you talking about?" Irie's trigger finger started to itch.
"Your entire family has been kidnapped and tortured to death." Again, the silver-haired one, who didn't flinch even when Irie's shocked look fell upon him. "Your location has been traced and leaked, and now an army of mafia hitmen are headed this way. We're your only chance of surviving. Do you want to die or not?"
"Gokudera," the tall one snapped. He didn't sound too happy with what his companion had said. Gokudera... where had Irie heard that name before?
Why did these two seem somehow familiar?
Irie found himself unable to process anything. What was that the silver-haired one had said...? His entire family was dead? How could something like that happen... what was going on?
"We can't waste time," the silver-haired one scoffed. "He was bound to find out, anyway."
The tall Japanese paused to compose himself. He strode up to Irie. "He's right. Time is what we don't have. Please come with us." He had not sheathed his sword. In fact, he was holding it exposed at his side, while he extended a hand to help Irie up off the bed. And by its glow, Irie could see he wasn't smiling anymore.
Irie's eyes widened. That tall one - could he have been the one who -
(a newspaper on the table. a headline. his blood turning cold, his heart skipping several beats. the feeling of drowning, of blacking out, of being trapped, his friends were dead, his family was tortured, his sisters, his parents screaming in pain idon'tknowidon'tknowwwhyisthishappening)
Without even thinking, without taking his eyes off the tall stranger, Irie drew out his gun.
He had not yet even registered the stunned look on the tall one's face when he pulled the trigger.
Oh God.
Oh God...
He had just shot a man. No he hadn't, he'd missed. Hadn't he...?
The tall stranger staggered away from the bed. The hand he had extended to Irie was now covering his face. Was there blood seeping through his fingers? It was hard to see.
The silver-haired one let out a cry. That cry could have been his companion's name. But Irie's heart was pounding too loud in his ears for him to be sure. He pulled the trigger again. The silver-haired one fell back against the wall behind him as if thrown.
Irie might as well have had his eyes shut tight. One blind shot, then another, burning holes through his apartment room walls, not caring who else they would hit.
The next thing Irie knew, he was out of his apartment room and running down the street, still in the underclothes he wore to bed. And still holding his plasma gun, his one fang, his only defense.
How did he get here? Wait, it didn't matter...
Where was he going? That, at least, he had to decide.
The past several days had been spent in a paranoid haze. This moment felt like trying to wake up from a fever dream. Perhaps the two men had not meant to harm him. But he was scared, he was scared, he had no choice...
He might have killed one of them - he might have killed them both. He might have misheard when one of them said they were Vongola. He might have imagined the grenades (maybe the streets were unlit tonight for a reason. Maybe there was simply a power outage), and the door to his room exploding.
He didn't even remember how he was able to stumble outside his apartment. Maybe none of it happened. Maybe he had dreamed up the whole thing and had sleepwalked out of his room after all.
But who could he turn to for help? He still had a warm gun in his hand. And damned if he was going to let go of it. Damned if he was going to trust anyone.
He heard a car screeching to a halt somewhere nearby. Doors opening and closing. When hands as strong as iron clamped around his thin arms and led him into the car, he couldn't resist.
He was suddenly in the company of four large, unsmiling men, only one of whom immediately looked Asian. Seated in the car with them, Irie felt small and immensely breakable.
"Irie Shouichi," the Asian man greeted, then proceeded to say in formal Japanese, "You are now in the hands of the Gesso family. Please do not struggle and all will be well."
Even if he didn't trust anyone, even if Irie told himself he would rather die than be taken by any of the mafia scum that had caused all his troubles, his gun was pried out of his hands. In the end, he didn't have the strength to hold on even to that.
Then Irie was taken to a safehouse, where he was treated to a luxurious bedroom, a full-course meal, a hot bath, and a good night's rest.
In fact, he had several days of this. He even had people at his beck and call, ready to assist him at any time. The Gesso family's servants were alert, respectful and informative. They told Irie everything he wanted to hear.
Through them, Irie learned more about the Gesso - a large mafia family based in Italy. Over ten generations the Gesso have amassed enough firepower and influence to become quite strong, strong enough to take on the Vongola.
The Vongola, Irie discovered, was not the largest Sicilian mafia family, but it was recognized as the strongest and the unofficial "central" family. This was done with deference to Giotto, the very first head of the Vongola, who had brought together the different Sicilian families in an effort to consolidate their underground activities.
Thanks to Vongola Primo, as Giotto was better known, bloody disputes between families were kept in check. But after his passing, things seemed to go downhill, with the next generations of Vongola heads wantonly abusing the power they had inherited. There had been too many deaths, the Gesso servants said, too many wars struck up for the wrong reasons, and in the end the Vongola's supremacy became impossible for any other Sicilian group to contest.
The more Irie learned about the Vongola, the more he disliked them. In fact, by the end of his stay, he had grown to hate them. It didn't help at all that he learned about a childhood schoolmate, Sawada Tsunayoshi, being granted the title of Vongola Decimo only a few years ago - his memories of Sawada Tsunayoshi did not involve anything pleasant. Far from it. He could believe that Sawada's infamous "dame-dame" status was a front to cover up his true nature.
The Vongola family was central to a great many deaths and executions, lives ruined and futures destroyed. No doubt the Vongola were behind the killing of Irie's friends and family as well, if only because their beloved Vongola Decimo had wanted information on the Millefiore.
No doubt.
The Gesso, he was told, were getting ready to launch a coup against the Vongola. Gesso spies had discovered that the Vongola Decimo was planning to destroy his own family's Guardian rings (perhaps in order to create better, stronger ones) very soon, and immediately after that would be the best time to strike.
But the Gesso needed help. Specifically, they needed a leader who was stronger than the Vongola Decimo. They had the people, the money, the firepower - what they didn't have was someone with the strength to rival the Vongola Decimo's inherited dying will flame.
And this was why they needed Shouichi.
We will give you everything you need, they said to him - sweetly, seductively. We will help you finish your research. In return, we need your help in finishing off the Vongola. We need your talents to help us destroy the family that had destroyed your life.
It sounded like an excellent deal.
The Gesso already had a leader - a young man slightly older than Irie, who had inherited the blood of Gesso Primo, a selfless and noble man.
But he had not inherited much more of Gesso Primo than his blood. The young man was shy, awkward, perpetually confused, and basically useless.
When they finally met, Irie - who already considered himself weak in social situations - found himself in awe of how much of a loser the Gesso Decimo was. The slouching young man would fidget and avoid Irie's gaze, or look past him while talking in monosyllables, or fix his stare on his own shoes. He looked like he wanted to get the meeting over with as soon as possible.
I was told you wanted to help me. Help you... yes. Um... I need to finish working on the Millefiore machine. I will need a laboratory, funding, test subjects... Yes. Yes. And when I have completed my research, I will require your personal cooperation. It is for your exclusive use that I'm developing this machine, isn't it? Hahah. Yes. Me. Of course. Is everything clear? ...
Irie could not help but let out a sigh. This was the one who would lead the coup against the almighty Vongola...? He didn't seem competent enough to dress himself, much less head an army!
Do you want my help in crushing the Vongola? Irie thought to ask. And he thought he saw a flicker of life in those dull eyes, eyes that hid nothing, commanded nothing. The young man looked up and said Yes. Please.
As it turned out, the Millefiore device was not the only thing Irie had the resources to develop in the Gesso base in Italy. He also had the means to create cutting-edge weapons, vehicles, biological enhancements - everything one needed to start a war. And Irie took full advantage.
The Gesso scientists working under him were brilliant, and just as dedicated as he was to pursuing their family's vendetta. They all had their horror stories involving the Vongola, and even as Irie felt like he was in the most futuristic laboratory in the world he also felt like he was in a war library. There was so much grief, so much history of hate.
Their priority was the Millefiore machine. When it was done, they presented it to the head of the Gesso family and his aides. Irie was the one called upon to elaborate on the device's benefits, the risks involved.
"The device has been fully tested," he said to the entire room, "but the results between the test subjects varied. One constant finding is that the test subjects underwent a personality change. While the device gives them power to 'rewire' how other people behave, their behavior is 'rewired' as well." He looked at Gesso Decimo. "Are you ready to give up what you are for this?"
The tenth head of the Gesso clan avoided his chief scientist's eyes, barely audibly answered: "I don't exactly have much to give up, do I?"
The Gesso advisers were right. The Millefiore device was all they needed. Their plans for a coup were falling into place - thanks to their leader, who now called himself Byakuran and controlled all their operations with an iron fist.
Byakuran held "private meetings" with political bigwigs, heads of other mafia families, religious leaders, other influential men. When they refused, he resorted to blackmail and force, mowing down as many innocents as it took. He knew what he had to do, and he did not hesitate to do it.
Irie enjoyed some status as the power behind the throne. He would be stuck in his laboratory, listening to his favorite music while losing himself in his plans, drafts, formulae. He did not mind this - he preferred to keep his hands clean and let the butchers deal with the actual slaughter.
In fact, he preferred to know everything that Byakuran thought up, content as he was to simply follow through with Byakuran's grand schemes, as well as enjoy the feeling of not being hunted down.
As a sad result, Irie would not know a lot of things.
He would not know, for example, why or how the Vongola Decimo and his Guardians had been lured to the Gesso base for a meeting with Byakuran. What Irie was told, quite vaguely, was that the Gesso had in their "safekeeping" an individual who was personally important to the Vongola Decimo. A close friend, perhaps, or a lover - certainly someone whom the great Sawada Tsunayoshi would risk coming to rescue.
Irie said to himself that he did not need to know who this person was. All that mattered was that this person would bring about the Vongola's downfall.
He did not know.
That the one whose freedom the Vongola Decimo had gone to negotiate was his.
Irie Shouichi has been working for us. But we are aware that you have been looking for him. If you want him, state your price, and if it is acceptable we will consider a trade.
He did not know how that particular "private meeting" went. He did not know that the Vongola Decimo's dying will was stronger than his Millefiore device. That the talk ended in a bloody battle, with the Decimo being the only real casualty. That the six Guardians had scattered, taking with them as much of their family's resources as they could individually muster.
The Vongola family was as good as dissolved.
This was all Irie needed to know.
Byakuran's twisted sense of elegance dictated that he send flowers to his victims before he moved in for the kill. The Vongola Decimo had received a thousand white orchids when he was invited to the Gesso base for that fateful meeting. Irie knew this.
He also knew this was why whenever he saw white orchids, a chill ran up his spine.
This shudder did not escape Byakuran's notice. His eyes, now the most powerful eyes in existence, seemed to track Irie's every move. This time they could meet Irie's gaze without hesitation.
Those eyes - Irie had made them, fashioned them from the depths of his imagination. He had created them so he could take over the world.
And there they were, stripping him bare, devouring him.
"Stop looking at me," Irie said. Byakuran smiled.
"But I like looking at you, Shou-chan." The glee there was umistakable. And just a little mad, Irie was aware. Mad with the weight of over a hundred souls now. "You're... quite a piece of work. Did you know that?"
"A compliment, coming from you," Irie said dryly. "Leave me alone, I'm busy. I'll report to you later."
He tried to speak to this creature - this less-than-sane, more-than-human thing - as if he had power over it. He needed to.
Because when this creature slithered over to him, and ran its fingertips up his spine from the small of his back, rested its long, slender talons on his shoulder, he was paralyzed. Trapped.
"I see you," Byakuran whispered.
Irie could feel the eyes he made burning into him, piercing through any darkness to find where he hid. And he dared not look.
*****************
1. ...a plasma gun, m.e.? really??
2. i am sorry for never identifying "the tall man" who dropped the newspaper in the diner in the previous chapter. to tell you the truth, i don't know who he is, either XD let's call him Nameless Gesso Henchman #1.
3. i still think tsuna is byakuran. NO, THE CRACK, IT HAS JUST BEGUN ♥