"Zero hostiles left… I'm done here."

A long, tired sigh escaped his lips. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep ever since yesterday morning which's making him cranky and irritated. He's sweaty, bloody – not his blood, aching all around and hurt due to a stray bullet hitting him on his left shoulder. Walking with his hands on his hips, he walked towards the direction of the crack-filled mirror that's in its current state due to the gun fight that happened here minutes previously.

It's a beautiful night here in Sicily, Palermo… though it would have been more beautiful in the morning with the radiant Sicilian sun shining in the sky. But, the same can't be said about the condition of the room.

Originally, it's a fully furnished and decorated living room in a vacation villa along the beach lines somewhere in Palermo, a pretty expensive and luxurious vacation house that only those with a very high standing in public could afford. But now, it's like a crime scene with bullet holes filled walls, cracked windows, blood sprays, pools of blood, corpses and bullet casings littered almost everywhere on the ground. The fancy and exquisitely decorated sofas are shot to destruction, with its filling and expensive leather cushion torn due to the bullets entering them. Heavy decorations such as vases, ceramic pedestals and carvings of arts were worthless as they're nothing more than dust and pieces of trash that needed to be cleaned up. They did quite a number on this room, especially the corpses who used to be alive.

"Yeah, can you get some guys over here? I need cleaners here pronto." He snapped irately to the radio communications device on his ear that both acts as an earpiece and a microphone. Again, another long sigh escaped his mouth. "Out of all the days they could've called me why now…?"

It's supposed to be his vacation, see? He'd been working for four months straight with no break, not even in the weekends! And every single time, it's the same shtick. The higher ups want him to kill this one guy, this one guy turned out to be some powerful crime lord with lots'a guards guarding his ass, he had to kill the guy in his own home or some other places away from public, kill some henchmen, kill the guy, report back to the higher ups, get paid and return back home only to do the exact same shit the next day, over and over again. Man… well, at least he's in Sicily, it's pretty much a 'paid' vacation already.

He leaned his back behind the cracked window, careful not to let his full weight rest on the window as it might just give in due to the shitty state it's in right now. Carefully and slowly, he slips back the silenced and polished M1911 into the leather holster strapped around his chest area, so the position of the gun is somewhere on his right side area, just above the ribs.

"Tch… a shitty gun for a shitty job… how fitting, not to mention that I'm shitty myself… hehehe…" his amusement was cut short. Multiple footsteps sound approached the room and five men dressed in sharp black suits entered the room with automatic submachine gun weapons in their arms. "Took your sweet time entering…" he rolled his eyes openly. "Take care of the scene quick, I want this place spotless in the next twenty minutes."

One of the suited man, the one in the very front, nodded. "Yes sir."

He walked past them, waving a hand. "Yeah, yeah… just do your job because I've done mine." He walked outside of the living room and outside the vacation house to the veranda. On a wooden square table near the door is a hard-cased cello case, made from synthetic plastic material to absorb shock damage from falling or other possible causes, it's wrapped in a dark black leather with two handles on each sides as well as one on the top as well as the bottom. The case also had metallic letters that spelled out 'AMATI' in in caps, and the metals used for this are bronze.

To the normal person, the case looked like a fancy and expensive cello casing. But in actuality, it's not, nor was it meant to carry a cello in the first place. Well, he could still fit one inside, but that's not the point. With a soft, yet audible click, he had opened the case. He lifted the lid of the case up.

Inside is not a cello, but it was in instrument in its own way. He never fancied using automatic battle rifles, but he won't deny their usefulness when in battle. He preferred smaller and shorter guns that were easier for conceal-carrying, since it will make his job a whole lot easier. A normal cello case like this would be able to fit more than one but no more than five rifle weapons, like an AK, M4, or any other firearms of the same length or size. But instead of those, he had a FN-P90, another spare M1911 with silencer, a Desert Tactical SRS with its scope detached from the rail, a lot of magazines for each guns he owned and a bayonet knife sheathed in a roughed out leather sheath. The content will make a normal person question why the hell would he carry so many guns with him, but it's not like they can see what's inside. The hard case is specially made for him. It won't get detected by metal detectors and even x-ray scans, it made plane trips much easier. And besides, he played a cello, so it's not like it's completely weird for him to be carrying around a cello case when travelling.

He took out a handgun magazine from inside the case before proceeding to replace the spent magazine inside the M1911 he had in his chest holster. After resupplying, he closed the 'cello' case shut, snapping the clips back securely. He hefted the heavy and equally large case on his back, doing so with no difficulty at all.

With his other hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit, pulling out a smartphone. He pressed the quick dial, bringing the phone close to his ear.

"Hey, I'm done here in Sicily. Prepare a plane back to the states for me…" but… "What the hell do you mean I'm not done yet?" his voice got louder. "Look, I did my job. I'm done here, clear me from my mission."

His eyes narrowed in anger, a visible scowl formed on his face.

"Paris… assassination… can you repeat that again? You expect me to do another job when I haven't even got paid for the first one? Who the hell are you, my boss?" he went quiet. "…technically, yeah, you are, but that's no reason to-urgh… uuuurgh… uuuuuuuuuurgh…."

His scowl disappeared, replaced by a whiney expression. "No… that's too cruel J, that's too cruel… can't I at least do the job the next day or two? I'm tired and beat, I haven't even showered! Just let me check in at a hotel, shower, sleep and then we can talk, okay? Okay… fine, tomorrow." The disappointment never left his tone. "I'll call you later J, bye."

He sighed for the third time that night. "Fuckin' a… no rest for the wicked indeed." He muttered quietly, while walking down the stairs of the vacation home he'd cleared out. The agents inside had set up blockades to prevent civilians from entering the area, and a team of other agents were around patrolling the area to finish things up. He walked up to a parked convertible next to a sidewalk. The sleek crimson hot rod is his for the driving. It's one hell of a car, being just recently released. It's not his car though, it's the Agency's, but no one said that he can't pretend that it's his.

Opening the driver's seat, he then places the large cello case on the front passenger seat. He did the seatbelts both for him and his case, road safety was important after all. He readjusted the slightly out of position rear view mirror above the dashboard, he got to look at his own face.

Terry, Vincent, was someone who women would call a hot jerk and men would call him a plain jerk. He, for the record, was not a jerk 24/7. He's just a jerk when he's irritated, but since he's almost irritated all the time, that previous statement was invalid. His tall stature, charming looks and slippery mouth earned him the reputation for being the Agency's most iconic agent. He took that as a praise, rather than a warning from the Agency for his – sometimes – unprofessional behavior. Vincent had always appreciated stylish trends, explaining why his hair was so damn slick as if he'd put grease on it every damn minute he had a free time, which was true. He was dressed in a set of the agency's work uniform and by uniform he meant a very sharp three piece suit which consisted of a black inner collared shirt, a middle buttoned maroon vest, an outer black blazer, a pair of matching back slacks made from the same material as the blazer, a pair of polished black oxfords and a pair of three fingered gloves on each hand that left out the ring finger and pinky uncovered. The neatly done crimson tie that kept the collar of his shirt from being undone was slightly shriveled; he saw this and was quick to fix it. After a few seconds of readjusting, it's neat again.

Turning on the engine by twisting the keys of the car, he let the engine heat up for a few seconds before stepping on the gas.

"…Forget taking shower, I'm sleepin' as soon as I find a bed."

The All Operations Agency was a unique organization even by some of the world's most knowledge people's standards. It's a government agency, which government that's classified, funded and paid for through the tax money that normal civilians pay. It's not suspicious, right? Wrong. The Agency, for the sake of convenience, was set up to prevent wars from breaking out within a country. What kind of wars? Civil wars. The Agency mainly dealt with groups of people or other organization that plans on rebelling their country's federal party, but since jobs that involved kidnapping, interrogation, assassination and other shady government actions were frowned upon by everyone, the government will need to keep things on the down low. However, the Agency is still country – let's say – A's secret government agency, it could not operate on foreign countries without that country's permission or request.

Which brings us to the way how the Agency operates.

The Agency is a secret government agency, true, but it is unincorporated with the government at the same time. Meaning that it's an entirely different group of its own, only related to the government in name – not like everyone knows about it – and nothing else. What the Agency does in their jobs was secret. Authorization to look at the records relating the Agency was high and only few individuals were allowed to even glance at them. It employed Agents as their main operatives, from here and on, it's your typical secret organization group bullshit. When the Agency's not dealing country A's problem, it offered its services to other countries who maybe experiencing the problems of rebellion or the uprising of a civil war.

Agents were deployed on multiple missions. Assassinations, sabotage, infiltration, spying and even assault were few of the missions that Agents were deployed to. Less risky ones included becoming personal bodyguards for VIPs, undercover operations in other organizations and many more. The kind of thing that the Agents do may be similar to what several special forces group were familiar with, but the Agency is strictly for dirty work and to make government involvement as unexpected as possible. Agents were trained, taught and built to do what they were supposed to do. It's not rare for several ex-special forces members to be an Agent, but the Agency accepted new recruits with different backgrounds.

Currently, the Agency is in a state of wariness due to a very important event that happened in the past… what's that event? Well…

"Finally a bed!"

Vincent launched himself to the comfortable king sized bed's springy mattress. He allowed his face to sink into the pillow, all the while feeling the pain he'd been dealing with over the past few hours being lifted up from him as if it's the rapture. He'd undone his suit, explaining why he's only in his shirt and slacks. On a nearby desk were his gloves, his cello case was leaning next to the wardrobe where he placed his blazer and vest in.

He took a quick soak earlier, just to get rid of the blood, sweat and fatigue from his person and mind. He felt great now, better than great. One of the perks of being an Agent was that you're not like a typical spec-ops soldier, you get to experience these kinds of privileges and not to mention the high pay. They should've named him and the rest as Hitmen instead of Agents, since inflicting pain and causing deaths had always been the kind of job they're doing. Vincent sighed, in bliss this time, as he relaxed into the bed's soft mattress.

"This will compensate for not having a vacation over the past few months…" he sleepily muttered to himself. Just as he was about to sleep, his phone beeped. Vincent groaned, he reluctantly sat himself up from the bed in order to retrieve it. "What now…?"

It's a mail, he received a mail.

To: Agent 0564

From: J

Subject: Heads up lazy ass

The board wanted something done about the France job, fast. I know you're tired, but you're not the only one. They want you to kill another guy called Pierre de Valls. He's an important person in the French government, but they wanted him out of the job because he's a major fuck up. More information about the mission will be given by our branch there in Palermo, just don't be yourself when you meet the folks there. Just leave for France, Paris as soon as you're done in Palermo.

P.S: You owe me a couple hundred bucks, you ass.

MESSAGE END

With sleepy eyes, he skimmed over the message once again, before shrugging. "Oh well, today's not yet tomorrow." He went back to sleep.

Without, shutting off his phone.

Tomorrow…

"Fuck! I'm so going to get yelled at for this…" he groaned loudly in the middle of driving.

It's already morning and he's supposed to be in the Agency's branch here in Palermo ten minutes ago. He blamed himself. Last night, he forgot to charge his phone so he wasn't able to wake up early due to the alarm function dead to him. Right now, the damn thing's charging from the USB port of his car, thank god for technology…

He's almost at the building, just a few blocks away. The thing about secret government agencies, they always put their buildings under the cover of another government organization that's okay for the public. Here in Palermo, the Agency branch here took the guise of a Welfare agency that deals with the social welfare of the Italian citizens. That's still true, meaning that the branch here deals with shit from both the Agency AND the Italian government. That gave a clue of how close the Italians were to the Agency, explaining why there's a branch here in the first place. The Agency, despite being a secret organization, was well known throughout several governments. It had branches all across the globe, but not so much. Just like this one, they also had their own guises to keep up to avoid public suspicion.

After flashing the security guard his credentials, he was allowed entry to the parking lot. He parked the convertible on an empty space near the entrance, for the sake of convenience. Opening the door, he then hefted his cello case on his back with ease before proceeding his way into the building. Once inside, he approached the receptionist.

"Agent 0546." He muttered to the female receptionist who clearly heard his message as she immediately picked up a nearby telephone, pressing the quick dial.

Vincent waited as the receptionist talked to whoever's on the other side of the line. He couldn't hear anything, so he couldn't help but doze off, staring at nothing in particular. After a while, the receptionist grabbed his attention by shoving a brown paper file on his face.

"Everything is in here." She said in a somewhat freaky monotonous voice. "Dress well, work well."

"Compliment received." Vincent muttered dryly as he flicked the receptionist a loose salute before walking back outside with the file carried on his free hand. He walked back to his car, turned on the engine and drove back to the road towards the direction of the airport. Throughout the journey, he kept thinking.

Just what is with the mission these days, anyway? It's all about killing, maiming, getting rid of someone and sending some guys back to the J-man in heaven. It's been a while ever since he'd gotten a bodyguard job. He is complaining, shit, he'll file one when he's done in Paris! Not that he mind killing people, it's just that he's been doing the same thing for about four months now, so he's bound to get bored from it. But, as long as the pay was good, he won't complain anytime soon. It's just… weird. He knew that the higher ups can be brutal, but straight up bloodthirsty? Never knew that. Is it just him, or the people today have been so active in trying to do shit that they're not supposed to do? If he'd been getting assassination contracts over the past few months, that could imply how active a group in overthrowing their government. He's not predicting shit here, but this's just like an opening to war.

Hey, if a war did happen, Vincent won't complain much.

If a war broke out, let's say a civil war in country A – the Agency's home country – then all Agents would be deployed to eliminate all rebel leaders quickly before it escalated to a degree of clusterfuck. There's no need for revolution, today's generation was past that. It's no longer the olden days where people were dreaming about revolting against political leaders because they didn't like the way they do stuff. The people do what they have to do, and the government will do theirs. As long as they don't fight each other, then things were good. Isn't that how today's society was supposed to be? Regardless of the nation's style of government, be it republican, democrats, or even communism, but as long as everyone was okay, then isn't it fine? Vincent's not a kid, even he knew that there will always be people who'll disagree, arguing that their way is the best kind of solution to deal with problems. But see that same guy four or five years down the road, see what he's become. If he turned out to be capable of fulfilling his promises, then good for him. If he couldn't, then pity those who had placed their trust on him.

People, especially today's politician, have become huge disappointment, not only to others, but also to themselves. They thought that they could do great things and become the next George Washington or Napoleon Bonaparte, but they found themselves being labeled as society's biggest failure. As horrible as Vincent considered himself, he didn't want that kind of thing happening to him or others. He's not so keen on admitting it, but he's afraid of giving a false sense of hope for the people around him. And when a guy turned out to be just that kind of person he's afraid of making himself look like, he couldn't do anything but feel sorry for the fella.

Vincent was raised in a good household, some might even consider him a spoiled kid from a rich family. His father was a business with a decent political standing and status, his mother was a professor somewhere in America's top university. Ten years down the road, his father got into a scandal and it broke their relationship of a happy family. His mother resulted drugs, his father became the literal trash of society and their family was nothing after a day that news broke out. He felt very disappointed in his dad, but he could never bring himself to hate him because, even if he was young at that time, he knew that he couldn't judge him for what he did. Mom… his mom was beyond saving. Troubled and having the pressure of living in that kind of broken home getting to him, he ran away from home. Using the money he gathered up from his allowances, he fled to the countryside where he knew his parents would have no chance of finding him, especially not without the influence they used to have. Vincent remembered working on farms, cleaning literal dumps, and sleeping in barns in order to stay alive. Hey, at least he got paid. Years later, he ended up working for the Agency, becoming one of their best agents too. If that's not an accomplishment, then he didn't know what else. But sadly, that's not the type of accomplishment he's willing or going to share to people… for a variety of reasons.

The thing is, he pity those people who have been labeled failures by the public for something they did not manage to do. Hey, at least they did something, they tried their hardest to achieve it. Failure doesn't mean that you gain nothing, failure's actually a result of its own. But he loathed those people who never tried their best in doing the things they're supposed to do. He may be a lazy ass, but he work hard every now and then. He believed that people, people who haven't been in the shoes of the people they're judging, should not have the right to judge. He, too, had no right to judge most of the people he killed. Most of the people he killed were crime lords, corrupted politicians, or plain scheming people that the government's declared too dangerous to be let alive. He never became a crime lord, a corrupted fed or some scheming left winger, so he had no right to judge them for what they did.

But hey, he never say he had no rights to kill them.

Stepping on to the gas, he increased the speed of the car as he entered the highway.

Several hours later, he arrived on the airport.

"Passport please." The female airport clerk offered him a business smile when he gave her his passport. She opened his passport and proceeded to ink the empty page with a stamp. She returned the passport back to Vincent, still with the smile present on her face. "Thank you, next please…"

Vincent tuned out the rest of the background noises as he walked towards the waiting area to wait for his plane. Supposedly, his plane should've been here three minutes ago, but there's a delay due to maintenance purposes. Vincent, dressed in his suit while carrying a large cello case, made him look like an important individual who's in an airport for a job rather than a trip or just a plain suspicious person. Both assumptions were not wrong, but misinterpreted. He's indeed here for a job and yes, with the actual content of his cello case being guns and other weapons including ammunition, he was pretty much a suspicious individual. But so long as he didn't make himself look suspicious, then it's okay.

He sat on an empty bench inside the waiting area, opening his phone. Now that the damn thing's charged, he can finally see how many notifications he had.

"Whoa, 152 in just one day? That's a new record… no wonder she can't get a boyfriend…" Vincent, hesitantly, unlocked his phone. He browsed through the message and he figured out that they were all containing the same thing. He opened the most recent one.

To: Vincent

From: J

Geez, why won't you answer me you dimwit? I tried calling you but you didn't pick up… never mind, just be sure to see the new e-mail I gave you. It contains the intel you'll need about the job you're about to do. Don't call me, I'll be busy.

-J

'Sure not busy typing out these texts…' he shrugged it off before doing as the message had instructed. He opened his email and yes, there was indeed one new email in his inbox. He tapped it in order to view.

To: Agent 0564

From: J

Subject: Intel

Heads up dum-dum, here's a picture of the guy's mansion. Hear that? Mansion. That means you have to get up from your seat, sneak into the damn place and kill the guy yourself. Even better, the French branch can't help you on this one. Meaning that the mission will take place with civilians lingering around the area, hey, it may be private property but there will be people around and no one's stopping the po-po from stealing the stage so you'll have to do things quietly.

Vincent viewed a colored image taken from a satellite that's in a JPG format. He downloaded it to his phone, just in case he needed it again later.

Again, please don't fuck this up. The higher ups want the guy dead for some ever reason and I can't figure out why.

MESSAGE END

That last statement made Vincent think a little. J, his superior, was one of the most influential people in the Agency. She can easily get any kind of information she wanted, whether or not it's related to work. So to know that even J was clueless about the mission made him a little bit uneasy, for some reason.

"Passengers boarding flight BLZ-420 the plane has arrived please show your tickets and board the plane immediately."

Vincent lifted his cello case again, bringing it with him to the plane. He went through the airport's security check, meaning that he'll have his body patted by other men's hands, ew. Once it's done, all that's left is to wait for his cello case to be x-rayed by the machine. He's not worried even a bit, because he knew that they won't be able to see what's inside of his cello case. After retrieving his case back again, he, with the same brown paper file in his free hand, boards the plane.

Thankfully, there're still business class seats available in the last day. Opening the storage space above the seat, he stored his cello case inside and thankfully, it fits. He sat back down on his seat next to the window, with the one next to him being unoccupied. Fastening the seat belts, he leaned back and proceeded to close his eyes for several hours of a trip to the airport in Paris.

The plane waited for several more minutes to let passengers who weren't here yet enter. While waiting, Vincent thought that it's a good time to review his mission details, since hadn't really look at it. Opening the brown paper file carefully as to not damage the important document inside, Vincent then slowly pulls the paper out. He took a look at it.

Mission Code: FR-34-244-226

Location: France, Paris

Duration: One day

Agent is to assassinate Pierre de Valls in his own estate. Mission is critical, so stealth approach is recommended. Should our presence be discovered, execute all hostiles.

IMPORTANT

Mission will have a VIP that the Agent will need to extract. VIP is mission critical. The safety of the VIP overrules the mission conditions above. BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.

Dress well, work well.

Vincent eyes nearly went as wide as saucers when he read the last part of the note. A VIP? Wasn't this supposed to be another assassination mission? If the mission objective changed, then why didn't J told him about it? What're the higher ups trying to do here? That last 'BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY' part might as well be written in red bold letters. There were four types of execute command that will be given to an agent. The first one was either 'within mission parameters' or 'only on area'. They both mean the same thing, basically, should the target leave the mission area, agents would have to give chase and let him flee. Or, an agent will have to eliminate his target within the mission area only. The second one was 'with bare hands' and it's exactly as it sounded. It means that an agent should not use lethal force in dealing with their targets, usually, this command is reserved for capture and extract missions only. The third one was 'by any means necessary' and it meant that as long as the mission or condition is achieved, then an agent was allowed to do the mission in the way he or she thought was best, even using lethal force. And the final one was 'within your judgement'. The last was, basically, the Agency's way of saying 'deal with the trashes in the way you deem fit' or something like that. It meant that he can do whatever the hell he wanted without the mission conditions holding him back, but it's preferred if agents were to follow their mission conditions since it'll make the higher ups happier.

So in the context above, it probably meant like this: the Agency wanted him to kill this Pierre guy and everyone inside his mansion, but finding and securing this VIP is more important than that. The VIP's safety came first, so as long as he's doing that, he's allowed to break a few mission conditions and that's including stealth. Now that he knew what his mission would probably be like, he decided his option.

Option A was to sneak into the mansion all snaky like without getting spotted or killing without getting seen. This was, however, easier said than done because the only intel he got about the place was just a freaking satellite picture of the mansion. He's to find this Pierre bitch, murder his ass but not before questioning him about his VIP. Maybe then, he'll castrate him, find the VIP, make his way out before whatever remained of the people there are alarmed about his presence and then GTFO from the scene faster than you can say 'mission accomplished'.

Option B still needed a little bit of stealth, but it's more brutal. He'll sneak into the building fully armed with automatic weapons, find Pierre, question him about the VIP that he'll need to retrieve and raise the alarm purposely so that he could eliminate all hostiles but not before putting the VIP in a safe place, like a closet or something. It's risky, yeah, but it'll fulfill the 'execute all hostiles' mission condition while keeping the VIP safe and secure at the same time.

Option C was the riskiest one. It'll involve him, an armored vehicle and a whole lotta' shooting. Basically, he'll charge through the front door with an armored vehicle that he might be able to retrieve from a nearby bank, you know the ones they used to transport money, but not before creating another diversion. He's thinking about planting C-4s, he got several of them with him, around the compound and discharge them one at time to create the illusion of a full on assault was being carried to the mansion. It's risky because it will no doubt alarm the guards, put bystanders at risk of being caught up and the police will be involved. But the enemy will be confused and divided, he can waltz in no problem while the guards were all over the place trying to find him. Since the police will be involved, the people there might just get into a shootout with the cops because they're all armed and all. While that happens, he will hunt down Pierre, who will definitely be trying to haul his ass out of the scene and kill him before that happened. After the heat receded, he can find his VIP and get out of the scene, leaving behind a lot of mess for the cops to clean.

…yeah, he'll go with the second option, option B. Didn't know why he even thought of that third one, probably irritation or something.

So option B seemed like the best solution here.

"All passengers please fasten your seatbelts, we are about to take off."

But before all of that happens, he'll get a quick sleep.

Paris was a beautiful city, it really was.

Though it might have been overly exaggerated with all 'the city of love' bull crap, there's no denying that it's still a damn beautiful place. Sadly, he'd no time for sightseeing. He's driving a car he rented from the airport towards the mission area. The mansion's located somewhere in a secluded district in the capital and was a private owned estate. There will be people around, so he will need to find entry quick. He analyzed the picture he received from HQ earlier, and there's a construction project going on right beside the mansion area. He can find a way to the mansion through that construction site, though sneaking there would be an entirely different thing on its own, especially if he's carrying around a large cello case.

Parking the car right on the edge of the road, Vincent analyzed the construction site.

"Seems like they're building some kind of office building or something… but why the hell would anyone build one near a mansion?" he questioned. "Why the hell is there even a mansion in the middle of Paris anyway?" He eventually dropped the questions as he began to proceed with his mission.

He should be able to make his way into the site with no trouble, since workers there tend to be sleepy in the evening. Hopping off from the car, he carried his cello case with him with the straps fasten around his body so that he can use both of his hands while carrying it. He walked into the site, and noticed that the security guard's sleeping. Looks like they're on break. Due to the way he's dressed, the workers suspected him of being someone from the managing department of their project, so they didn't raise any question when spotting him. Vincent saw an elevator access and decided that he'll use it to gain entrance to the mansion next door.

On the way up, he's able to get a clearer view of the mansion's courtyard and he's already not liking what he's seeing.

"The hell?" Vincent wondered out loud. "Why are there so many guards with guns in a normal day like this?" he quickly exited the elevator once it reached his desired section of the WIP building. Since the workers were on break, there's no one working yet. He opened his case to retrieve the SRS Desert Tactical sniper rifle, and once he had it, he used the scope to get a clearer view of what's happening.

A black SUV drove right in front of the mansion, and several of the armed guards inside the courtyard went to open the gates. He saw several more suited men getting out from the SUV and they proceeded to open the passenger side of the door. Vincent blinked in order to convince himself that he's actually not seeing things.

"A girl?" just as he had whispered, two of the men roughly pulled out a young girl from the car. The girl tried to resist, but the men were just too strong for her. They managed to get her out, roughly, and a third guard brought the muzzle of his MP-5 on the back of the girl's head, forcing her to walk into the mansion.

Vincent let his eyes off from the scope, a large frown evident on his face. "That can't be… that can't be my VIP, can it?" Vincent's not about to find out. He placed the SRS sniper rifle back inside the cello case and he began to look around the mansion walls for entry. From here, the drop down to the other property seemed crazy, but thanks to the power of science, he won't have to worry about breaking his bones.

Vincent walked back a few steps, before running and then jumping straight to the mansion across. The distance was not that far, and he managed to land on the lower roof of the mansion that probably belonged to a section of the main building. Huffing, the agent rubbed the sleeves of his blazer seeing as it was rather dusty from the minor stunt he just pulled. Tightening his gloves, he then sneaked his way into the mansion by breaking open one of the windows.

A normal human won't be able to do all of that without experiencing a little bit of pain, but he's not exactly normal. Hell no Agency agents were normal to begin with. Upon receiving the job as an agent, enhancement surgery was done to recruits in order to strengthen them physically. These physical enhancements include better eyesight, super strength, enhanced reflex and tougher skin. All of these were done so that an agent could do his job to the fullest. He's no different from the rest of the agent in the Agency. But he'll admit, he's not much of a mover.

Seeing that no one's patrolling this part of the hallway, Vincent walked up to a door and opened it, revealing the bedroom inside. He set his cello case on the bed, opened it up and began to prepare himself. He loaded his P-90 with a fresh magazine, before sticking several extra magazines into his coat's inner pockets. He picked up the M1911, both of them, and holstered them to his chest holster with their silencer in place; he also had two extra magazines for his handguns inside his pants' pocket. Seeing as he's more or less armed with the necessary tools to do his job, he then closed the cello case with a snap. He held the P-90 with both hands, feeling it resting comfortably in the grip of his hands.

Now fully armed and loaded, Vincent was ready to begin his job.

"Let's do this."

Vincent walked out of the room with his P-90 ready in his arms. He made his way downstairs where he's sure that the guards and his VIP were at. Sliding down the stairs, he stuck himself behind a wall to avoid detection. He took a small peek of the situation ahead, and he can see several men armed with automatic submachine guns walking towards his position.

"Hey, Franco, where do you think Monsieur Pierre wants with the girl?"

"I don't know, and we're not paid to ask those kinds of questions Emile. Just shut up and do your work."

"Yeah, I know… but she's a kid, don't tell me the boss's that type of guy…"

"Even if he is, what are you going to do about it?"

"Well…"

Just as they were about to cross the intersection that divided the hall into four different ways, Vincent burst fired his P-90 to kill the first guy before quickly moving on to the next guy. None of them had the chance to react because Vincent managed to kill them before they even know that he's there. The blood sprayed to the wall will leave a mark forever, if not cleaned immediately. He then professionally hid the body inside a closet to prevent detection from happening anytime soon, if he's lucky, no one's going to investigate the gunshot he did earlier because this place's so damn big.

Vincent made his way towards the direction the two guards he just killed earlier were coming from and it lead him right to the large living room area. He spied the area ahead and clicked his tongue in irritation at what he's seeing. There're seven goons in total, all of them armed. He saw two of them 'escorting' the girl away from the area, still holding her at gun point. That left the remaining five in the living room. Vincent's not going to take any chance, so he'll have to do this quick. He breathed out, before screaming out in French.

"Help! Gah! I got a nail stuck in my foot!"

The guards in the living room didn't buy it at first, due to how ridiculous that acting was. But eventually, three of them came to the secluded part of the hall where Vincent's lying in wait for them.

"Merde… are you for real?" the one leading the other two sighed in exasperation. "Hey, stop fooling around an – " but he never got to finish his words. A single .45 ACP bullet went through his skull, blowing the grey matter right out of his head as well as sending his dead body tumbling further away. The other two quickly raised their rifles to react, but they never got a chance to. Vincent grabbed one of the guard's rifle right at the barrel, yanking it from him before using it to hit him square on the face, knocking him out cold. He then acted quickly to shoot the other last guy right on the throat, making him drown and choke in his own blood. The guy's effort of struggling to remain alive combined with the futile attempt of screaming made him look silly, with the way his hand's grasping his bleeding neck like someone who's out of breath.

The remaining two guys in the living room area were wondering just what's taking those three so long to help a guy with a nail stuck in his foot. "Hey, what's going on back there?" wary, the two decided to investigate for themselves.

Big mistake.

Multiple shots were fired from a dual wielded silenced M1911 pistols firing off .45 ACP rounds that tore through the two goon's body like an eagle tearing through its meal. Vincent came walking in, still chronologically firing his pistols one at a time. When he's out, he quickly reloaded another batch of fresh magazines into the guns quickly. His P-90 was slung loosely on his back, kept in place by a simple polymer sling.

He began walking towards where they're taking the girl and if he's lucky, he might be able to meet Pierre along the way and put a bullet on his head. He never talked much during missions, only when he's irritated, but everything's been going exactly as planned. He made his way through another hallway yet again, this time he saw resistance in front. There's no point in going silent anymore. He re-holstered his pistol and then switched back to the P-90 on his back quickly before the first guard he saw could identify him. He shot one dead, and it caused an alarm. An all-out fight's sure to break out and Pierre, wherever he was, sure to panic.

Three suited guards ran up with their guns firing, but Vincent's more surprised at their stormtrooper like aim. They couldn't even graze him and they're still firing like crazy. Vincent had to reload his P-90, so he momentarily hid behind an opened door for cover while he switched to a fresh magazine. And then, he rained down more 9mm bullets fired in an accurate burst to more guards who emerged from the doors of the rooms in the hallway. One particular guy was dead before he could even rush outside to find cover, which was by the way almost nonexistent in this narrow hallway, because Vincent managed to spray him with bullets, knocking him down to floor in a bloody mess. A loud bang surprised Vincent and he cursed when he saw what happened. They managed to send in reinforcements from the hall he was in before, looks like there's a lot more people in this place than he thought. Four guards have their AK variants fired at him from a distance of no more than twenty meters. Vincent dodged the bullets, rushing into one of the opened doors. He peeked out of cover to eliminate the backups sent his way, but was torn between two sides. Despite the situation, he kept a cool composure and let his mind work. Inside the room was a window that leads outside. He broke the glass window, vault over it so that he could shimmy on the ledge. He shimmied faster, knowing that they'll eventually catch up to him.

Vincent used whatever strength his arm could produce, which was a lot, to make a brave move of reaching a very high ledge to another window that belonged to the room right next to the one he was at before. He planned to flank the enemy and thankfully, the window was not closed so that he could enter without having the break it. He could hear confusion screamed and yelled in French from the guards out in the hall. He couldn't believe that they're stupid enough to break their position and gather up back in the hallway. Oh well, he's not complaining, it'll make it easier for him to shoot them down. Switching out his current nearly empty magazine with a fresh one, Vincent emerged from his cover and began to open fire on the guards gathered on the hall. Though a small caliber, the P90's rapid fired 9mm rounds managed to find their way inside the guard's body, causing a bloody spectacle that most veterans would approve of. One of the bullets actually hit one guard right on his forehead, shattering it like expensive china, causing a messy crimson fountain to burst right at the back of the exit wound. Vincent ceased firing when he downed everyone in the hall, but noticed something.

"Merde… Merde…" a badly wounded guard tried to limp his way back into the room, multiple gunshot wounds on his chest, stomach and abdomen. He's coughing up blood and was at the verge of tears.

Vincent walked over to the limping guard's way, causing whatever hope the poor soul had in him to diminish quicker than a firework in the 4th of July. Vincent kicked the guy hard on his nose that it lifted him up to a sitting position. With his P90 on the sling, he used both hands to grip the dying guy's collar, bringing his bruised face close to his own.

"Pierre. Where."

"…Ah…" the guard struggled for a while. "H-His study… second floor…"

Good, bastard found. Next was… "Who's the girl you just brought in?"

"D-Don't know… we weren't told anything about her… ju-just that we'll be expecting her here…!" there's no point in struggling for him, because he knew that he'll die. "Please… kill me…"

Vincent said nothing other than dropping the guard back to the bloody, carpeted floor. He pulled out one of his Colt from its holster, aiming it right at the guy's head. He pulled the trigger and the powerful .45 ACP round made a mess of his brain matter, turning it to goo.

After finishing his execution, Vincent made his way to the room where he believed the girl he saw earlier was kept in. He entered the room that was probably a break room for the guards that worked here. And he saw a bound figure, her arms and legs tied by thick chain links and her mouth gagged with a piece of white cloth. The girl's first reaction upon seeing him was to shake her head and struggle in her bindings, probably suspecting that he was after her. If that's the case, then she's not wrong… probably. Vincent pulled up a chair before walking over to the girl. She began to struggle and squirm even more, her bright… pink eyes became teary as she stopped squirming thinking that it's futile.

"Calm down, I'm not here to kill or hurt you." Vincent said in English. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" thankfully, he saw her nod twice. Vincent nodded himself. "Good. Now, excuse me for this…"

If the girl had her mouth gag opened, she would've yelped or squeal when Vincent lifted her up in both arms. She struggled in reflex, but Vincent's strong grip on her prevented her from doing anything, and she's bound in the first place. He sat her down on the chair he pulled earlier, doing so carefully.

"Listen here kid, I don't know why you're here, but I do know that you're probably the one I had to rescue." Vincent spoke to her with a bored and flat tone. "Wait here, I just have one last guy to kill before we ditch this place." He turned his back, and left, not noticing that the girl was trying to get his attention.

Now back in the hallway, he made his way upstairs to meet his original target. He went through the halls and stairs quickly, seeing as there's no more resistance because he had just killed them all. But there's still no telling whether or not everyone's truly dead or Pierre had an extra bunch of henchmen somewhere waiting for him. Now that he thought about it… she should've probably brought the girl with him. Or remove her bindings. Or ask her her name. Fuck man…

"Focus Vince… Focus…" he muttered when he reached the second floor. With his P-90 ready to fire at any movement he might saw, Vincent searched the entire area for the study. Since this mansion's so big, then he should probably search for the biggest room on the damn floor.

He found the study's door and wasted no time in kicking it open.

"So… the Agency decided to send one if its dogs to me, eh?"

Pierre de Valls was your stereotypical old, bald and cynical evil mastermind that's seen on movies. He's dressed well, with a three piece suit of his own consisting of a grey collared shirt, teal vest and a maroon blazer over it. Pierre appeared to be in his middle ages, fifties or so, with a greying hair and wrinkles visible on his face. But there's no denying the sharpness of his brown eyes, they looked like those owned by a person who's seen a lot of shit in life. The old man had no guards with him, and he's casually sitting behind his desk adding more points to his evil mastermind archetype. The fact that he managed to remain calm even when Vincent had him right in the middle of his sights showed just how much he was expecting him.

"Let us calm down now, you went full Tarantino on my guards, are you not tired boy?" he said out in perfect composure.

Despite him lowering his weapon, his guard was still up. Vincent entered the room, glaring stoically at the older man. "Who's the girl?"

A look of mock surprise crossed Pierre's face, as if he's not expecting Vincent to speak much less ask him a question. "Oh what's this? An Agency dog that speaks? That's pretty rare, considering how quiet you mutt tend to be when you're doing your job…" Vincent's hardening glare did little to Pierre. "Now don't give me that look, both of us knows that your higher ups are hiding something from you."

Pierre coughed to his fist, before settling down.

"Listen here, dog, my purpose here in this world is far bigger than what you may imagine. Even so, I still exist for a much bigger purpose." The old man muttered tiredly. "That girl was never meant to be used by governments, militaries or any armed forces in the whole world." His tone turned stiffer. "They're meant for something bigger."

Then, he laughed.

"But there's no fun letting you know all the answers when you've only done so little, right?" he chuckled. "You killed twenty or so of my men, so be it. But none will compare to the trials, pain and regret you'll face if you kill me and hand over that girl to your superiors." Pierre sighed, crossing his arms on the desk above. "But, a dog is still a dog. Come, do whatever your master told you to do. I've at least tried so hard…"

Without hesitation, Vincent aimed and pulled the trigger, lodging a bullet right into Pierre's forehead.

Seeing as that kill's confirmed, Vincent allowed his professional façade to drop, revealing the scowl of irritation he had been hiding underneath the mask of stoic composure. "Damn old villain archetype and their cryptic way of speaking…" he sighed before dropping the P-90 to let the sling do all the work of carrying it.

He pulled out his phone from his blazer's inner pocket, he unlocked the screen and dialed a number.

"Hey, you're going to have-" But he was cut. "The girl… so you do know about the girl. What are you not telling me here J? You know I don't like being kept in the dark like this…" he paused to let the voice on the other side speak. "What do you mean you'll explain when I return back to headquarters? Can't you do that now?" but he was only lead to more disappointment. "Urgh… fine, I'll… get back asap, but prepare a plane for me here in Paris, I can't return back with a girl who probably has no passport or whatsoever. Yeah, we'll talk later."

Seeing that his job was almost done, he returned back downstairs to complete it.

Surprisingly, the girl was not gone when he had left here for a few minutes. She struggled as an attempt to grab his attention, and she succeeded in doing just that. Finally, Vincent released the gags and broke off the chains that bound her limbs. She could stand, albeit with a little help from the chair.

Vincent took a good look at her. The girl's not even tall enough to reach his shoulders, and it didn't take an idiot to know that she's definitely younger than him. Her short, silvery lavender hair was slightly shriveled up due to the rough handling from the guards he murdered earlier, and her pink eyes are no longer teary. He noticed that she's dressed in the least expected attire. Seriously, a Japanese school uniform? Anyway, her attire consisted of just that, a sailor uniform with collar in its common navy blue color, while the entirety of the blouse was dominant in the color white, her pleated skirt's colored green with a white line circling just above the hem area, and it appeared that she's wearing another shirt underneath the blouse since there's fabric sticking out from it. She also wore a pair of dark navy blue socks that reached up to her lower knee and a pair of white trainers. Oh and don't forget the huge pink ribbon keeping the collar together.

"W-What's going on…?" she shakily ask in her feminine voice, much like any other terrified girls.

"I was hoping that you could answer that for me." Vincent said with hands on his hips. "What's your name kid?"

At this, the girl began to stand straight, akin to that of a military trainee. "FN-FNC sir!"

Vincent considered himself to be quite versed in the thousands category of guns out there. He blinked several times, cleaning out his ears with his pinky, even. "FNC… you mean like the gun? Like, the real Belgium made gun?"

"W-Well, yes…" FNC uttered. "In fact, it's actually… eh… I am the gun."

Vincent was not amused, really not amused. "You're bullshitting me."

But what FNC did next surprised him. She took a step back, jumping and then transforming into a perfect, carbon copy of the FN-FNC assault rifle. Vincent instinctively caught… her before she hit the ground. "See, sir, I am the gun." Somehow, he's hearing her voice even if she's just a gun.

"What? I… I… I… I don't even…" he then yelped when FNC transformed back to her human form, still being carried by his arms.

"Eh… yeah, it may be… surprising for you…" for some reason, she's finding herself heating up especially in the face area. "Um… sir… can you please put me down?"

Vincent, too struck up with what he had just witnessed, was late in registering FNC's request. "Oh, yeah, er…. Here…" he awkwardly set her back down to the carpeted floor of the room. After a weird moment of silence, Vincent found his voice again. "So… you're like the legit gun?"

"Yes."

"And you can turn human how?"

At this, FNC gave him a confused look. "But sir… aren't you supposed to know about me? Are you not my handler?"

Vincent shook his head without hesitation. "No, look here, I don't even know that girls can transform into guns, nor did I expect meeting you in this god forsaken place. So, no, I don't know about you and I'm not your handler."

FNC's face turned sullen, her head drooping a little. "O-Oh…" she looked around, until she noticed something on Vincent's back. "Is that a gun, sir?"

Vincent realized that she's talking about the P-90 on his back. "Oh, this, yeah." He brought it out so that FNC could see it. "It's a P-90 and guess what, it's also a Belgium made weapon made by the same people who made the FN-FNC, FN Herstal."

"R-Really?" FNC seemed pretty surprised at this piece of information. "I-I see…"

Realizing that precious time was wasted by talking, Vincent finally decided to leave. "Let's get out of here, the police are going to be here any minute and we have to catch a flight."

"Where are we going?" FNC asked.

But instead of a straight answer, Vincent gave her a vague one in nothing but a whisper.

"…The place where uncle Sam lives."

A/N: This idea was so absurd, even more absurd that the Kantai Collection that I posted in this account. But even so, I just had to write it out and see how this will play off. As usual, please review and tell me if you want this series to be continued or PM me if you want to talk with me and discuss a few things. Suggestions and critique are welcomed so don't hold back. On second thought, please hold back, I know I did a lot of mistakes here…

I don't know if you'll like this story, since - according to what I've observed - the fanbase for Upotte! in FF is not as active as the other fanbases. But despite that, I still had to share this story here.