When You Can't Beat Them, Become One
Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China
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Author's Note: Xomigosh! Slow update is slow! :O I had intended to have this up sooner, but the computer was needed elsewhere (laptop = not mine .__.; ), and when I got the thing back, I realised there was a whole section I had yet to edit. *is amazingly bright--promise* XDD;
Warnings: there are OCs (four, actually--fear not, they're all middle-aged men XD ). I needed people for Ivan to interact with in these Mafia groups, and Hetalia obviously only has one character per a nation, most of which are currently kids (read: are [mostly] not involved in anything shady). ^__^;;;; *laughs* So, please excuse their existence. ^__^;;;
Also, please excuse me if there are errors... =__=; Long chapter is long.
Love for You!: A massive, MASSIVE thank you out to all of my reviewers! *heart* I love you guys. Seriously. You make doing this so much fun~ ^.^ I can't understand why you want to read it, but thank you for doing so! ^__^;
Worst Disclaimer Ever: P.s., I do not own Hetalia. 0__o;
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Ivan had always loved the library. There was something calming about the musty, dry smell of books--the way that their spines creaked when you opened them. Mostly, he enjoyed all of the information. If there was something he wanted to know, all he had to do was stand up and find the proper tome. Then it was a matter of reading.
Knowledge may or may not be power, but it certainly made the boy relax. It was an interesting feeling; whether good, bad, or outright horrifying, the fact that he knew was so reassuring that the young Russian was all but humming. It felt as if he'd been in some never-ending free-fall, scrambling for a ledge to hold onto, only to be suddenly standing on solid ground.
Ivan was both surprised and totally unfazed by what the files had contained. Including his own prior knowledge of events there was now more than enough material to work with: Ivan's father was a high-ranking member of the Russian Mafia and he had fallen out of favour with the boss. He had raked up debts, tried to sell out the boss to pay them, then was caught and killed. Katyusha, Natalia and Ivan had then become targets by extension due to Russian Mafia law (traitors and their families die).
A squad of hitmen had been sent to their home. When the assassination attempt failed, a re-con. squad was sent, and the house was burnt to remove evidence. Ivan had then gone off on his own, and his sisters went to be looked after by Sgt.s Rome and Germania. He hoped.
As for less recent information, there was the fact that his father had married two women. This, the boy had known, but what he had not been aware of was that both were murdered (with the cases having been dismissed...), and that one of which, Natalia's mother, had been the Belarusian Mafia boss's daughter. Natalia's mother had died soon after giving birth. It was possible that they were unaware that the child had survived.
No wonder he never let Natalia out...it would be bad for him if the Belarusians knew.
More important was the fact that his father had lived long enough after having Natalia's mother killed to be taken out by the Russians. This meant that a.) the Russians had forged some sort of cover-up story to avoid taking blame, and b.) that the Belarusians had yet to avenge the woman's death. There was more than enough information in these files to prove the killing to have been done at the Russian Mafia's command. Not only that, but he had found the number of a Belarusian contact.
It had been hidden...sort of... with numbers written above various letters. Ivan had wondered what the numbers were there for until he realised that the letters they were above spelled out the word 'Belarusians.'
It wasn't the best encryption ever, but certainly convenient.
The boy looked to the sheet in his hands, dusting silvery-blond bangs out of his eyes. The Belarusians, he could use, and he had everything he needed to do it. There had also been mention of something called a 'middleman.' When he'd looked the term up, he'd found that it was a person who arranged political, business, or other deals between groups of people. It was an uninvolved, neutral party. But, from the way that the files had spoken, the middlemen seemed to be their own group, almost like the various Mafia factions ('One of the middlemen was caught up in the dispute and killed. Possibility of foul play.')...he'd have to look more into that.
There was more information, but this was mainly about Ivan and his sisters. They had been... analysed. The report was cold & clinical, written in a mixture of Rome's eerily uniform print, and Germania's smooth, flowing script. The boy had to give them credit for professionalism, psychology was still psychology.
Net! Ivan! You cannot think of that again! There are more important things. You have to plan. Concentrate: what else is there to use?
Back-up would be nice. In fact, it would make things terribly simple. Perhaps his co-workers would do...? They were all very large, strong, & intimidating. Several were even under the impression that Ivan worked for the Russian Mafia. More eavesdropping was in order before he could figure out how to arrange for it, but there was no doubt that a number of the men at the docks could be manoeuvred into helping.
Good, good. It was all falling into place.
The boy giggled in satisfaction, earning a few strange looks from a nearby group of students, as he set about collecting his things.
There should be just enough time to visit the copy shop and make a call...
Ivan felt suddenly lucky that he made and provided his own funds--all of this calling was getting expensive.
---
The young Russian smiled and hummed to himself softly as he folded a sheet of paper and passed it through the copy store's fax machine.
The call to the Belarusians had gone splendidly. They had been a bit confused as to why Ivan knew how to contact them, but the offer of information on an unsolved death had quickly earned him a number for one of the group's secure fax lines. He was to send the material over, then call back for further negotiation. Simple, simple and just as expected.
Now he was happily folding the case sheets over so that only half would fax.
They didn't think he'd provide information for free, did they?
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Kirill, the head of the Belarusian information management team stared blankly at the sheets slipping through the fax: they had information alright, but only half of a page.
"Shit."
"What?" His assistant and apprentice, Alex, peered over the other man's shoulder curiously, "...only half?"
"I suppose it would be too much to ask for an informant stupid enough to send all of the information without a reward in hand."
"Always want something?" Alex was good, but clearly still in need of training.
"Yup." both men looked in silence at the fax's printer tray: it appeared that their informant, whoever he was, was sending half of every sheet relevant to their ex-member's unsolved murder, "I guess he wants us to know it's official." as in, that he doesn't have three pages and nothing more.
Alex only shrugged and picked up one of the sheets: there was a partial picture of a woman's body with police data below. The man they'd gone after for revenge years before had been a cover, and this proved it. None of what he was seeing matched the story given by the Russians, "They're good at fabricating things, the Russians are?"
"Yup."
"So, we totally killed the wrong person before?"
"Yup."
"You think this'll prompt the boss to action?"
"Yup."
Alex sighed: I wonder if Kirill became this informative because of his job or if he took the job because he was so informative?
The paper's stopped coming and the non-fax line began to ring.
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"You got the papers, da?"
"I did. Why only half?"
"Because you haven't completed your end of the deal~"
"...I wasn't aware that we had one."
"Eeee? Should I hang up?"
Prick. There was really no working with people that weren't idiots. They made things so difficult, "...what do you want?"
"Information. I need to know more about the Russians and the Middlemen." Was this guy playing at something? Everyone in the entire freaking underworld knew about the middlemen.
And info 'bout the Russians? They were pretty quick to snap up folks of their nationality, and the speaker's Russian accent was thick enough to cut a cake with.
"You don't know 'bout those topics already? Seems more likely you're interested to see how much the Belarusians know 'bout your group. Bringing the Russians information after you sell them out won't help, you know. Your type are particularly unforgiving."
"Mine?'' the voice on the other end of the line giggled. How old was this person, anyway? The voice was so high in pitch, yet definitely male, "the Russian Mafia is not a thing I have ever been involved with, da. I am from Russia, though, if you are judging by my accent," not part of the Russian group? Then why..."as for being killed for leaking information, the Russians are already trying to kill me, da~"
The Russians are tying to kill him but he's Russian by birth...? Kirill felt his heart skip a few beats: since last evening, the information networks had been buzzing with news of a failed Russian assassination attempt. That never happened. Especially when the targets were a bunch of kids.
There had been three originally, but two had gone missing without a trace, and the third had gone on to beat one of the Russian re-con. agents within an inch of his life and leave him to freeze. It seemed sloppy until you looked closer, and considered that the action stood a very high chance of being deliberate.
If was frightening behaviour for a child, but the prospects were exciting. Even though the current Russian leader was old and worn, his men were still sharp. Yet, they were being outwitted by a twelve-year-old (according to the rumours, at least) brat. A kid like that... he would make a great leader, and people could see it. The better the leader, the more lucrative the crime. If this child were to step out and volunteer, there would be no shortage of professionals willing to follow. Even Kirill was considering it.
"So let's say I send you information..." of course, this was assuming that the boy was as good as rumours said.
"Net. That would not do. A person can say anything. You bring printed files. Make the drop alone and in person. I'll see if you're honest then." a few loopholes, and relying too much on his ability to read an opponent, but not bad for a kid.
"And if I don't come alone?"
"Then I will not pick up the files and you will not get your information." nice in theory, assuming he could spot disguised back-up.
"Where's the drop point?"
"At the docks. 5:47p.m. You will drop them two yards in front of the entrance gate, da?" the docks? The area was a dead-zone as far as telecommunications went, but it would be busy as Hell. Perfect for hiding people in. The boy was screwed.
"I'll be there."
"Uvidimsia!"
The line went dead and Kirill smirked. It was a shame that kid wasn't as good as people said. The Belarusian would take a four man team and wipe the brat out. Maybe sell him out to the Russians in exchange for safe harbour...
---
Ivan smiled, waving happily at Herakles as he entered the docks. It had been ten minutes since the boy had left the library, but somehow, entering the boat yard's gates made time feel fuzzy. It was like the world had returned to normal, and he could just walk home and have a bowl of Katyusha's porridge. It felt nice to be at work again. There was a ship tied & ready for unloading, and everything was going as planned. Just one more thing to prepare before the Belarus made their drop.
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"Did you hear?" Anton, a burly red-headed dock worker grinned leaning, towards his friend casually. The last time they'd gossiped, he, along with a few other guys, had been caught by one of the Russian Mafia's higher-ups. Luckily, the Mafia member in question, a guy named Ivan, wasn't due in to work for some time.
"How would I know unless you said, dipshit?" Boris, a large, foul-mouthed teddybear of a man replied, tossing a box lazily into the loading crate as he did. He was the bigger of the two, but by far the more gentle.
Anton laughed, "It's a phrase. Shove off."
"So you say." jerkass.
"You want the info or not?" silence was the only hint the ginger needed to know he could continue, "y'know that Braginski guy?"
"The one what got offed a few days back?"
"Same. So, seems he did have kids--"
"Shit."
"Yeah, poor brats."
"The Russians got them too, then?" the large man's eyes shone with something akin to sympathy. He had no family of his own, but always seemed a bit soft for anything cute, little, and/or defenceless.
"Well, that's the thing: these kids ain't takin' their death sentence lying down. There's already been two run-ins, with the brats comin' out on top of both."
"...the fuck?"
"Uh-huh. Actually, seems it's the son who's shaking things up, but it's kind of more impressive like that, yeah? One kid takin' down all these people that're unfairly after him and his." Anton couldn't help but to grin. Sure, he was a member of the Russian Mafia himself, but there was something distinctly badass about a little brat going solo and taking down a bunch of pros to protect his family, "There were two chicks and a guy, and the girls up an' went missing. Not a sound of 'em from anywhere. Russians said they'd pay big for information, too."
"Rewind a sec.' When you said the kids came out on top, you meant, people got killed?"
"Fuck yeah. Four of the five hitmen sent after 'em were fucking smashed to death with some kind of blunt object,"
"Wha--"
"Shudap! I'm explainin'!" Anton sighed. His friend really was impatient, "The fifth member of the hitman group is still living, but barely. He almost drowned, and was burnt so bad that he's needin' skin grafts done for everythin' 'bove his shoulders."
"...do I want to know?" Simultaneous burns and drowning? Scalding water or something? Shit...
"I'd tell you, but can't say as I know myself."
Good thing because Boris really didn't care for the details, "An' the second time?"
"One of the re-con. agents. Got his legs smashed to pieces and near died from freezin' to death. No one knows what the brat's up to, but people are sayin' the agent was let to live on purpose."
"Why?"
"Eh, cover-up types are usually real high up. Since the agent's got back, there's been looks of him questionin' the boss. Not that he can move from a hospital bed to do nothin' like start a rebellion. It's just the general point that matters: drive a stake in at the right place and the whole mountainside comes crashin' down. Mess up the right people in an organisation like ours and it'll fall apart, too."
"You sayin' then that Braginski's boy is tryin' to take the group over for himself?" Boris wasn't as surprised as the red-head might have expected, but he was sure as heck taking it as seriously as he ought to.
"That's the running guess. Never met the boss myself, but if he's being duped by a kid, it doesn't look good. People are talking. And it's not only within our group."
"...I could see that."
"Everyone that's met this kid says he has real a presence--that he can change the whole feel of a place just by lettin' people know he's in it. Puts the current boss's to shame, that does. He's good at findin' where to drive them mind-game stakes in, too. If he's aiming for what it looks like, the Russians ain't gon'na be the only ones happy to follow."
"Hah! I might be with that. The way things are right now--"
The two men stopped and stared, blood draining from their faces as they caught the sound of a soft giggle.
"Greetings, comrades~"
Shit.
---
The silvery-blond Russian smiled, large purple eyes bright and twinkling. It looked like Christmas had come early and he'd been offered a 500% pay raise to boot. Would arranging whatever punishment they were about to receive really make him that happy?
"Uhm, look, we can explain. We should have learnt our lesson last time, but it's just--"
"Net, net. You're interested in my cause, da?"
"In your..?" Wait, what?!
"Listen, Ivan, we know that you're involved and all, but--"
"Ah, no, I wasn't. I'm afraid I was not being entirely honest when we last spoke." both men ceased to speak in favour of gawking. They seemed to have entered some bizarre realm comprised solely of confusion, "I'm sorry for it, but I overheard your conversation and couldn't help but to feel that the man you described resembled my father. I don't care for him, but his situation affects my sisters, da~"
Still no response. The man, no, Ivan was a boy then, wasn't he? The boy from the rumours? "My full name is Ivan Braginski, da~ I have interest in what you implied that I might, and it would be very useful to me if you would help me with a small task."
Nothing. Silence.
The boy laughed.
Fuck.
"You...are...the boy the rumours have been about." Anton's words were slow and carefully spaced. It was all a bit difficult to swallow. Ivan certainly had the presence enough for his words to be true--they'd thought he was in deep when he was really just a babe batting at toys above his cradle. Ah, assuming he were the Braginski boy.
"Da."
"Look, Ivan, that person, he's a kid." Boris interjected, his nervousness defensively turning to irritation.
The boy hummed, "Do I sound like an adult?" thinking about it, he didn't. He was adult-sized, but not nearly as tall or broad as some of their co-workers.
"Not particularly."
"That's because I am not one. I will be big when I am though, da?" Ivan tilted his head to the side and laughed some more.
Well, if he were as big as an adult at, what was he supposed to be, twelve? Yeah. If he were this big at twelve, then...
"You're underaged to work here." Boris continued, still irritated, though starting to calm.
"Da. I recall you saying that you had met my father? He does not seem the type of person to put aside money for his family, da?" no, he really didn't.
Damn but that guy had been a bastard.
"So, what do you want from us?"
"Ah! Just what you had thought~" what they had thought? "you seemed interested in working with me, da?"
The men looked from one to the next. They'd sure as fuck been duped by the brat before he even got into this. He'd taken out two sets of pros, and, well, why the heck not? The early bird gets the worm, and the first members of new groups earned the most cash.
"We're in."
"Ah! Good. There will be members from the Belarus Mafia here shortly. That is why I am here for my shift ahead of schedule."
"Wait, what? Why?" Anton's eyes almost fell out of his head as he tried follow what was happening.
"Hmmn, I asked the head of their intelligence section to trade information with me. I said to come alone, but that would be idiotic." Boris and Anton almost laughed. Yes, Ivan would be a good boss.
"And you want us to...?"
"There are no new workers here today, da? I checked with Herakles. I want for you to take care of anyone that doesn't look familiar. Keep them unconscious and restrained, but relatively unharmed. If you could get the help of others, that would be good. I'm expecting four or five Belarusians in addition to my contact. There is a location I wish for you to take the opposition to once they have been detained, da?" the boy paused, looking suddenly young and sheepish, "Could it be done?"
The men laughed. Easy. The docks were crawling with Mafia and freelancers. They wouldn't be the only ones keen to hop a new, doubtlessly profitable ship. As for dragging unconscious people somewhere--they all moved heavy shit for a living, did they not?
"Yes'ir. Just name the place and consider it done."
"Spaseebo, comrades!" Ivan beamed, "ah, and there's one more thing..."
Ivan almost blushed at the way his co-workers--no, were they his subordinates now? Hmn, then the way that his new subordinates looked so eager to be a part of his plan. It wasn't an act, either.
He could tell.
Eee, I have subordinates! And they're adults! This is scary, da~
But their information was good, and the meeting with the Belarus would now go much, much more smoothly.
---
Kirill walked into the docks at 5:45 on the dot. This was going to be one of his easiest captures to date.
Two meters from the front gate, eh?
That was near the start of the meal line. Supper would be starting soon, and it'd be hard to see if anyone grabbed the documents.
Not bad.
Still, he had a four man team, including his assistant, all currently in place. They'd trickled in a few minutes ahead of time to avoid detection. Even if he was good for a kid, the Braginski brat was still severely out-classed.
Casually dropping the printed files into place, Kirill slipped into the crowd, busying himself as if he came and worked here every day.
And now, I wait.
The Belarusian could barely suppress his grin.
---
7:45. Seven-fucking-forty-five. Kirill had been waiting for three damnable hours. The meal had come and gone, the line had led plenty of people in front of where the files had sat, and no one had so much as touched them.
Maybe the brat had somehow spotted Kirill's support? No, that wasn't likely. There were too many other people around. If only these stupid docks weren't a dead-zone... it'd be so easy to just pick up the phone and call.
The workers were starting to file out for the night, and Kirill, sighing heavily, snatched up the file and joined them. The evening had been a waste.
Snow was falling, and the moon was in the sky. The shops stood neatly in a line, closed signs dangling from various parts of doors and windows. Aside from the dock workers, the place was dead.
It was damned typical and dull. He'd have to rant at Alex about it when they got back. Boring, boring, boring life. Nothing ever changed.
Kirill shoved his hands deep into his pockets, feeling the folder under his coat push up against his body. It was cold from having sat outside for so long, and the frigid night air didn't make things much better. Winter never stopped in this place. It was alway---
---
His head hurt. A lot. As did his lungs, and back, and, well, everything. Yeah, he'd put it like that: his everything hurt.
Kirill tried to sit up, only to find that he was already upright--just dizzy to the point of feeling as if he might be lying down.
He was also tied up.
"Ee? Are you awake already?" Kirill opened his eyes to be met with those of another: they were large, owlish--almost fitting of a child, and a deep, spectacular shade of purple.
Purple... isn't that...?
The Belarusian didn't know quite what to say, so he went with his standard reply: "Yup."
"Ah! Wonderful! Waiting for you was getting boring, da!" the speaker giggled, pulling back and clapping his hands enthusiastically. A boy. Young. Definitely large enough to be a man, but his voice, and those eyes...rumours of the Braginski kid had spoken of purple eyes. It was an unnatural colour, so Kirill had dismissed that part as being nonsense--something to make the child seem more unnatural, but there he was and there they were: a cute Russian kid with honest to goodness purple eyes.
Huh. Go figure, "Braginski, I take it?"
"Da." the boy nodded, lacing his fingers together. They were in some type of alleyway--from the smell of things, one with a dumpster in it. At least seven adult men, all workers Kirilll recognised from the docks, stood eagerly around the space's permitter.
So he had back-up, too...
"You told me to come alone. I did. What gives?"
"It's bad to lie." the childish gleam was chased from Braginski's eyes in the space of a single blink, as what appeared to be a long metal faucet pipe slipped from beneath the young Russian's coat.
"What makes you think I'm not telling the truth?" the pipe made contact with Kirill's stomach hard enough to force him to the ground, yet gentle enough to avoid breaking bones. It was as if the man were being chastised for his dishonesty.
Still, 'gentle enough to avoid breaking bones' didn't mean much--the blow had hurt like Hell. Kirill winced, allowing his head to loll over backwards. What he saw there made every muscle in his body jump then freeze: around the base of the dumpster lay his entire team. They were tied up, unconscious and beaten. None of them looked to be in bad shape, but the fact remained that they were all out cold.
...this is...
Up until that moment, Kirill had never been out-manoeuvred. Not once. But here, this boy had...?
It was something different. Something Kirill hadn't been able to predict, "Damn, but you are good."
"Ain't 'e?" it was one of the dock workers. A towering man the Belarusian seemed to remember being called Boris. Not only was the kid good at what he did, but he was also someone people liked to follow.
'Makes sense. It's easy enough to group 'round a leader you can take pride in.
Besides, working a mission planned as well as this was any professional's dream.
There was only one remaining test... "I take it you've gotten your information?"
"Da. I also got rid of your tracking device." Braginski smiled as he spoke, seeming for all the world like a little creepy-as-fuck ray of sunshine.
Passed with flying colours and room to spare...
The kid was definitely, definitely good:time to arrange for the transfer.
"Y'know, I'll come strait with ya': the Belarus group is on its way out. I ain't going down with it. Me and mine've been scouting for someplace else to work. We heard the rumours 'bout you, which had me curious, but then your plan ended up sounding like shit," he let out a raspy laugh, finding it harder to speak than he'd imagined, "I thought you bought the whole 'I'm coming alone'-bit. There were a few other problems, too. It was disappointing, but, I figured that if I got you, then I could at least get on the good side of the Russians. Hate to sound like a shit, but, you should know what happens when you're not of any use. If I don't make it, neither do my men." it was the truth and nothing but: any weakened Mafia would have its members hunted into extinction. The only way out was to jump ship before the group fell. Hopefully the kid could see that.
"Da. It's the only reason you're not covered in blood," well, shit...to be able to say something like that whilst playfully tapping a weapon/pipe into one's hand--Kirill couldn't wait until he was on Braginski's side. At the moment, it was deeply disconcerting, but the Belarusian knew he'd be grinning like the Cheshire Cat if he were one of the guys watching the boy work from the sidelines, "Your methods bother me, but you care about your men, da?"
"Wouldn'a risked punishment from my current boss if I didn't. So, you gon'na let us in?"
"Net. Not without proof of loyalty." Caution is good. Kirill could appreciate that.
"Anything short of hurting myself or my men, and it's yours."
Braginski laughed, "We wouldn't have gone to such trouble to keep you in good condition if we planned to hurt you, da~!"
Good...condition...? Actually, thinking about it, if Kirill weren't tied up, he could probably move just fine. It would hurt, especially given the recent run-in with Braginski's faucet pipe (weirdest damn weapon...), but that aside---
He's kept us in working condition.
Holy shit.
"Your main goal was never the information." the dawning realisation made Kirill reel like a blow with a faucet pipe never could.
The silver-blond began to clap, congratulating the man for having noticed, "Da~"
"You acted like you wanted to exchange information with some sloppy plan to draw me and my team out..." Ivan giggled as the Belarusian's words washed into momentary silence, his mind clicking facts into place, "...because you wanted us to make use of us."
"Da. And you will be useful."
"...so, what if I'm having second thoughts?" he wasn't--the question was all about testing.
"If you are? Hmn... perhaps I could point out all of the flaws in the Russian's cover-up plan?" ...what? "When they killed your boss's daughter. There were very many signs that gave away the culprits. Your boss would surely punish the neglectful person he had trusted with the duty of solving the matter, da?"
Oh, shit.
He had never thought of that: even if the Belarusians became the most powerful Mafia presence in the world overnight, Kirill and his men were still in the shit house. He had been in charge of avenging the boss's daughter and had been duped. If this brat made it seem like the real perp.s had been obvious and had only gotten away for so long due to negligence, the information specialists would be marked for death.
"Ah. I see." meaning, 'show of loyalty' or no, the Belarusian had no option other than to do as told.
"It is simple, is it not? And if you do not wish to agree even then," all cheer drained young Russian's countenance as he swung the metal faucet pipe above his shoulder, resting it there lightly, "it would not be the first time that I have had to kill, da?" the smile was back on his face, identical in appearance to when he had been in a legitimate state of delight.
Well, this kid's clearly insane--fucking brilliant, but...
The man looked around. He didn't wanted to escape so much as take in the lay of the land:
the location would make killing and disposing of the Belarusians quick, clean work. When it came to scheming, Kirill had to admit that the twelve-year-old Russian brat had him beat, "M'kay. Then your loyalty test--name it."
"Bring this--" Braginski took a file from beneath his coat (was that thing an infinite vortex or something? First the faucet pipe, now the folders, next...?), and dropped it near Kirill's location on the ground, "-proof of the Belarusian woman's murder to your boss and arrange to have as much of your force as possible attack the Russian base tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?"
"Da. Can it not be done?"
"No, it can, but is there a reason--" the boy held one finger to his lips, large indigo eyes dancing in delight, mouth set in a innocent little smile. He wanted silence.
"You do not get to know, da? Arrange for it to happen, then report back once the attack starts."
"Braginski, Sir, we'll get on it as soon as you have us untied."
The boy laughed:
It was good to have some more friends~
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Author's Notes: Muahaha! 0__o; M'kay. Well, once chapter remaining until the timeskip! __; Are you all as excited as I am? XD; *can't wait* Guuh! It's so annoying to write it, but I promised myself that I would stick to the original plan. =___=;;;
Also, a lot of elements are going to start toppling together now. Our little Ivan's been doing things from day one, both naturally and on purpose, that've been shaking up the people around him. Thus the little re-cap in the case files. ^__^; *laughs*
Next chapter is the grand finale of Ivan's story (pre-timeskip). *claps* About it, I shall say only this: Ivan's been getting better at ebvil plotting as time goes by. :3
Look forward to it. XD