Hello everyone! ChainHeart or Isabelle here and this is liltiger534. Anyways, you guys might know one of us (or maybe both of us for that matter) for we also write APH fanfics. So, me and liltiger534 decided to make an account called ChainHeartandliltiger534 (i know, really original username, huh?) so that we can post our stories that we collaborated together to make! Anyways, please check our own stories we made up, we would really appreciate it! ;D
About the title, "Masque" means "Mask" in French. We thought that it would be appropriate.
Summary: Matthew Williams aka the Masked Man is the most wanted killer on Earth, but when he has to leave America to go to France, things that he tried not to remember start to make their way back into his life. AU
Rated: M for blood and future pervertness
Characters: Well, you'll see when you read it, won't you?
Main pairings: Francis/Matthew, Arthur/Alfred, Ivan/Wang Yao.
Disclaimer: Me or liltiger534 don't own Axis Powers Hetalia, or Chicago, or anything that is not ours in this fic. They all belong to their respective owners.
We present to you, Masque:
His knife plunged into the man's chest making a deep crevice across his skin. Blood poured like a waterfall down to the waste filled alleyway. The man dropped to the floor, lying in his own lifeblood. Dead.
The killer smirked as he wiped his knife, glistening with blood, on the man's torn up shirt. He reached down and grabbed the man's left wrist. He surveyed the ring, now covered with blood, on the man's thumb. He carefully lifted the ring off, dropped the man's hand, and wiped the blood off.
He lifted the ring up. A dragon ring. The dragon ring that looked like that man's.
The killer smiled and placed the ring into his pocket. He flew off into the knight leaving no evidence behind.
Matthew Williams was his name. Or better known as to the world as The Masked Man, the most wanted killer that ever walked on the face of the Earth.
Beep! Beep!
Matthew Williams groaned as he slung his legs out of his cot also known as his "bed". He ran his fingers through his tousled blond hair, thoughts of the incident last night running through his head. He pushed those thoughts aside and quickly got dressed into a simple white shirt and black jeans. Pretty soon, Matthew, sipping his freshly brewed coffee, lounged on the half moth-eaten couch, eying the small 12 inch TV that was placed on a stool.
"Breaking news! Last night in south side Chicago, there was yet another killing. The victim, Richard Weilblocks, was identified as an acquaintance to Ivan Braginski, the world known billionaire. Police have determined that the killing was done around 2 AM, and was the work of The Masked Man or also known as Two-Face." The reporter said in a dramatic fashion, "Now here's Ivan Branginski mourning the loss of—"
Matthew tossed a pillow at the TV where Ivan Braginski's teary face was playing. He growled, frustrated, at the now turned off television set, "Murderer. Bastard. No one knows your true face except me."
The young man sighed and got up. He pulled on a black coat and grabbed a weathered but well-maintained White Sox cap. He gazed at the hat. Only one thought crossed his mind:
Al.
Matthew smiled sadly and gently placed the cap on his head. He grabbed his keys and quickly left the run down apartment building. As he climbed down the stairs, he came face-to-face with the landlady who was holding a load of laundry. Her wrinkled face smiled brightly at Matthew, "Claude, dear! How are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks." He smiled sweetly, appearing like a 16 year old despite his real age of 19. "I'm going for a quick stroll. Getting some fresh air."
"Alright. Be careful though! There's been an awful lot of news about killings around our area. Please, be careful dear."
"I will Mrs. Triolti," Matthew said cheerfully as he exited the building.
To people, Matthew's name was Claude Bain for if anyone had found that the boy who was supposedly killed 10 years ago was alive, there would surely be questions. Also, if the FBI had found what that he was The Masked Man, he didn't want Mrs. Triolti to be classified as his accomplice. She was such a sweet old lady. He felt calm around her, like all his troubles disappeared. Like how he felt with Alfred all those years ago.
Matthew strolled through the park and noticed two policeman walking towards him.
"Hey, boy!" One of them called.
"Yes? What is it Mr. Officer?" Matthew asked innocently, looking like a 16 year old again.
"Be careful around these parts," the other officer said. "There is an insane killer on the loose."
Insane? Excuse me! I'm doing this for America's sake! If I didn't that bastard would be killing nonstop! Matthew thought indignantly. "Oh, I will."
"But, don't worry too much," the first officer said. "Tons of FBI agents and other police officers from other departments will be on watch starting tonight."
"I'm so relieved! I can finally feel safe," Matthew lied. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I tried not to leave too many trails! But...I guess it's explainable...I have only been targeting around this area. But, fuck! A lot of those bastards were around here too.
"We're also doing home searches too. You know, just in case. Safety regulations."
"Really?" Matthew glanced at his watch, "Oh! It's late. I still have homework to do! Excuse me officers, I really must be going." He lied as a look of apology crossed his face.
"Oh no, it's okay." The officers smiled, "What a responsible young lad."
"Cute too. If only he was older," The other whispered back.
Matthew restrained himself from shivering from the police officer's comment. What was he? Gay? Never mind that. A home inspection? If they're skilled they'll find some evidence to use against me and I'll won't be able to avenge him. I have to leave Chicago. Tonight.
"IGGY! HE STRUCK AGAIN!"
Arthur Kirkland sighed and rubbed the space between his (abnormally) large eyebrows. "I know that, git. You don't have to fucking yell. I'm right next to you."
Alfred F. Jones, self proclaimed hero of the world, pouted and ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn. He's good. He's killed 125 men in the last three months. That's a record! How amazing!"
"Are you worshiping him or something? He's a goddamn killer for crying out loud! All I hear is, 'Masked Man this', 'Masked Man that' it's always about the damn Masked Man! What are you? In love with him?" Arthur blushed as he roared at the American.
"Nope. I'm straight."
"...You're straight? Damn it!"
"What?"
"N-nothing!" For an FBI agent, he's pretty dense. Well, his specialty is fighting. Not brains, like me. But, he is still pretty young. Only 20 and already a famous agent. "Anyways, what happened? Give me the full detail."
Alfred cleared his throat dramatically, "Well, the victim was pretty chummy with Ivan Branginski. He was killed around 2 AM last night by a large slash to the chest. We still can't recognize what type of weapon he's using, but we know it's dangerous."
"Hell, Al, we know the weapon's dangerous. It killed 125 people three months ago! But I wonder why he only uses that weapon. Why not a gun or something? It's more efficient."
"Ah, but, Iggy, a gun's loud when shot."
"He could silence it."
"That's true." Alfred said as he rubbed his chin. "Ah! I totally forgot! We're going to Chicago. South side. It's the place where the Masked Man has been striking recently. We might discover his hideout." The American's blue eyes sparkled, "I bet it's a really cool place! Like the Batcave or something like that!"
Arthur scoffed. "Don't be stupid. Anyways," He gently placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Will you be alright? After all what happened there all those years ago."
"Ah, don't worry. I'm gonna have you there with me after all."
The Briton blushed a violent red and refused to meet the American's eyes.
"But, if only Francis wasn't on vacation in France. It would be so much easier. I mean, he is the tracker of our group. Best in America."
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU MENTIONING THAT BASTARD?"
Alfred blinked. "Aren't you guys good friends? You guys have been working well together lately, and you make a good combo! I have to admit, it's pretty cute!" Alfred gave the Briton a thumbs up sign. "Even though I'm straight, I approve! The hero approves!"
"No! You've got it all wrong!" Arthur cried out, his face still a brilliant shade of red. His pointer fingers moved in a squid-like motion. "Alfred, I've been meaning to tell you for a long time. I...I...I l-l-love y-y-y—"
At that exact moment, the door to the FBI meeting room burst opened. In the doorway stood a smiling Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the secretary. "Hey, chicos! It's time to go!"
"LEARN TO READ THE FUCKING ATMOSPHERE, DAMMIT! FUCKING GIT!"
"Mio dio! You look like a tomato Mr. Kirkland. So cute! But, not as cute as my Lovi!"
Alfred blinked. What is the FBI made out of? Gays? Oh well...not my business of their preference of sex.
"—if only you did something to your eyebrows—"
"My eyebrows are perfectly fine! They're gentlemanly!"
"No! A tomato is!"
"By the way, Iggy. What did you mean by, 'I l-l-love y-y-y'? What do you love?" Alfred asked, curiously.
Arthur gaped. So many clues and yet this git didn't understand. How could he not? All Arthur had been doing was dropping hints non-stop but... "Uh, I what I was saying is that...I love...erm...y-y-yo—yams." The Brit laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, I love yams. Ahahahaha. Ha...ha..."
"Yams?"
"Yeah."
"Can I ask a question?"
"What is it?"
"What's a yam?"
Arthur facepalmed himself.
Matthew sat quietly on the airplane seat, looking out the window to the sky above. His face was in his hands and to the airplane attendants it looked like he was day-dreaming. His violet eyes had that look of haziness when one is remembering their past. Indeed, he had been day-dreaming, remembering that same shade of blue that boy had had. Slight tears sprung to Matthew's eyes as he remembered the way that boy laughed and smiled, the sun glinting off his golden hair. He quickly rubbed the tears away, thinking:
A serial killer should not shed tears, Matthew chided to himself.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN'T FOUND ANYTHING?" Alfred roared as he slammed his hands down upon the poor desk. A crack resounded throughout the FBI's quarters.
"W-well, s-s-sir A-Alfred, we've s-searched everywhere, but there h-has been n-no sign o-of The M-Masked M-Man," The policeman stuttered, terrified by the young FBI agent's wrath.
"Damn it!" The American swore, "He must have known we were coming for him and escaped."
"Al! Stop destroying the desk! It's not the gentlemanly thing to do!"
"To hell with gentlemanly, Iggy!" At this comment, Arthur gasped. "We have other things to worry about. Like this thing about the Masked Man's damned disappearance."
Arthur's face turned grave. "Calm down. We have evidence that he was in Chicago."
Alfred turned around and pointed at some random policeman, "You there! Get the lists of all the people that are going to leave the country tonight! Iggy, there was only one flight leaving O'Hare today, right? A flight to France."
The Briton nodded. "One thing though."
"What is it?"
"The flight already left genius."
"Whatever! Just get me the damned list! Iggy, get me the records and files and Ids of everybody on that list. We're gonna catch that Masked Man if it kills us."
Arthur smiled. He absolutely adored a serious and business-oriented Alfred. "Copy that."
Matthew sat at a outdoor cafe slowly sipping his cappuccino. His hotel wasn't too far away, it made it convenient. He was deep in thought, had he slipped by the FBI? Or were they still on his trail? The FBI weren't that stupid.
People bustled in and out of the cafe, talking rapidly in French. It was so loud that Matthew didn't realize the waiter that was standing expectantly by his chair.
"Bonjour. Est-ce que je peux prendre votre ordre, monsieur?(1)" The man asked.
Matthew looked up at the Frenchman. He was startling handsome, Matthew couldn't deny that. His hair was long and silky and curled slightly at his shoulders. It was tied back in a loose ponytail held by a blue ribbon. He was pretty tall, taller then Matthew by at least a few inches. His build was lean, but muscular at the same time. Matthew's gaze rested on the stranger's eyes. It was blue. But unlike that boy's eyes they were blue like the ocean, rather than the sky.
The man repeated the question. Matthew looked at him, dumbstruck.
Shit! I don't know French! Why did the only flight had to be to France? Why not Italy? I know Italian! Plus, I could've contacted the mafia!
The Frenchman chuckled. "Don't know French?" He asked in English. His English was flawless, but there was a hint of a French accent within his voice.
"No. I don't know French." Matthew confessed, embarrassed.
"Well, mon ami, you're in a bit of a problem aren't you?" The waiter slid into the seat opposite of Matthew. "I, Francis Bonnefoy, can help you. What's your name?"
"Matthew Williams," He blurted out. Matthew blinked. Why had he told this man, Francis, his real name? This Francis makes me feel weird. I should be on guard around him. After all which idiot helps a random person who he knows nothing about?
"Mathieu, what a cute name!"
Matthew blushed. "I'm not cute!"
"Now, whoever said you were cute? I said your name was cute. Although, you are cute."
Matthiew stuttered and blushed a deeper red. I'm acting weird. C'mon, keep your cool Williams, keep your cool.
"Well, Mathieu, if you're not ordering anything I'll have to be going now. Here," He handed a piece of paper towards the Canadian. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. 8 o'clock. Jusque-là!" He got up and sauntered over to the next table.
Matthew stared in shock at the paper in his hand. On it was an address, Francis's no doubt.
Francis smiled to himself. I've got myself a date with a cute one!
(1) Hello. May I take your order, sir?
(2) My friend
(3) Until then
Yeahh, neither liltiger534 or I know French so we just used a translationing site xDD Hopefully, it's correct o_o Anyways, we'll try to update quickly. Please make us happy and rate and review. RATE AND REVIEW. REVIEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Like seriously. Thank you! And review.