Snippet #2527961

Fredrick's father, Lorenzo Koenig, was more than just a genius engineer and black market weapons dealer. He was also a self-described "badass mechanic". At the moment, Fredrick was riding shotgun in one of his father's recent engineering marvels—a 3D-printed electric sportscar. The thing looked like a cross between a Lamborghini and a Camero, complete with sharp edges and jutting contours. The car itself had a pristine white paintjob, though the tires and rims, along with being bulletproof, were painted pitch black. The windows, too, were tinted to such an extent that they were impenetrable from the outside. When Fredrick inquired about the color choice one day, his father told him red and black are fast colors, Freddy, ya gotta think strategically; no cop expects the white car to be the speed demon. The memory brought a small smile to Fredrick's otherwise morose countenance, however fleeting. Currently, the sports car was bobbing and weaving through lanes of traffic, going nearly twice the speed limit of course, though that wasn't surprising considering his father was the one driving. Every so often, the man would mutter a slew of cuss words under his breath as he downshifted, making an obscene gesture at another driver and threatening vehicular homicide. Apparently, the rival motorist slighted him in some shape or form. Fredrick didn't really understand it, but it was usually hilarious to watch.

Not today, though. After everything that'd happened, the kid just wasn't in the mood for fun. Instead, he just sighed softly, his chin in his palm as he stared out the passenger-side window, a newly forlorn look fresh upon his face. In the back of his mind, Fredrick was hoping against hope that something would stop them from reaching their destination. Maybe a flat tire, or the car's battery going dead, or a bridge collapsing and they get stuck in immovable traffic. Something. Anything to stall them from reaching their final destination. As usual, luck was not on the boy's side. Within fifteen minutes, they exited the main road and entered an area saturated with trees and mountain life. It wasn't long before they rolled up to their destination: a large mansion on top of a hill. It was a Vongola-owned property in the countryside, managed by none other than the Lightning guardian himself, Joel Lambe.

In total, they'd been driving for around half an hour. GPS calculated that the trip should have taken double that. Yeah, his father had something of a lead foot. "Pedal to the metal" wasn't just a euphemism where he was concerned. Fredrick sighed again, looking down at the backpack that sat on the car floor, between his knees. He really didn't want to go.

"You ready, Fred?" He father asked, putting the car in neutral and pulling the brake lever before cutting the engine.

"Yes," Fredrick muttered, though from his tone, it was obvious that he didn't mean it.

Koenig turned to face his son, his expression somewhat concerned. "You didn't bring any web-accessible devices with you, right? No cells, pads, laptops..."

Fredrick shook his head in response, still staring down at the bag between his knees. "Yeah, dad, I know."

Despite his son's confirmation, Koenig continued, "... because I can almost guarantee that I've seen some iffy activity on the Vongola's server logs, and you guys shouldn't take any chances, especially with Cain in that condition—"

"Yeah, dad, yeah," Fredrick snapped, his tone dismissive. "The network and stuff. We know." Fredrick looked out the window towards the mansion. "There's no service out here anyway."

The two sat in awkward silence for a minute, the chirping of birds and clicking of the car's engine as it cooled the only sounds to reach their ears. After a while, Fredrick glanced briefly over at his father before looking back down at his backpack, wringing his hands. He realized that the old man was just trying to help, but... ... it just wasn't fair. None of it! Why did his ring have to get taken like this? Why was he so pathetic as a Vongola... as a hitman, a friend, a human being? He sighed, opening his mouth to apologize, but Koenig spoke first.

"You know," Koenig began, his tone upbeat and airy, "your grandfather was a gifted assassin—a natural legendary hitman." Fredrick closed his mouth, chancing another glance up at his father and caught his eye. The old man rarely if ever spoke of his father—Fredrick's grandfather. As he understood it, the two men weren't exactly on the best of terms. Koenig grinned as he continued. "He didn't have time for any of that girly numbers crap, which was pretty much the full extent of his respect for my interests at the time... but anyways, he was an unstoppable combat artist." Koenig reached out and placed his hand on his son's head. "And every day I look at you, you remind me so much of him. You could maybe use a bit more of his blatant assholery—... er uh, fearless boldness," he said, correcting himself with a chuckle. Fredrick grinned at his father's bad joke despite his sour mood. "But in terms of ability, you are every bit the hitman he was. Probably even better, at your age."

"Really?"

"Really. You just have to summon the courage to bring it out, Fred."

"But I don't like hurting people like granddad... and I lost the ring. I lost Serlina..." He sighed, his grin evaporating. He thought back to his conversation with Joel, the experience gnawing at his psyche. "What if they don't even want me to be in their family anymore?"

It was his father's turn to sigh. "If you keep worrying about the what-ifs, you'll never get anywhere, kid." He pushed down on Fredrick's head playfully, forcing him into a half-bow. "If you're so curious, why not walk up there and ask 'em yourself?" Suddenly, Koenig's voice gained a slight edge. "Either way, you're getting out of this car in the next 60 seconds and I'm leaving, and I won't be looking back. I'm already gonna be late, and you know how your mother is."

Fredrick gasped audibly, the fear in his eyes nearly palpable. "But—!"

Koenig pressed a button on the driver-side door, popping the locks. "Out out out," he said, making shooing motions with his hands. "I need to hit the road."

Looking defeated, his shoulders slumped, Fredrick pulled the door handle and exited the car. Instead of swinging outwards like a typical car, the passenger-side door flipped upwards like a bird's wing. Begrudgingly, the boy stepped out of the car, hauling his backpack with him and slinging it over his shoulder. With a grunt, he reached up to grasp the car door and pull it down, but his father's voice stopped him.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Koenig reached under his seat, pulling out a small bag about the size of a large book. "Here," he said, tossing the bag. Fredrick caught it like a professional football player, his reflexes taking over. "It's a little something I whipped up to, uh, help you along."

Fredrick looked down at the bag, eyeing it with a curious expression. "What's inside?"

"You'll figure it out. Now hurry up and close my door."

Fredrick did as he was told, folding the door from its winged position back down into place. It locked in with an audible click.

Immediately, Koenig rolled down the window. "Don't try to contact me, because I'm not gonna come pick you up early. Have fun!"

Fredrick only managed a slight wave before his father's car jetted forward like a hellfire missile, engine purring. In a matter of moments, he bent a corner and was out of sight. Fredrick turned towards the house, flipping up the hood of his hoodie, pulling the drawstrings tight. As he made his way to the front door, he felt as if he were walking through molasses, each step harder than the next. Eventually, he reached the door and brought his hand up as if to knock, but then thought twice about it. Still the question remained: what use was a ringless wannabe Vongola like him, anyway? What was his purpose in being here again?

Several minutes passed as Fredrick just stood there outside of the door, motionless, his hand frozen in an almost-knock. He was confident that Cain, Shaji, Joel, and the others were already here, since he'd left out a little later then as planned. Would they even want to see him? After a while, he sighed, putting his arm down and turning from the door. He really didn't want to be here. They didn't need him, right?

His first thought was to call his father back to pick him up, but that definitely wouldn't work. No service out here for starters. Plus he had no phone on him... and his dad would just laugh and say no. Hmm... maybe he could just walk back. Fredrick pondered the extreme amount of walking that that would entail and immediately put that possibility out of his mind. With one final sigh, the maybe-Rain-guardian dropped his backpack and took a seat on the stairs leading up to the doorway. Perhaps he could just wait out here forever.