Summary: Gunplay with Shion and Mizuki
Mizuki had failed, but he wasn't dead. Though a large part of him wished he was. The mission was a simple extraction of a person of interest, direct orders from Shion. His stern boss, and sterner matriarch. A woman obsessed with pain, strength, and brutality. Who ran her sect of The Hashimoto with a (literal) iron fist. He knew the consequence for failure, he'd be disposed of, or waterboarded, or lose a finger. But staring at her across the table, she seemed...idle. More so than usual, it wasn't as if her face had a large range of emotions. He expected fury, rage, a gunshot to the spinal cord. Calm was scarier.
"I apologize for my failure ma-"
"Silence, Mizuki." She cut him off, lips not parting as she spoke in robotic tones. There was testiness in her voice, and she stared at him like a cut of meat. Wondering where to cut first. "You've made your thoughts on your miserable performance quite clear, yes?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Then we're on the same page."
Mizuki swallowed, sweat beading down his neck. "Am I--being punished?"
The robot switched to her stock jovial expression, and the boy's blood ran cold. She cracked a giggle, and didn't answer his question.
They sat in silence for a nauseating amount of time, before the elder finally exited her seat, motioning for her protĂŠgĂŠ to stand up aswell. Mizuki did as he was told, and his parental figure sauntered over to him. Shion placed a frigid hand on his skin, examining his form. She did a fine job training him into a toned, handsome weapon. Many might even be scared of the boy. But all she could see in the miserable healer was weakness, weakness and wasted potential.
She struck him in the stomach with her heel, robotic strength sending a surge of pain throughout his form. He didn't crumple. She had done this before, and he learned quickly that falling to her attack would make things infinitely worse.
"Good boy." She whispered into his ear. This close, he could hear the whirring and vibrations of her systems. He focused on bracing for the next strike, but instead was met with a burning, stabbing pain in his ankle along with a loud bang. She'd shot the boy, and he nearly faltered. He gritted his teeth hard, and balled his hands into fists so tight his nails might pierce the skin of his palm. "I had expected so much of you Mizuki. And yet time and time again, you take my kindness for granted."
"It's--" He pushed through the pain to remain polite. "My mistake ma'am. I will improve from this experience."
She shot the same spot again. He felt lightheaded.
"You always say these things Mizuki. You'll do better, you'll learn. But you never do. Do you take me for a charity, Mizuki? Do you think I expect nothing in return."
"Of course not ma'am." He spoke through gritted teeth. He wanted to cry.
She shot again. He fell to one knee.
"Either learn to stand up straight, or submit into a full groveling position. Don't play games with me Mizuki."
He took every bit of strength in his system to stand up fully, eyes watering. She shot again.
"Wrong answer."
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