The Funtom Company

4: The |Biker| Company

"You little shit," the male said. The light illuminated his face in a very, well, menacing way. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and frowned. This wasn't going to be pretty. Hell, this wasn't even going to be decent. Everyone knows you don't mess with The Funtom Company. That's rule #1 when entering this city. Shit. Even the children know, and yet, this guy, right here, tied up, on the floor, didn't seem to have a care in the world. The male smoking understood this. The male smoking had been angered by him for days now. 

"I thought I told you to get off my turf," he sneered, kicking the body. The individual currently tied up laughed. Laughing? Really? What sort of psycho are you? Do you have a death wish? Well, in a way, he kind of did. The man had been a certain sort of crazy for a long time now...

"My, my, I don't think your boss is going to take to kindly to you treating people with such little respect," the body stated. Who did he think he was? Why was he talking like he had the situation under control? You little shit. You're going to pay for this. Even if Mr. Lung-Cancer has to send you to hell himself. 

"What the hell do you know about my boss? I haven't seen him for months! He don't know shit. He don't do shit! Ya hear me? So, what the fuck do you know? And why the hell're you here? Trying to steal from me again? Motherfucker."

The body continued to laugh. The smoker growled and threw his cigarette on the floor. This guy must be a masochist to keep coming back. The body smiled, radiantly, and looked up at the male. "I can't believe you only know such indecent words. Tell me, how did you even join such a gang as The Funtom Company?"

"I don't have to tell you squat," the man kicked the body once more. 

"Humor me," the body was still smiling, "I am about to die after all. What do you have to lose? Hm?"

"Fine, I'll tell ya," the man shivered when he heard something flying around in the warehouse. What was that? A bat? A bird? Who the hell? Or rather, what the hell? Something wasn't right about this place, and, he desperately wanted to get out of here. A few seconds ago it was fine. But this freak on the floor kept smiling so sadistically. Subtle changes in his expression were taking place; the longer they talked the more his face seemed to distort. It was freaky. He wanted out. Right now. 

"A few weeks ago some kid walked up to me asking me if I wanted to join. He set me up with the app and called it quits. Haven't seen him since and now I'm here."

"Well, that's good."

"What's good?" the man asked, thoroughly confused. One minute the guy was beaten up lying on the floor, the next, he was holding a blade to his throat and whispering into his ear like a demon. "You are still in phase one of initiation." 

The blade cut into the man's skin. He started sweating. He knew he was going to die. "That's good. Really good. It means killing you will be a lot easier," the demon whispered. "Next time, try reading the fine print in a contract before accepting. I hope you have a pleasant time in the afterlife, insolent fool." 

What did he mean by that?! Could it be? This was Sebastian Michaelis?! How could the second in command of The Funtom Company be this man?! Mr. Lung-Cancer should've taken a better look at the guy's face before kicking him all of those times. Well, what comes around goes around, as they say. Who is 'they' though?

"W-wait! Please don't kill me! I'll never go near the gang again! Please..."

"This is why I hate people like you," the male clicked his tongue in disgust. "You get into trouble and beg for your life at the last minute. I'm not as kind as I look. In fact, I don't even look kind, do I?" No. He didn't look kind. He only looked more vicious than before. 

Silence filled the warehouse as the smoker's pulse quickened. He didn't know if his plea would work. (No, actually, he knew it wouldn't.) The Funtom Company doesn't give second chances. If this guy was who he thought he was...the conclusion to this tale was looking ever so bleak...

The man was struck in the back of the head. The other individual let the body fall to the ground as he walked out of the warehouse. The male held out his hand to once again ask for help; he could feel his consciousness leaving him. The raven hair glistened in the moonlight. He was smiling as he looked back on the body. The back of his vest was visible. The human skull with two bony rainbow hands holding it and a black cat's eyes staring out of the sockets. The Funtom Company's mark. The biker gang Funtom Company's mark. There were two. The business run by Vincent Phantomhive and the gang run by his son, Ciel Phantomhive (and his childhood crush, Sebastian Michaelis).  

Sebastian Michaelis stared at the ground. He had been careful not to step on the gasoline left by his partner. Pulling out a matchbox, he gestured for the boy to come out of hiding. "Next time, try not to make so much noise. You were lucky he thought you were a bird fluttering about." The second in command ruffled the leader's hair and placed the box in his hands. "You do the honors. I'll meet you back at the bike."

The male looked at his underling's matchbox. He had been waiting for this moment all of his life. For once, he was glad to be a good-for-nothing worthless brat. Running the business version of The Funtom Company couldn't possibly be as fun as this. Grinning, the boy took a few steps back and lit a match. He threw it on the ground and ran, ran towards the bike. The Funtom Company's signature funeral. Flaming buildings. Because every betrayer must stare into the fiery pits of Hell upon death. If this man had been an official member, if he had passed initiation, and had still betrayed the gang, things would be much worse for him.

Hopping into the sidecar attached to the motorbike, the boy grinned as he put his helmet on. The engine revved. The two rode away in the wee hours of the morning, waiting, for the sirens to go off and the police to come. It would show up on the news like every other death. This was normal for this city. No one even bothered to try and stop it anymore. Besides, it wasn't like the people being killed were worth anything. No. They were all shitty bastards. The Funtom Company was doing everyone a favor. Why bother ruining a good thing?

Besides, Ciel Phantomhive was a force to be reckoned with. The city had seen what Vincent had done in the past. No one would dare attempt to squander his son's vision for the future. Ciel might be a force to be reckoned with, but Vincent, Vincent, was the lover to Death itself.