I hate politics, and yet I love to mess with Atobe Keigo's world of corporation politics. Maybe because it's so easy for me to manipulate my way into a world that has no information by Konomi, except for his comment of "Atobe is rich like you can't imagine!" Yes, I can't begin to imagine either, and I just started this fic because of a crazy idea that maybe I could fuse insane politic-evil-masterminds with tennis. Except that there's little tennis and a lot of ass-kicking. I wouldn't go as far as to call it an AU, since there are references to tennis, but feel free to.

I always thought Ryoma would look good with a gun.

Thank you for all the reviews for the last fic! I have no hard feelings about German, except when I have to study for them. Woe is me.

This is an Atobe/Ryoma/Atobe fic. Meaning that I like a balance between the two idiots that ruined my life.

The alleyway was damp, splattered with rain and the remnants of last night's activities, whatever they were. Most probably the things kids wouldn't read about in their bedtime stories and most certainly not a place for a certain someone to get kidnapped to. Ryoma made a discreet face as he lightly prodded a lump of mush with his foot, and then quickly attached himself to the wall again. His hands hung loosely by his sides; in his gloved right hand, a pistol dangled lazily between his thumb and his index finger. His scowled and quietly waited for any movement, any sounds (even a wind whispering would have sent chills down his body at this time of the night, but he was just annoyed as hell), and when there failed to be anything, he quickly made the rest of his way down the alley.

His shoes splashed against the small puddles last night's rain had made, failing to make him a very quiet victim, but that was okay, he reflected with a sharp smile, it wasn't him that he was worried about; it was just a certain bastard he was going to….


He raised an eyebrow at the muffled sound and walked (step, step, step, splash) slowly towards the small whimpers, and found himself at a dead end. The bricks were falling and fraying at the very edges, and the walls themselves felt they were enclosing in on him; no shadows of the moon would reach here. He wouldn't have even been on this side of the alley had it not been for the trickles of clues leading him. It was easy, all too easy. He stopped in his tracks and observed.

A person was hunched in front of him, propped against the crumbling brick wall, the lack of light too dark to fathom out his face. Closer on inspection, Ryoma found the man was young, perhaps about twenty, with hair that flicked naturally, somehow all too familiar. He was certainly bruised, and had quite a few deep cuts alongside his arms, which were currently held captive behind his back (with ropes, Ryoma thought, craning his neck a little to see the dull coils wrapped around the man's waist as well, how cliché). He cocked his head to one side and called out a name, softly (gagging).


The man stirred, and his face lifted groggily. The man's angular face was pale and haunting, but there was a trace of arrogance behind it all. How it was possible, Ryoma would never know, not with a gag stuffed inside the culprit's mouth. The gagged mouth was making more frantic noises; he had been the one to lure him in this dead end.

"Sorry I'm late," he said conversationally, knowing full well that those eyes would be glaring at him. He snapped down his pistol and tapped his chin thoughtfully with it. The figure was glaring at him, he was sure, but without sufficient light, he wouldn't be too sure….

But he had responded to the name. That was evidence enough. That and other things.

He pulled out the safety pin and cocked the gun at the tied victim.

"Your fucking gang members make this all too easy for me," he muttered with a sharp grin, and shot.

"I can't believe you forced me sedatives," Atobe snapped, flailing his limbs about while pacing down his room like a caged animal; Ryoma watched him with one eye to make sure he didn't crash anything valuable, "Sedatives? For the love of god, Echizen, you could have more class than fucking sedatives."

"What, like knock you out with my hand and let you die bleeding?" Ryoma suggested sweetly, his hands already typing out codes and passwords and other damn security measures he needed to get into his own fucking computer. "I could do creative. Or how about darts polished with sleeping aids?"

Atobe whirled around and glared. His blue-grey eyes blazed in the dim light. "Fucking sedatives," he growled.

"Mmmm," Ryoma agreed, his hands waving away in dismissal. "The victim was crap anyway. He didn't get your eye color right, so they located him in those brothel alleyways so they could hide it better. They only managed to go up to eleven percent blue."

Atobe huffed and crossed his arms. After a while he quieted down and walked over to Ryoma. He held out his hand. "Wounds?" he asked stiffly.

Ryoma shook his head, his eyes focused on the screen of his computer. "I told you, the victim was crap," he drawled, swatting those hands away, "And I did you a favor, too. 'Cept for the eyes, he was all you, and I knew you'd freak out and faint like a sissy. Just a nice, clear shot in the head and bang." He smirked at the look on Atobe's face. "Pity it wasn't you. I would have enjoyed it more."

Atobe sneered and stalked out of the room. "Next time, I'll knock you out and make sure I shoot a bullet through your eyes," he snapped, and slammed the door behind him.

Political mishap and taking down a organization. And I don't evem have the brains to plot hardcore politics, what did I just do! *headdesks*

Besides this, I STILL have my Hyotei! Ryoma and girl!Ryoma unpolished, and the second part of Unforseen Consequences rewritten again. My excuse is that I have a lot of unfinished one-shots dangling around whenever I get my musings up.

Reviews are always welcome!:)