In the little freetime he had from training, Rob Lucci, 5 years old, enjoyed coming up with new ways to kill pigeons. He would set traps and have them starve in them, cut off their legs, try poking holes in them with the techniques he was learning, poison them, and cut their feathers so they couldn't fly, for a few examples. (Cutting the feathers didn't work, because the pests got food from the people who came to see the plants and hear the silence in the park, so he proceeded to strip them of their plumage.) The park he found the most pigeons in was gaining a slightly creepy reputation thanks to him.

It was on one such day that he met Hattori.

He had a fever and wasn't allowed to go training, so Lucci sneaked away from his bedroom window and spied on the lessons. For about half an hour, he tried to kill the teacher with his glare, as he'd heard people could do, and when it didn't work, he went to the park again. It was a hot day. The way to the park, about three kilometers, felt longer than usual, and he truly appreciated the shade of the trees when he reached his destination. The fever really was affecting his endurance.

There weren't many pigeons around - some of them had learned to avoid him, and a large portion he had killed off. Today he was pissed off and wanted to archieve something, so he decided to go for the cautious ones. Maybe the death stare would work on a bird, if not on a human.

So Lucci headed for the pathless forest patch in the middle of the park - it looked like a place where a bird might hide when not wanting to run into humans. It was an even shadier place than the rest of the park, with big spruce trees towering above and moss with dried needles on the ground. The cool shade felt good on his sweaty body. It didn't, in closer inspection, really seem like a place where a pigeon would enjoy itself, but he figured he might as well look around a bit since he was there now. It'd help him cool down before going home, too.

And there, sitting on a fallen tree, was one solitary pigeon. It had already seen him and its small eyes were fixed on him. That's good, he thought; if it wouldn't fly away too soon, he could try his death glare on it.

Lucci frowned at the white bird and transferred all his murderous intent into his glare. The pigeon stared back with its dark pearls of eyes. It must be frozen in fear, he reasoned, and glowered on. There was a tension between him and the bird, he felt, a fight of wills, a furious staring contest. The small animal wouldn't turn its eyes away from his, and he kept puckering his peculiarly-shaped eyebrows and fought the urge to blink as long as he could between each time.

Then the bird yawned and turned its head away. That disrespectful little— He got a hold of its neck in less than a second.

The bird turned to look at him again. It didn't squawk or even blink, it just stared at him with its eyes like black holes, and he felt that if he wringed its neck now, he would lose.

In the end, he had taken the bird home with him and started keeping him as a pet. Lucci used to think of it as a pact of warriors. And even when he grew older, got stronger and joined the CP9, and pacts and promises ceased holding a meaning to him, he kept Hattori. He didn't feel like giving the bird up, and it wasn't like anyone dared question it. Besides, when working on undercover missions, he'd noticed that people were very likely to grow to like someone with a weird pet, even if his words and smiles were scarce.

Hattori's expression never changed, but since he had stopped trying to run away after the first year or so, and seemed to like liqueurs, Lucci supposed the bird didn't mind their co-existence either