𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚢 ~ 𝚋𝚘𝚔𝚞𝚊𝚔𝚊

Akaashi: Sniper.

A/N: I am not the artist of that masterpiece you see above and I couldn't for sure find the creator but they may be known as "gusari"? If you happen to know, please tell me! I'd love to give credit where it's most certainly due <3

I've been a skillful sniper since I was six. Yeah that's a mouthful, I know, but it's the truth. For many people, it's either kill or be killed. I chose the option in which there's a change I live. So far so good.

Not to boast or crow but ever since I was little I'd been attributed with patience. When each child reaches a certain age, a word gets pinned to their person. My patience happened to give me a ticket out of the slums I was born into.

As a kid, each day i'd sprint as fast as I could out of the sewer covered streets filled with the stench of death, and run until I reached the hill.
The hill was the renown area of which nature and greenery existed. I'd run there and stay all day until the sun set.
My parents were okay with how long I'd say as they saw me playing make believe or tag with the other kids most days out of our window. It didn't matter if I was starving or dying for a restroom, I'd never leave.
Subsequently I got good at suppressing human bodily needs.

When I was four at the hill one day, I saw my first butterfly. It was a small buttercup colored one. Plain, besides a large brown dot on each wing and a smaller one directly beneath. It took my breath away.
Quickly it fluttered on, but I waited. I sat with an extended arm and finger out in front of me for nine hours that day.

I wasn't sure it would return. I wasn't even sure I'd seen it in the first place. Still, I sat and waited.
To my young surprise, it did come back. Not only did it come back, but it landed on my trembling finger as I had so very hoped it might.

My parents had watched me that day. Sat on the hill. Quickly a call was made by my father in his best interest. One call that would alter my adolescence and life forever. A call that resulted in my occupation and love of my life.

I was shipped off to become an Elite.
One who serves to protect and put their life on the line. It was a prestigious branch of the military, few are selected. God I sound like such an ass. Just stick with me here, okay? 

So here I am, a four year old, crying and holding on for dear life to my mother's skirt. I ended up ripping the light purple fabric as two men pried me from my own grasp. She cried and I screamed. My father didn't look me in the eyes. I kept the lilac fabric, but after many years her scent wore away, as did my few memories of her.

But that butterfly stuck with me. I'd draw it in my free time, see it in my dreams, and find myself thinking of it.

It kept me going.

After three years of harsh training and exams I was finally given the gun by the names of a sniper rifle.
By now I was seven years old and very good with a scope. I had assumed being a sniper is what I'd be assigned and voila, I had been correct.

A life of sitting and waiting before striking at the perfect moment. It didn't bother me though. It was better than running for miles in heavy gear only to be shot and killed quickly with no second chances.

Along with a gun, I received my first tattoo. Not on my own accord. A small S was etched into my left wrist very painfully by a singular needle and in a manner less than humane. I remember it throbbing and becoming very irritated and puffy. Alas.

The third and final thing I received that day was a new name. One I'd be called by in the corps. I chose Ki Chou. The name Akaashi was one I heard rarely from then on out.

At age eight, I received my first job. Then another, and after a while I'd lost track of my body count. Not that I had really cared in the first place. It was kept on record if need be, and those who boasted over a number of kills made me sick.

One boy in particular, who was chosen for arson, and went by the name "Gesu monsutā" really got on my nerves. Well at first that is. Now I may even call him a friend, but back in our teens, he made me want to pull my hair out.
Constantly yelling a new number in the high hundreds and flicking matches, sometimes lit, other times not, in people's food or faces. He was loud and draining to be around.

The pay of being an Elite is shit. However it ensures security and insurance for your family. That's all I could ask for. Even if I haven't seen them in thirteen years. I'd heard my mother had given birth to a little girl but it may have just been a rumor.

Earlier this year I faked my age saying I was eighteen to receive my second tattoo. The first of my own accord.
A yellow butterfly on my left rib. I chose to use one of my favorite drawings I had done of the butterfly from back when I was fourteen. It just seemed right to do.

I'm still seventeen, but as an Elite you no longer need legal guardians. Many end up either taking advantage of this or instead find themselves not being able to take on the mental burdens. Leaving them as washed up alcoholics before they even reach legal drinking age. Disgusting.

As of now, I'm on my way to the third job of the week. I'm reliable and never once have I failed.

I read the enclosed envelope, got dressed, and ate a banana to avoid being shaky as usual. Tonight's objective was simple and shouldn't take longer than a couple hours, given correct circumstances.
Before leaving the dorm like room, I put on my black fingerless gloves and tightened the laces on my combat boots.

The Gesu monsutā, or a boy named Tendou and I shared a room. Though we weren't ever supposed to use birth names, Tendou had slowly wore me down over the years to eventually have me call him that.
Unlike me, his name was more so a nickname that ended up sticking. He didn't necessarily love guess monster but it fit him. He was constantly using intuition on jobs.

Because I never made any friends, I instead chose the name Ki Chou for myself as opposed to it being appointed to me.

Tendou would frequently be out, but occasionally we'd run into one another. When we did, he loved to take the piss out on my gloves. One of my few flaws was how cold my hands got, so the gloves helped me grip without fear of freezing. Still he thought I just did it for the aesthetic. Which I guess wasn't also entirely wrong...