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Thorns of Deception	By : Elleyis Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 953 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler, aka Kuroshitsuji or any of the character there in. Black Butler is the property of Yana

Chapter List
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Date: December 15, 2032

Location: City of Westminster, London, England

Objective: Secretly infiltrate Buckingham Palace’s royal ball. Locate and capture the target known as Black Rose. Use whatever means at your disposal to extract information on the whereabouts of target Bluebell. Proceed with discretion as the number MI5 (Security Service) agents have tripled.…|

A set of sleek and dangerous eyes read through the emerging lines of text hidden in the lenses of chic and high-tech spectacles. His sharp eyes readily followed the blinking cursor and letters of luminescent teal until the message eventually ended and transitioned out of view.
A 3 dimensional floor plan of Buckingham’s palace then appeared. The glasses registered the subtlest movement of his eyes and so a section of the map enlarged and began displaying the various metrics of the ballroom floor. Entrances, exits, corridors, electrical system, security system, number of occupants, guard posts, room temperature, and other data poured in. It took the gentlemen mere seconds to memorize every detail and schematic placed before him. The map transitioned out leaving only a small HUD on the outer rim that could be easily accessed at any time.
The talented assassin for hire held a small tulip glass of Remy Martin Louis XIII in his gloved hand. The contract was set and upon completion of his work he would be paid his dues. He brought expensive cognac to his lips and enjoyed the strong taste of the fine libation as it slowly spilled onto his tongue. Waiting a few seconds the man then swallowed to allow the 100 year old liquid to slip down his throat. The burning sensation that most men felt after drinking liquor as potent as this did not effect Claude at all. An aficionado of wine such as himself had long developed a tolerance for such.
“You know you’re being paid to do your job not drink.” The sound of a pesky baritone voice reverberated through his right ear.
“Hmph,” the gentlemen scoffed and ignored teenager’s taunt.
“Really now, is that anyway to talk to the guy responsible for hacking into JIC’s (Joint Intelligence Committee) central mainframe?” Jim Macken chirped as he boasted about his delinquent skills. “This Spears fellow must fancy himself a hot shot in cyber security but his software is really just a piece of hot shit. Maybe I should upload a virus into their servers and see how long it takes MI6 to realize they’ve been royally fucked.” “All the Queen’s jackasses and all the Queen’s IT won’t be able to put the system back together after I’m done with it.” Jim began to cackle into his headset microphone.
Claude finally broke his silence and whispered behind the goblet of brandy still near his mouth. “I would ask you to please keep radio transmissions to a minimum and any benign comments to yourself.” He removed the cup from his lips and set the empty glass on a silver platter a passing servant was holding. Jim’s laughter came to a stop. “Pfft, don’t be such a stiff,” the agitated lad blurted out. Claude said nothing in his defense.
“Fine, whatever. Just make sure to thank me with my take of the cut when this is over,” the youth finished. He was rather upset at the polite insult but understood the man meant business. The sound of a muffled thud followed from the boy setting his mic to mute.
Tonight the cavalier man with black licorice wind swept locks was decked in a designer Italian tuxedo with Italian black leather shoes. He wore a white platinum watch that doubled as a sleeping dart gun and jamming device on his right wrist. Completing his ensemble a silk black ribbon with what looked to be a dark opal set in the center was tied around his neck. In reality the jewel piece was an advanced camera cleverly hidden as finery. Claude looked impeccable as ever. Simply put the man was dressed to kill, but the sharp gentlemen found himself in a rather dull and blase mood this evening.
The melodious tune of classical music reverberated through the air, the elegant crystal chandeliers glistened, and the grand murals of large paintings decorated the antique gold trimmed walls of the palace. The lavish room was infused with red, gold, and all the artistic vision and appeal of Sir Aston Webb’s remodeling. Claude saw the ball as another superfluous grandiose affair of England’s wealthiest and elite. All the key players, VIP’s, just about everybody who was anybody was in attendance. Casually he strode through a soirée of nobles and aristocrats watching the crème de la crème dance and drink themselves into oblivion. His spectacles transposed silhouettes of teal around any person of interest as they scanned the area and brought up said individual’s name and affiliation.
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Thorns of Deception