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Baroque Works. Baroque-fucking-Works. That name ringed through your ears like a condescending lullaby. This stupid organization of… assassins? Yeah. You’d never heard of it before, until these two odd-looking fellows went up to you, rambling on about how you “fit the mold”, or something like that, and said something about an “assistant”. Which was even weirder. Whose assistant? They wouldn’t answer you if you asked. So they told you to come with them. You refused, they put up a fight, which you so graciously lost. So they practically dragged you to see this guy who was gonna be your boss, or something.

Cut to about 2 hours later, and here you were, face-to-face with this guy. He called himself… “Mr. 0”…? What a dumb code name. You were looking at him, and he was staring at you. Eyeing you up and down, practically having a whole conversation with you, just with his eyes. His ringed fingers drummed on the arm of his elaborate chair, and he continued to stare, not saying a word. Did he want you to speak up first? Or was he just thinking of things to say? He was throwing you in for a whirlwind, and you had no clue what to even think.

He took a drag from his large cigar, and breathed in. Oh good, he speaks.

“Alright…”

He began.

“You’re here for one thing and one thing only. To be my new assistant. That means no fucking around, no back-talk. You just listen to me, and do whatever I want. Understood?”

He spoke in a voice that was practically demeaning you. It was very clear he thought lesser of you. But you just nodded, agreeing with whatever he wanted. He wasn’t a force to be reckoned with, you knew that much, but you wanted to make a snappy comment so bad…

“So. Did you put up a fight to come here? You don’t look too happy.”

He replied, a smirk playing at his lips. Was this his version of teasing? ‘Cuz it sucked. You wanted to snap back… but you knew that would just get you in hot water, so you needed to play it safe. For now.