CP9 Recruitment Test Subject #007: Soru (Armani)

[Lord Bromosalino]

Flynn Reptiel. Another interesting sort, not exactly the first pick that Commodore, or rather Director, Ralph Slate would have chosen for this particular unit. However, as unorthodox as this man’s profile seemed, his ability to stand out as one of the only agents to remain a part of the CP9 training from the previous Director’s days was a testament to the man’s abilities. While he was not the cream of the crop, so to speak, as the other agent, for Mr. Reptiel still had not fully completed his Shigan training, he did hold an advantage over others. While the world of Devil Fruits was still shrouded in mysteries and secrets, they became tools of power in capable hands. And this Flynn Reptiel was such one man. The Hachuu Hachuu no Mi. Quite the interesting fruits, as far as Zoan types were concerned. While it was true that these particular models were by far the least impressive, it was also true that people like Lucci, Jabara, and Kaku (all former CP9 agents) were Zoan Devil Fruit wielders, and each were considered the strongest that CP9 had ever produced, especially since each of those agents held very powerful Zoans. But a Chameleon fruit? While the fruit certainly had its own distinct advantages compared to fruits such as Lucci’s own Leopard fruit, could this fruit deliver the same raw power that was expected? That could become an issue. Stealth and reconnaissance, to be sure, were important parts of what CP9 was, but Director Slate would have to build an even stronger force to replace the one that had been lost over two years ago. And what a mess he had inherited from his predecessors; a ruined reputation among the Marine command and, after two seperate Directors, two agents. No wonder the Director seemed far too tired, far too often.

Click, click, click. Fst, fst, click, click.

Round and round, over and over, open and close. The silver lighter continued to dance around the colossal man’s hand and fingers, stealing the stress outside of the man’s gigantic body, it’s movement seemingly, and in a strange and mystical way, calming him down. Another long drag on the cigarette, another look into the folder that lay open among the countless papers upon the mahogany desk. Why was it that those damn Marines sending him information could never seem to manage to rustle up more than a page, and even that was a generous amount, of information about any of his recruits? Prior knowledge was essential to building a unit that could function in an efficient manner. And yet, here was Director Slate, head of the most secretive unit who was supposed to know everything about everyone, with only three-fourths of a page for this Flynn Reptiel. And half of that information wasn’t even given to the giant from his Marine informants, rather from the previous Director to work with the agent.

The Director prior to Director Slate had been an utter fail, however the one that had initially taken up the mantle of raising a new task force, while he too ultimately failed, did leave behind quite a few detailed notes. Among them, one word stood out, leaping off of Mr. Reptiel’s profile: rowdy. As if Commodore Slate’s job wasn’t difficult enough, now he was to deal with a rowdy character.

“While Flynn Reptiel is showing great resilience and is learning quickly, he is forcing me to focus more attention upon him than that of which I am capable of giving. While these actions have not fully manifested, he has displayed signs of being rowdy and uncontrollable. One thing is certain, Mr. Reptiel is certainly not keen on taking orders and becoming a dog of CP9 as I would have liked.”

Director Slate was fully aware of this Director’s ambitions, in fact, it was these ambitions that ultimately led to his failure and removal. Still, this fact was unavoidable; Flynn didn’t seem the type to take orders so casually. Hell, he wasn’t even a Marine to begin with. How the hell did he get inside CP9’s ranks to begin with? Damn, Slate had really inherited one crappy mess, and he’d have to dig his way out one way or another.

“Fetch Mr. Reptiel.

Though obedient, the twin sister’s Fae and Mae seemed to always be watching this new Director. They had not taken a liking to him as much as they had to their previous commanding officer. Yet, though their eyes were harder than steel, darker than a moonless light, they heeded his words and command. After all, who would so easily argue with a Commodore of the Marines who held an exceptional knowledge and insight of Rokushiki, especially one who stood near seven feet high? And yet, their piercing eyes disturbed him, almost as if they were probing him, waiting for him to fail like so many else had.

What a mess.

[Armani]

"SHIGAN! Damn!"

"SHIGAN! Damn!"

"SHIGAN! Dammit."

"SHIGAN! Daaaaamn it.....!"

"SHIGAN! DAMMIT ALL!!!"

The raucous shouts coming from a nearby dojo had become a frequent thing in the week past. The bamboo and wooden structure did little to dull the spacious inside as the sound bounced around like there were multiple Flynn Reptiels shouting their frustration throughout the room. Outside the dojo, the Ninja village of Crysiland Island, though subjugated to the vocal annoyance of the CP9 Agent-in-Training, moved about like there was nothing out of the ordinary; as if this sort of frustration was a typical thing for those trying to learn on of the more deadly of the Rokushiki techniques.

It had been a week since Flynn had come back from his month long excursion in the jungles of Crysiland, training under one of the several masters of Rokushiki, the Six Styles, that made up one of the Marines core martial abilities. The experience had been as eye opening as it was arduous, and seemingly worthwhile, whilst as the same time, completely useless. He had been given a month of nothing but survival and training, learning valuable lessons on the human body and its ability to push beyond it seemingly limited abilities. He was growing faster, stronger and more accurate and reigning in his wild free-form style, but all of that was beginning to pale in the fact that he couldn't pull off a proper "Shigan".

There were piles of straw lying around the edges of the dojo as Flynn stepped in front of another dummy made of the same material and pointed his pointer finger at it. His handsome teal blue eyes tried to burn a hole into the spot where a person's heart would be located.

"SHIGAN!"

He thrust forward with his finger, extending his reach so that he would create a bullet-like wound in its proverbial chest, but like every other instance, the straw dummy burst into pieces and fluttered to the floor. As gravity pulled down on the straw, its fall was followed by a hateful glare dedicated to the fact that he had failed once again. Sure, it was pretty cool to see a straw man explode and if he every ran into any, he'd be a mighty force to be reckoned with, but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't produce the desired results.

"DAMMIT!"

Enraged he spun about to walk away from the wretched memento to his failure, but rather than finding an empty dojo just to himself, he found himself staring into the beautiful and tantalizing eyes of Mae and Fae. He had to admit that their beauty was only imaginary to him, because up to this point, he hadn't seen their faces below their eyes as they kept their faces covered in black. But if their perfect figure and gorgeous eyes were any means to judge by, these girls could quite possibly be literal knock-outs! And that was saying something, coming from someone as handsome as he was.

Speaking of handsome, Flynn flashed them a smirk as he prepared to speak up, changing his upset demeanor on a dime in front of the devastatingly stunning (and even more deadly) femme fatales.

"Hello ladies." He spoke up with rise in his brow. "Here to check up on me?"

A silence followed that seemed to show that even unwanted noise was scared to be in these two's presence.

"You know? One of these days, I'm going to get you to speak to me." Flynn, though knowing full well that the women on the island didn't take flirting very well, moved in closer with a bit of charm in his walk and his tongue. "And when that day comes, its not going to be too long before I have both of you, in my arms, going on a date with me." There was a fiery challenge in his eyes, and even though he was well aware of the fact that he was going to be turned down, and possible beat down, by the two today; he was going to win them over eventually. "And believe me, we are going to have a wonderful time."

There was a silence that followed, that didn't seem to surprise the former Marine Ensign in the slightest and as he let it drag on for a bit, looking from Mae to Fae, then back to Mae...and then Fae again. Finally, when the silence was too loud to bear, he spoke up again.

"So ladies, I'm sure you're not here to listen to me talk about how ravishingly attractive you two are-"

A fist to his face was what little he saw coming before the world went black...

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When Flynn awoke a couple minutes later, he found himself lying on the wooden floor of the same dojo with a blood dripping from his lip and a note attached to his shirt. He plucked it from his shirt and found that a vengeful act of pinning it to his actual skin had been performed, making his rash act of just pulling an similarly painful one as well, making his growl at the air for a moment.

Go to the Director's tent.

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The tiny and not very informative note was unpinned thrown to the ground as the Agent twisted and pushed himself up, letting the tiny cut on his lip begin to close unnaturally fast.

The Director's tent...Flynn wasn't sure what it would be about, but since he had returned from his secluded time in the jungle, he had not heard a word from the Director, and to be honest, hadn't tried to be noticed. Past experiences with the man, only known as "The Director" had been undesirable, at best. After all, the man had tried to turn Flynn into his own personal lap dog and it was only by Flynn's own silver tongue that he had managed to barely get out of making that decision. It was unfortunate that he had to see that man again, but who else would send Fae or Mae out to do his bidding...Fae and Mae...god they had to be beautiful under those masks...

As his imagination perked up at the thought of just how much beauty lied underneath their Ninja garments, he found himself walking towards the Director's tent absentmindedly. Those thoughts carried him most of the way before finally coming back into his own head mere feet from the entrance. Straightening his uniform, a habit from his days in the Marines, and general life philosophy of looking one's best wherever one was, he took his first steps into the well lit tent, ducking under the flap.

"Hmmm?

Flynn was caught off guard by someone that wasn't "the Director" sitting in the man's seat. Though he was a stranger to him, there was no denying the signs of a Marine Commodore and the Zoan Devil Fruit user was quick to straighten his lacks stance and salute in proper fashion!

"Flynn Reptiel, sir! Reporting to the Director's tent, as requested sir!"[/size]

[Lord Bromosalino]

"Flynn Reptiel, sir! Reporting to the Director's tent, as requested sir!"

“You are also late, Mr. Reptiel. Sit.” Flick. Thud.

A long drag on the cigarette, and the silver lighter was closed and set, or rather dropped, onto the large wooden desk. Director Slate was certainly not in a good mood this particular morning, evident by the many ashes from the many consumed cigarettes that littered the ground near his chair. For whatever reason, Flynn Reptiel was late and the twin sisters Mae and Fae were in… well a mood that was less than pleasant. They were steaming when they had returned from delivering their message, and now that Flynn had entered, they stood from their place and moved towards the Director, taking their new place behind him.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Methodically, annoyingly, and harsh came the multiple finger taps upon the mahogany desk. Each tap expressed the gigantic man’s annoyance that this man kept him waiting. Oh, the cut lip, absence, and the two sister’s extreme anger were all sure signs to what had taken place; and yet, Director Slate would show no lenience. In all of the previous Director’s notes, the caution and warning came time and time again: do not stare, touch, woo, or even talk (in excess) to the females on the island. It would seem, then, that this rowdy agent had decided to take that advice and throw all caution and reason to the wind.

Pushing back the heavy chair, both man and chair seemed to sigh as if a load had been taken off. The colossal, roughened hands retrieved a file. Beginning to pace the length of the unusually large tent, only pausing every few steps to take another drag on the cigarette. One day I’ll have to really quit smoking,[/i] he decided. But in the events of the last month or so, it would seem that his body would need this small relief if he was to keep his sanity and, ironically, his health as long as he held this position. Turning round, his mouth opened in surprise, and consequently dropping his half-finished cigarette onto the floor, at the sight of Mae and Fae both sprawled over the immensely large chair. But a sigh was all that came from the weary man. He had spent much of the last two weeks reading and rewriting highly detailed, and very annoying, reports of the ins and outs of the island and its inhabitants. The Marine Headquarters and its high ranking officials, apparently, did not want another mishap to take place. They were adamant on a single fact: that Director Slate produced nine proper and fully trained CP9 agents. Unfortunately, such a task could not be accomplished within such a short time frame, at least not as quickly as his officials would like. None of them, clearly, had any training in the Rokushiki arts, at least not as the Director had. This day, as it would seem, was just a complete mess. And to make matters worse, it was now starting to rain.

After a few moments of silence and of pacing, and a newly lit cigarette in his mouth, Director Slate stood quite close to his agent, looking him face to face, the giant man towered over the average looking man in a rather imposing manner. Hands in pocket, the former Marine Commodore bent at the waist, stooping low to truly look Flynn in the face, the burning stick only inches from the agent’s face.

“Tell me about this Hachu Hachu no Mi, Mr. Reptiel. And, more importantly, why, after a month, you cannot produce a proper Shigan.”



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[Armani]

Flynn had made it into the tent right as small drops of water began to pelt the exterior of the Director's accommodations. A bit of luck he was grateful for, though he was sure that his meeting with the Commodore wouldn't last long enough to avoid going out back into it. Oh well, a little bit of getting wet wasn't that big of a deal... unless, of course, he was submerged in sea water. Then it could be a problem. But that was beside the point, as of right now, the former marine/agent-in-training was face to face with a completely new opposing man. As the tall S.O.B. leaned forward to give Flynn a good look at the red embers of his cigarette, the handsome man stood his ground and gave the Commodore a steeled look back, as his eyes searched for any sort of sign of weakness in his superior, but any solid eye contact he gave, the man seemed to be a bit more unforgiving than that of the Director he had known.

"Tell me about this Hachuu Hachuu no Mi, Mr. Reptiel. And, more importantly, why, after a month, you cannot produce a proper Shigan."

Now typically, Flynn was always happy to talk about himself to others. When the opportunity presented itself, there was little in the way of stopping him from giving the ears present a proper workout in their ability to listen. It came easy for him, but when the Commodore had present his forced inquiry to the Chameleon Devil Fruit eater, it seemed more or less appropriate to perhaps have a sense of military structure in the way he spoke and keep the information in brevity, rather than go off.

Well Sir," His military training proving itself well in terms of him addressing his superiors with the apt amount of respect ther were entitled to, though a small morsel of his arrogance did manage to corrupt his way of speaking, if only a little bit, "In regards to the Devil Fruit, the Hachuu Hachuu no Mi allows me a myriad of abilities appropriate to the Cipher Pol franchise. Its a Zoan class Devil Fruit and putting enhanced strength and speed that are naturally granted to that class, I can perform abilities like that of a Chameleon." Flynn had made it no secret that he was proud of his particular gift and abilities and that, despite it being widely considered as part of the weakest class of fruits, he believed it was in the upper echelon. And that pride always came out when he started talking about it. "Camouflage, elastic tongue and enhanced regenerative abilities are just a few of my better qualities, Sir." He finished with a slight sideways smile, though it quickly turned serious again. "Unfortunately, I don't answer to you in regards to my advancement in Rokushiki, Sir. I answer to the Director."

Though this was a Commodore in the Marines, Flynn was out of that system now and the man bending in front of him with the burning stick in his mouth was not the authority he was instructed to respond to. He was responsible to the Director and he didn't feel like talking about his failures to someone who didn't need to know about it.

...Though it was odd that Fae and Mae were here rather than around their master.