Disclaimer/Author's note: This is just your usual disclaimer—blah, blah, I don't own any of the original names or places, but the other characters that don't belong to Squaresoft are the byproduct of my own psychotic brain and thus belong to me. And, as a side note, this story takes place pre-Ultemicia, when Edea is still possessed. I will do my very best to keep everyone in character, but it has been a donkeys year since I have last played Final Fantasy VIII, and thus my perception of their personalities may be a tidbit skewed—I'll try my best. Bon Appetit.

Squall was deeply immersed in his paperwork (which, as we all know, is by far Squall's favorite pastime) when the door to his office burst open. As commander of Balamb Garden, Squall was not a stranger to sudden intrusions, but he had failed to acclimated himself properly to their startling nature. In a characteristically Squall-esque move, the lanky 17 year old bowed his head in irritation, let his shoulders droop visibly and, per usual, remained silent. The violent attacker of the door entered with no invitation and completely disregarded Squall's seething demeanor.

Before him loomed a high-ranking mercenary, possessing unmatched talent both on the battlefield and off (as well as in the bedroom, as this particularly twisted young SeeD would often comment to any who would listen.) While always appearing sober during missions and training, sobriety was not a state of mind that this mercenary subscribed to regularly. It was fairly obvious to Squall that he had indulged in a little morning cocktail before barging through the door and into Squall's office.

Attempting to disguise (or at the very least to lessen the appearance of) his drunken state, the soldier stood patiently before Squall, shifting his weight from foot to foot in accordance with his wavering balance.

"Do you have a message for me?" asked Squall. The soldier grinned and kept his bloodshot eyes from making contact with Squall's own well-rested ones. He offered no answer to Squall's inquiry. "Adrian, give me my message."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Don't talk like a pirate, Avalon."

"Sorry, sir, but it's in my nature, what with beins a pirate and all."

"The message?"

"Aye, aye, sir! Cid direly craves your presence in front of the directory ASAP. It's an emergency."

"I can meet him right now."

Adrian consulted his watch.

"No you can't."

"Yes, I can." Corrected Squall.

"No, you can't." Adrian answered him, putting extra force into his words.

"Why not?"

"Cid's having a spot of tea at present, but he'll be ready long about 2:30."

"It takes him 45 minutes to drink tea?"

"Well, I haven't been enlightened in regards to his affairs, but I suspect he's doing a bit more than just drinking tea, if you know what I mean."

"Don't be disgusting."

"I only meant I expected he'd make himself some pasties, what with him beins so poncey and all." Said Adrian, feigning innocence. Squall allowed his signature few minutes of silence to lapse between the pair before responding.

"Why are you running his errands? Can't he just call me?"

"No. Tis my punishment for accidentally exploding his telephone."

"…You what?"

"I only meant to tap it. As I later discovered, tapping a phone line requires little to no explosives."

"Leave. I don't know what you'll manage to break, but I'm sure it will be bad. And sober up, I think Cid is going to ask us to go on SeeD business today."

Adrian attempted a salute (which only resulted in him knocking his own Irish tam commonly known as a newspaper boy hat, as seen frequently in 20s American and European culture off his head) and turned on heel and exited. Once safely in the corridor, Adrian extracted from within the breast pocket of his coat a gleaming fifth of whiskey and took from it a rather liberal swig.

Cid stood before the directory and paced impatiently, to and fro and back again. He wrung his hands in frustration and consulted his pocket watch. It was not like Squall to be late. At his side was Adrian, sitting on the ground with his back against the directory and sneaking in another sip of whiskey. It had been his punishment to accompany Cid on all of his errands for the next month and act, in essence, as his bitch. He was to schedule appointments, take notes, fetch things, run messages and do other such secretarial jobs until his punitive slavery ended. It was the common opinion that by and large, Cid got the worse end of the deal. Not only was Adrian a less than adequate secretary, he was also a smart-ass drunk. While drastically exceeding average intelligence and appearance, he was quite the pain in the ass unless you knew how to put up with him. His long-standing girlfriend of several years and incidentally childhood friend was one of the few people who could haul in the reins on his behavior. However; she more often than not joined him in his childish antics, and even more commonly still was his cohort, his brilliant accomplice and genius mastermind. Separately, they were mischievous and at times boisterous–together, they were impossible. And yet somehow, they were respected beyond all others, and equally feared by the administration.

"You're sure Squall got your message?" Cid asked. Adrian nodded in the affirmative and took out a lighter. He lit it and let the flame glow for sometime before shutting the top. Flipping it open, he lit it once more, only to close it again.

Just as Adrian lit the lighter once again, Squall descended from the staircase, his boots tap-tapping across the floor and catching Cid's attention.

"Where the hell have you been? We agreed on 2:00!" said Cid, his voice straining with anger. Squall looked taken aback.

"Sir, the message I received was that we were to meet in front of the directory at 2:30. If my watch is correct (and no doubt it was correct, as Squall took to the habit of correlating his watches to match exactly that of NPR's time), it is now 2:29 and 28 seconds."

Cid rounded on Adrian like an angry mother bear.

"What is wrong with you!" he bellowed. The passing students all turned to look at the origin of such profuse anger. Realizing it was only Cid yelling at Adrian again, they continued on their way. "Did I not specifically say 'Tell Squall to meet me at the directory at 2:00!' Didn't I!" It was not a question. "Why did you tell him 2:30!" That, however, was.

"Because—"

"Don't tell me it's because you're schizophrenic again! That excuse only works so many times, Avalon!"

"Well, I am schizophrenic." Said Adrian in a less than hurt tone of voice. "I was going to say because that is the message you gave me to give Squall."

"It is not!" said Cid, outraged.

"Oh, but it is." Adrian retrieved from within that very same breast pocket a crumpled piece of paper. "Hang on! The words are gone! They must have fallen off! Oh, no, it's okay; they're on the other side. Here, see for yourself!"

Avalon,

Pass the following message on to Leonhart: "Directory, 2:30, very important."

Don't screw it up this time.

After examining the paper, Cid handed it back to Adrian in slack-jawed disbelief.

"I…I can't believe it. You're actually right. I did say 2:30! I'm the one who…who…"

"Fucked up?" offered Adrian.

"No! I…er…my calculator must have miscalculated! I know I specifically calculated 7 minutes for my tea and 8 for my rendezvous with Kad—er…shut up!" finished Cid childishly. "What's important is that Squall is here now."

"Yes, sir!" barked Squall, immediately snapping to attention.

Siphoning it out from the midst of many other objects held within a canvas bag at his side, Adrian withdrew a map and compass and handed it to Cid. Cid jabbed at the map with the incredibly sharp compass and dictated his thoughts to Squall.

"You'd better be writing this down, Avalon!" threatened Cid.

Adrian, who had in fact been writing a note to his girlfriend, Brogan, begging for freedom from Cid sighed in resignation and turned the page to begin taking notes.

"I want you and two squads, consisting of three members each, to beach on the eastern shore of Dollet. There is a parade going on, and Edea is in it. The Squads will consist of Squad A: Leonhart, Kinneas and Tilmitt, and Squad B: Avalon, York and Dincht. Take the back streets to this tower here. One of Rinoa's people will give you the code. Take the stairs up to the top of the tower, and there you will find a gun. Give it to Kinneas—he is to assassinate the Sorceress Edea. While Squad A does that, Squad B will wait in the crowd. Should anything go wrong, I want the six of you to fight Edea. You must assassinate her. You must. Be in town at the docks at 1500 hours." Turning to Adrian, Cid looked at him sternly. "Don't screw up, Avalon. I know you can fight. You're one of our best. This is exceedingly important. No clowning around."

"You got it."

"Do you have enough Haldol with you, just incase…?"

"Incase I go schizo and hallucinate? Yup!"

"And…?"

"Xanax, too!"

"Don't you think you ought to try something other than Haldol? To eliminate the…unfortunate side effects."

"Nah. Uncontrollable body movements have become as much a part of me as my own two feet—which sometimes, I can't control!"

Despite the mocking attempt at humor, Cid did not laugh. Although Adrian could be a handful to deal with, Cid had grown fond of him. Having known him since age six, they had a strong love-hate relationship; though pretending to put extra emphasis on the hate, Cid harbored a secret (very secret) and strong love for the young soldier. Never having had any children himself, Cid looked upon certain students as his own offspring—mainly those from the orphanage who were just as sans-parent as he was sans-child. Feeling nothing but sympathy for Adrian's unfortunate schizophrenia, Cid often researched new treatments for it. Haldol had the terrible side effect of uncontrollable body movements, meaning not only did Adrian have schizophrenia, but many assumed he had Tourettes Syndrome as well. Being stubborn like he was, Adrian wouldn't listen to Cid or Dr. Kadawoki's advice when they suggested trying other medications. Though not positive, Cid suspected he refused just to spite them.

Fifteen hundred hours found the six of them assembled on the docks of Balamb town: Squall Leonhart, Irvine Kinneas and Selphie Tilmitt making Squad A, as Adrian Avalon, Brogan York and Zell Dincht made Squad B. Cramming themselves into one tiny boat, they were ferried across to Dollet. Uncomfortably cramped, they sat in near silence as they made the journey. Banking on the eastern shore as per instructions, they exited the craft, which was left on standby until further notice. The group divided half a mile into town; Squad A made a right at Union Street and found the tower. Rinoa herself was waiting for them to deliver the access code. Once her job was done, she scurried to catch up with Squad B, who had made a left at the intersection.

Squall had always enjoyed the adrenaline rush that SeeD missions always provided. His fingers and hands were tingling and cold, but his face was flush with nerves and excitement. Together the Squad climbed the stairs, Squall's legs less sturdy than usual. Upon reaching the top, Irvine found the gun stashed beneath the overhang of an old carrousel. The empty eyes of the horses were piercing and ominous, and Squall found himself less than comfortable when the whole contraption swiveled on its rusted joints and let out a piercing squeak. Resting his face in his leather gloved hand, he braced himself for what would come next.

"…Irvine? Are you…ready?" Squall managed to keep his voice from trembling in anticipation and anxiety as he spoke, but there was no masking the underlying tone of fear. Irvine did not answer, but merely nodded—once, and only once. He loaded the gun, pulled back the hammer and rested its barrel on the edge of the stonewall which ran the length of the balcony on which they stood. It seemed as though he were about to pull the trigger; but there was no noise. Irvine hadn't done it. He was shaking, and his breath seemed to come out jagged.

"Irvine?" Selphie was at his side. Irvine shook his head once more, readjusting his hat.

"If I make this shot, I'll be famous. I'll be written about in history books. This one bullet; it will change so much. Squall…" Irvine looked pleadingly at Balamb's commander. "I can't."

"You have to," Squall said in his brusque manner. This was no time for emotions, as far as Squall was concerned. He had mastered his, not it was time for Irvine to do the same.

He pulled the trigger.