Author's Note: oh how the day's pass. I was really bored one day and in the midst of my boredom, this one shot was born! i hope you like it!
Standard Disclaimer: sorry kids, Roxas belongs to D*sney and Square
No. XIII
Waiting under the flickering light, I checked my Rolex watch. It was quarter to one, Belgium time. I paced. My contact was half an hour late. I was very incredulous as to whether he would actually show. Just then, the wisps of clouds retreated from over the slender moon, shedding a silver light on the old streets. Coming forth from the shadows across the cobbled road was a tall, muscular man. As he approached me, the dim light of the lamp post revealing ancient scars that were carved deep into his bold face. He stared at the briefcase at my side, slowly reaching for it. My arm recoiled.
"First, I want to see the documents. Voir les documents, s'il vous plait monsieur!" I announced in as courageous a voice as I could muster. Beneath that voice, however, was a scared soul, aware that I was completely alone with this dense man. To my surprise though, he relaxed a bit, giving me a complacent grin. The man gave me a deep laugh.
"Tu as très timid pour un agent dans le Organisation. And by the way, I do speak English."
He drew a hand into his long, thick, black trench coat and very conscientiously withdrew a manila folder. Unfortunately for himself, he was not conscientious enough. I spied a black pistol in a shoulder holster. I accepted the document and flipped through it quickly. Satisfied, I feigned reaching for a handkerchief in my inner pocket. Swiftly, I drew my revolver. The strong man's face went suddenly white. I backed away slowly from the man, taking the briefcase and folder with me. Just then I bumped into another, rather solid, gentleman. Turning around, an armed accomplice seized my gun.
I found myself cornered, as I examined my opponents. Realizing my predicament, I handed over the briefcase and folder. As the first man reached to the ground to grab the case, his coat swung open. Quickly, I grabbed the gun from the exposed torso. I turned around, hitting the second man before he could balance his gun. The first man tried to wrestle the pistol from my grasp, but a bullet grazed his palm before he could do so. The man now blood drenched took hold of the briefcase and sprinted back into the darkness. I tried, in vain, to aim the pistol. The man, wearing the trench coat, seemed to have escaped. Just then, I produced a cell phone from my own pocket. Twice I hit the send button. The case lined with explosives brightened up the night sky.
The next morning, the remains were found by the policé. The ground cratered by the blast was still smoldering. As I sipped my coffee in a café no more then two blocks away, I could see the reporters shove their way to the crime scene. The police officer, wearing the detective's badge, was obviously in charge. He tried utilizing his baton to control the media. It would be a mystery no one would ever know about; no one except for me and the Organization.