Part One.
Color was lethal.
From the moment he'd arrived in the small, downtrodden district of Illusory, New York, Roxas had noticed obvious: To be caught in the wrong color was deadly.
The streets with littered with discarded trash-- everything from empty candy wrappers to used heroine syringes dotted the curbs, lined the drains, and got caught on shoes. Illusory was the lowest of the low. Roxas, who'd formerly lived in a moderately wealthy suburban area, was disgusted with the state of the city he'd been forced to move to. Outweighing his disgust, however, was his fear for his own safety. He had no idea what colors were neutral and could keep him safe. There was great possibility that, any given morning; he could be randomly killed simply for wearing too bright a shade of blue or the wrong sort of gray. To his dismay, there were no prewritten guidebooks on what color was appropriate for a new citizen of Illusory to wear. He'd have to learn the hard way.
The reason for Illusory's sensitivity to color was because of the vast amount of gangs present in the area--Illusory was Number One in the nation for gang activity. Every gang had it's own distinctive color, which was to be worn by its members at all times. Any person found wearing a gang's color without membership was liable to be shot at any time. For a new resident, like Roxas, this concept seemed less than fair.
Roxas sat at the window of his bedroom, watching rain pelt the glass surface. His first day at a new school began tomorrow, and the idea of it made him nauseous. So much would be different, so much would be missing...
Especially Namine.
His mind drifted absently to that final conversation, four weeks ago, as they'd said their goodbyes:
"What do you mean goodbye?" Namine had asked, her voice brimming with hurt.
"You heard me, Nami. It's better this way," Roxas had replied, his voice emotionless.
"I can visit you, Roxas! We can make this work. I know we can." Her beauty, her gentle voice, had been almost too much for him to bear. He had almost caved, right there.
"No. We're moving to Illusory, Namine. I wouldn't want you in that place for more than five minutes."
"Roxas, please reconsider," Namine had begged, her soft voice making the plea even more heartbreaking."I love you!" Roxas cringed at her use of the 'L word'. Though she didn't know it, this final display of deep affection is what sealed Roxas' decision in his heart. He had to leave her-- both physically and emotionally.
"I'm sorry, Namine," he'd said."Goodbye."
And then he'd left with his family for a new life in Illusory, leaving a distraught Namine behind to try and line the pieces up. He hadn't looked back or regretted the decision to break up with her at all. At least, not until now. But now, as he watched the rain fall against his window pane, outlined by a seemingly omnipresent gray sky, facing an impending new school year and an ending summer, he felt a pang of loneliness for the girl he'd left behind. Life would be so different without his 'Nami' around, despite his receding romantic feelings for her. School would be so empty without her blue eyes and golden hair to brighten it.
Trying to pull his attentions from his dismal thoughts of the past, Roxas focused his attention on his closet. It'd be quite a chore to pick out an outfit for school.
Why didn't the administration just require uniforms? It'd spare so much anxiety.
After much consideration, Roxas determined that the two most impractical and therefore unlikely colors for a gang would be black (it attracted the sun and would be too hot) and white (it stained easily and would have a bad impression on other gangs. it also represents innocence, which would be frowned upon in gang society for obvious reasons). After realizing Roxas owned no entirely white outfit, he settled for an all black one-- a tight black muscle shirt and a pair of baggy black cargo shorts.
Without a better alternative, Roxas resorted to trying on the outfit to see how he looked in it, feeling slightly embarrassed as trying on outfits wasn't exactly masculine.
He examined his reflection in the mirror. Instead of looking over his outfit, though, Roxas' attention was directed to his face. He was surprised at how lifeless his eyes looked, caught off guard by the depth of the dark circles under them. Surely the three remaining weeks of his summer vacation spent in Illusory couldn't have zapped that much from him, could they? He sighed, scanning the rest of the mirror. After a moment's debating he decided he liked the way the outfit looked on him, and changed back into the clothes he'd been wearing previously so as to keep the outfit free of wear for the following day.
"Roxas," called his mother's voice from another room."Can you go to the store for me? We're out of milk."
Roxas bit his lip. Didn't she realize how dangerous it was to even leave the house? While in Illusory, Roxas preferred to stay indoors whenever possible. He had hoped to postpone the stress over color until, at least, school the following day. Going to the store could complicate his plans.
"I have to study, Mom," Roxas rushed to excuse himself from the chore, "I really have to know this."
"Nice try, Roxas, but school doesn't start until tomorrow."
Roxas bit his lip again, annoyed at himself for not thinking through his excuse. Without further argument, Roxas grabbed his jacket, and mentally scanned what he was wearing: denim shorts, a white wifebeater, a black jacket. The colors seemed neutral enough. He walked through the front door of the apartment onto the dark, inhospitable city street and headed in the direction of the nearest convenience store.
He turned the corner at the end of the block-- and stopped. A newly opened cafe had caught his eye. The tempting coffee smells beckoned him from within. He took a second to backtrack to the last time he'd done anything for the sheer recreation of it, and realized he hadn't done anything of the sort since he'd moved to Illusory. After another moment's consideration, he walked inside. He justified his actions in that he assumed no gang members could find any comfort in a beatnik cafe.
The place was nearly empty. A thin, petite girl with short, spiky hair and a bored expression stood behind the register. A bald, college-age man with thick-rimmed glasses and a red striped tie sat at a table reading a small book and sipping something from a cup. In the back, two boys of Roxas' age sat in a
corner table. One had spiky, scarlet hair, while the other was blonde and sipping what appeared to be tea. Both were wearing matching black hoodies. The red-haired one eyed Roxas with aggravation as he walked in, but Roxas chose to overlook it.
Roxas walked up to the cashier, a sincere smile forming at the edges of his lips for the first time in a long time.
"Slow day?" he asked, leaning slightly onto the counter. The girl smiled softly in reply, nodding her head.
"We just opened, so you'd figure there'd be more people," she said in a quiet voice, "But nooo, we're practically empty all day." She looked Roxas over with soft eyes-- and stopped short when she noted his torso. Her tone changed abruptly, becoming more formal and to-the-point.
"Is there something I can help you with?" she asked curtly, cutting their small talk short. Roxas' smile evaporated.
"Sure. I guess I'll just take a latte," Roxas said, still a bit unsettled by the girl's sudden personality switch.
"You can have a seat. I'll be with you in a minute," she said, and turned her back from him. Conversation closed.
Roxas took a seat in the back, sighing to himself. Why does everything I do end up like this? he wondered silently. The redhead was still eyeing Roxas curiously, making him uncomfortable.
"You're such a wuss, Demyx," the redhead muttered to the blonde.
"The boss isn't here, so why should we care?" Demyx replied in a slightly whiny voice.
"It's not about the boss. It's about our sense of dignity. If we let one start, everyone thinks they can."
"He probably doesn't know any better."
"Then we ought to teach him a lesson."
"I'd rather not."
"Wuss."
The spiky-haired waitress arrived at Roxas' table holding his order. He handed her payment and noted silently her pointed aversion of looking at the other table, where the two boys sat. Curiosity, as well as dread, began to build in him.
The red haired boy glared at Demyx in disgust."You're going to make me do this alone?"
"I haven't finished my tea," Demyx whined.
"You're blowing off our honor for tea?!"
"You know I'm not good at this."
"Forget it. I'll take care of this myself." With that closing statement, the redhead stood and strode over to where Roxas sat, glumly sipping his latte.
Roxas looked everywhere but in the boy's direction.
"Hey. Hotshot," the boy sneered.
Roxas glanced up, unable to avoid the imminent now.
"Are you talking to me?" Roxas replied, careful to make his voice stoic and unprevoking.
"I don't see anyone else wearing our color," he hissed, and Roxas swallowed hard, awash with new dread. So it had finally happened. He shot a quit glance at his black jacket. Of course. The boys' identical hoodies had been no mere coincidence.
"I'm new here," Roxas began slowly, struggling to control his panic, "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to..."
With one swift movement, the redhead pulled Roxas from his seat and had him by the collar, his feet dangling just above the ground.
"I'm no 'sir'," he growled, "The name's Axel. A-x-e-l. Got it memorized?"