First Chapter: Escape Artists Never Die:
A man shuffled out through the door of the infamous casino, pockets considerably emptier than when he had gone in, consoling himself with a strange concoction that could be described equally as alcohol or toxic. He was a stark contrast to the sounds of the high life from within its doors.
Inside, Hollow Bastion bustled and buzzed with the falling of night, music and laughter spilling out of its wide windows and onto the veranda, overwhelming the chirping of the crickets that hung in the warm air. The clanging klaxons that signaled a win were accompanied by a round of applause and the slamming of glasses onto the casino bar as the bartender prepared for victory rounds. Beautiful women meandered through a maze of craps tables to escort a poker buff to a table where he could take on the legendary Luxord, the casino's version of James Bond. Going up against his smooth talking and fast flicking fingers almost counted as a rite of passage here, and indeed this young man's friends were lined against a nearby wall, watching the game like punters at a derby.
Behind the bar, Vexen and Axel kept up a steady rhythm serving incredibly expensive, elaborate drinks to customers. Vexen's concotions were famous and people came from miles around to try his cocktails. They paid for a performance too, Axel being just as well known for his broad smile and his flair with dangerous tricks. The knowledge that Vexen had in fact started out mixing poisons amused the proprietor no end, although he rather conspicuously avoided the man's mixtures himself.
In short, business was good, a fact that widened Xemnas' smile and propelled his slow swagger through the throng of customers. Standing here, at the hub of his empire, he could feel emotion saturate the air around him, giving him a better high than any of the drugs he could peddle to the throngs of thrill-seekers and sin-lovers. He lowered his eyes to his drink and enjoyed the feeling of being the absolute best.
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Roxas' head thumped, eyes aching and mouth dry. His heart was pumping hard enough to crack his ribs, the blood rush almost completely drowning out the music from the club below. It almost covered up the thump as Zexion hit the floor, eyes closing as he fell sideways from his computer-chair. Roxas paused, adrenaline forcing bile into the back of his throat as he scoured the security screens for any signs that his actions had been noted. Momentarily relieved, he steadied his hands and slipped into the vacated chair before throwing himself into a world of a hidden numbers.
This was what he'd been hired for, by the silver haired mobster he was about to betray. This was what he was good at, slipping through international banking systems like a minnow through weeds. He was at the top of his class when he graduated, already making a name for himself as a security analyst when he was approached by Xemnas. Roxas knew who he was of course, everyone did, even if they couldn't explain what it was they knew. What they did know was that he was one of the richest men in the world, fingers in a hundred pies. What Roxas knew was the kind of thing that you would only find in the private speculations of the police department, which just so happened to be where he'd gleaned it from. His skills as a hacker hadn't gone unnoticed and Xemnas had made it quite clear that if he wanted them to stay unnoticed, Roxas would be wise to make it worth Xemnas' while.
And so that was what he did, and how he came to be sitting here, with the wealth of a criminal empire at his fingertips.
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Xemnas murmured to a guest simpering on his arm as he led her out onto the dais, throwing back his arm to indicate the wealth of his estate; the country house in Midgar, the deluxe suites in Yen Sid Tower, everything just beyond the carpark and manicured gardens that hosted his famous parties in the middle of warm Traverse summers. Not five feet away, a shadow ducked slightly, like a bush in the breeze and that's what he took it for. You would think a mobster could tell the snap of a gun's safety from the crack of a branch, but he moved on in ignorance, much to the shadow's relief. With the twitch of his fingers, a stealth team moved closer, fanning out to cover the exits. They waited for a signal carried on a turning breeze.
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Calmer now, Roxas zipped through the security, firmly in his comfort zone. He paused only once, to savour the rush of elation as he bypassed the last hurdle, the last password punched in. Hard part done, he settled into an easy rhythm, commencing the transfer of thousands, no, millions of munny into a hundred, maybe a thousand different accounts in a hundred different countries, all owned by his new employer. As every transfer finished, he covered his tracks again, removing any trace of the movement of money and eradicating any evidence that could lead back to this room, this date, this man. The whole month had been spent surreptitiously erasing any mention of him and his employer from the records, public and private. Uncomfortable with the digital system, Zexion hadn't even noticed, placing his faith in his coded ledgers. With only Roxas' word to go on, fooling Zexion was almost too easy.
Zexion groaned at his feet, and it was with a pang of regret that Roxas hit him again. He stepped around his former colleague and rolled back the carpet to get the cash box. For Xemnas, petty cash came in sums of thousands, which he stuffed into a nondescript bag at his side. Fortunately for Roxas the notes should be harder to trace. His mouth tightened at the thought. The whole plan rests on too many shoulds and what ifs and tiny split second decisions. He was fully aware that he could be dead before the night is over, killed by Xemnas, by the police, by his employers. He was more than aware that it was far more profitable for his employer to kill him the instant he came to collect his wage, hence this hurried theft now. Still, the benefits... He knew from the moment he'd walked into Hollow Bastion six months ago that he had signed his death warrant. The money from this venture could buy him some time. Or it could buy him a sunny vacation in Atlantis before Xemnas could catch up with him and reward him for the betrayal. He would have to weigh up the options once he'd got out and away.
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A red-haired waitress leaned over the bar, chatting to Vexen as she idly drew patterns in the salt spilled across the marble top.
"If you leave early we'll be too short-staffed, what with Naminé calling sick upstairs and Roxas busy." He shook his head at her. Her eyes widened and she leaned forward again, jiggling on the balls of her feet.
"Naminé is sick?"
"Nausea and cramps or something. 'Girl troubles'." Vexen snorted in disbelief. "Probably knocked up." He turned his eyes accusingly on Axel who backed away laughing.
"Not me! Try Zexion, I hear he's quite the charmer if you can ever drag him downstairs."
"Could be Roxas? Where is he anyway, I thought he helped you guys out at weekends?"
She jumped back as Axel slammed a glass down moodily. "Busy tonight."
She shrugged and attempted to lighten the atmosphere, hurt by the bartender's snapping.
"Maybe it's Luxord." The waitress giggled. "That accent... Anyway, could I at least take my break early?" She jiggled again, biting her lip. "Come ooon, I'm dying for a smoke."
Vexen glanced at Axel who sighed. "Go on then. It's a little quieter now, I'll probably join you in a minute."
With a cautious smile, she waved and headed out the staff door, leaving Vexen to whine about the flightiness of the waitresses recently. Axel slumped across the bar and watched her go, wishing Roxas was there to amuse him. The cocky little tech usually slipped down through the night to work the bar with Axel, listening in to their customer's conversations and analysing them with Vexen at closing, complete with silly voices and air quoting. Whilst Vexen was a brilliant bartender, as company he was not Axel's first choice. He massaged his temples discreetly and wondered where Roxas was.
Axel was the first to know that tonight wasn't going to end well, tipped off by the man who vaulted into his space, shouldered him firmly into a wall and pinned his arms beneath him. His cigarette dropped to the floor, crushed beneath their feet, barely smoked. Axel decided not to struggle, as if the decision was his at that point. He heard the rattle of handcuffs and allowed the man to drag his wrists around and cuff them to each other.
"What, not going to read me my rights?" He murmured, mouth in the mortar. His forehead collided heavily with the bricks in an unorthodox policing move that meant shut up criminal. For once he took the hint and sighed at the loss of his cigarette as he was bundled from the area. Again, he wondered what on earth Roxas was doing this evening to miss out on this fun. It figured, first proper raid and the kid wasn't even around to keep him company in the cells.
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A flash of movement on the screens brought him leaping to his feet, hands catching at the bag. Biting his lip, he watched Naminé round the corner of their meeting spot, eyes flicking nervously at the security cam. The signal. Another movement caught his eye and he swore as he saw a man tackle Axel in the walled area at the back of the bar. For a moment he wavered, but barely a moment. Seconds counted more than brief friendships here, and they were slipping away from him far too fast. He had accepted the fact that other people might die tonight, as he had accepted the recurring image of him bleeding out on the hideous paisley carpet before he can even get out of the building. A half-second's hovering saw Axel cuffed and cooperative, another half second before he whirled and makes his escape. He doubted anyone who caught him would give him the time to cooperate, especially once they worked out exactly what he'd pulled tonight.
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Naminé hovered by the designated spot, lighting up to hide her shaking fingers and give her an excuse for loitering. She'd known Roxas for years through her best friend, had got him mixed up in this whole stinking affair in the first place. She gnawed on her lip, remembering all that would happen tonight. Roxas would handle an unspecified task upstairs, collect some cash, twiddle some numbers. Then he'd come to her, follow an escape route she wasn't even sure existed and head over to a hidden safe-house of her organising. Around ten, there would be a police raid, in response to an anonymous tip, but he would be long gone by then. Her share of the money would be left in the safe-house and as long as she lay low and denied association, they would both live to enjoy it.
She wished it wasn't true, but she was really doing this for the money and for Roxas. She'd worked for Xemnas for three years, knowing his status in the criminal community and had never once thought of turning him in, or even trying to gain proof of his dealings. Greed greased the wheels of her altruism.
She waved a little as Cid the chef walked past, counting the minutes away on her watch. Five minutes to ten. Five minutes till they were all fucked. She turned as steps echoed down the stairs behind her.
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A bequiffed musician stalked onto the stage and struck an elaborate pose with the guitar slung about his neck. With a smirk and a wink he announced the evening's set. The strings twanged and thrummed into life and strains of Johnny Cash floated into the night air.
"How many?" The Chief of Police continued to sweep the room from afar, gaze slipping from te stage to the bar.
"Red's gone." He indicated the empty bar with a tilt of his head.
His lieutenant muttered orders before replying to the original question.
"All the main players are in place. Haven't seen Zexion yet but that's to be expected. He's got some tech help holed up upstairs, but I doubt they'll be any real problem. Xemnas and his bodyguards are in plain view, they're the ones to really pay attention to."
The Chief nods at the assessment. "Civilians?"
The lieutenant paused, bad news dancing on his tongue.
"Fifty, give or take. Kairi's got some of the girls... and guests... upstairs out of the way."
Sora stiffened, dropping the binoculars from his eyes for a moment.
"That's still too many." He muttered with a grimace.
Riku bit his tongue, stifling the opinion that over half of them were probably guilty of something. The criminally inclined would get what they deserved.
His communicator buzzed. With a glance at his commander he paused and confirmed.
"Squad 3 has apprehended Red. Clean confrontation, cooperation assured."
Sora nodded and frowned at the building once more. Both men were silent, minds racing, plans settling.
Sora shifted with a small smile. "Alright. In we go."
Orders relayed, they began to close in.
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Withdrawing, he hurriedly rearranged Zexion in the chair and dragged it back in front of the door. A precaution. When the SWAT team hit, on first inspection they would hopefully hold themselves responsible for Zexion's state. Maybe Zexion would too. Roxas muttered an apology under his breath before he slipped round the door and began to stride down the corridor. The dead security camera buzzed annoyedly as he passed, sensors noting his passage, but failing to record visual. He covered all the tracks. He hoped. God he hoped.
Downstairs, in a stairwell between the dressing rooms and the kitchens, the red-haired woman breathed instructions into a tiny microphone. For a moment the line was dead and she counted beats in the song as she subconsciously dug nails into the palm clenched around the device. Then a hiss of static through the ear piece and a confirmation. She unlatched the deadbolt on an unused exit and heaved it open to the dark. Within minutes the corridor was flooded with armed men, bundled up in riot gear. She accepted a gun and took the stairs to the dressing rooms, followed silently by her team.
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Just around the corner, mere seconds ahead of the cautiously scouting police team, Naminé grabbed Roxas' arm and dragged him into a supply cupboard. By the flickering light of a dying Zippo they swung open a door to the underside of the stage. Dust dropped down with every thump from the floor above. She whispered a quick good luck as he crawled into the dark space.
He grabbed her wrist. "Wait in the dressing room. Until the police get there. Cooperate with all their demands, they probably won't hold you for long. Lay low for a few days before you get the munny and watch your back."
Her arm shook in his grasp and she looked like she wanted it all to be over already. She took giant breaths just short of sobs as she composed herself. "I will do. Keep safe."
After a final goodbye she let the door swing shut and left him alone in the darkness. Slowly he spread out his hands across the floor, fingers catching on nails, props, dirty sequins as he scrabbled for the only way out of the building that didn't involve handcuffs and black eyes.
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With a shout, the main body of police took the front. As they slammed through the wide glass doors, the stealth team took storm the dais, ordering the patrons to duck and cover. There was almost complete silence for just a moment, as the reality of the situation sank in, as minds processed that this wasn't a nightmare they could wake up from. A waitress screamed, tray and glasses toppling and falling out of her hands. The sudden movement made a patron jump and whirl, caused Xaldin to grab his pistol and then all fucking hell broke loose. Glasses hit the floor, followed quickly by the waitress who crawled back, still screaming, clutching a bloodied shoulder. Lexaeus, the bouncer, grabbed her and hauled her behind the bar where a few of them crouched, flinching as glass and liquor showered down over them.
Roxas almost had a heart attack when he heard the glass breaking. TOO SOON. TOO SOON. His brain screamed, throwing his body into complete lockdown. His muscles burned as the screaming started and he flung his arms out, searching for a door he couldn't see. Wood splinters sprayed up, catching his cheek as a bullet slammed through the stage front and ploughed into the floor somewhere nearby. The pain broke through the sudden claustrophobia, the overwhelming fear (the flickering film reel of his blood staining the floor) and he flung himself forward, running suddenly sensitive palms over the concrete until he found it, the false block. He sobbed with relief, the sounds of gunfire and warfare drowning it out. Above him Demyx swore and shouted as he tried to signal his surrender. The thump of heavy boots right above indicated his capture, a heavy crack indicated his "ensured cooperation". The force wasn't going to be light-handed on this mission.
Roxas felt bile crawl back up into his mouth again as his body screamed for flight. Yanking the plastic slab upwards, he threw himself into the darkness beneath and into six inches of stinking water. He ran away from the door in a panic, refusing to let himself stop even to find a torch in the bag. Mild hysteria grabbed him as he splashed onwards, whimpering in the dark, the only sound being thrown back at him in a tunnel of echoes and ominous watery sounds.
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A few guilty-eyed guests tried to make a break for it, faster on their feet and their brains than most. Any mimicry was discouraged after seeing them tackled down by burly SWAT members and most were subdued quickly.
That still left Xemnas and Xigbar. The latter had swept forward to protect his boss and stood in front of him, eyes evaluating the threat as he waited for orders, fingers mere millimetres away from hidden guns. Hearts stopped as the room waited for the outcome of the orders. Their lives probably depended on whether they entailed violence or peace. Xemnas stayed completely stationary, head tilted to cover the expression in his eyes. Xigbar counted guns with a lopsided grin on his face that sent fear into the hearts of even the staunchest gunfighters in the team. Sora bit his lip, frantically weighing up the options although his eyes never left Xemnas, searching his face for any tell, any indication of what he would do.
Seconds ticked by.
Finally Xemnas twitched his finger ever so slightly, indicating his second-in-command to drop his guns. He raised his head and turned his face towards Sora, smiling beatifically, arms stretched elegantly towards him as if he was just an unexpected guest at a soirée.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Inspector?"
Kairi stood on the stage, directing groups of officers and prisoners, counting some people off on a clipboard. She turned as a team of paramedics entered, carrying a shaky Zexion between them, signing the board with a flourish before waving at Sora, indicating the final headcount.
Sora nodded at her and made a note on his own board. Beside him, grim-faced, Riku roughly cuffed Xemnas' wrists together, trying to ignore the ever-present smirk on the criminal's face. Sora began to intone his rights, never once taking his eyes off of his prisoner's.
"You have been implicated in several murders, charged with conspiracy to harm, conspiracy to kill, conspiracy to supply drugs, conspiracy to enact fraud..."
Xemnas tutted at the violent treatment of his wrists. "Innocent until proven guilty, Lieutenant."
Riku shivered just a little under the mocking gaze and forced him round as they prepared for the transport to the prison complex. Sora gently pushed Riku back slightly, taking charge of Xemnas himself.
"I'll prove it." He smiled. "I already can."
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Still shaking, Roxas fumbled and cursed at his torch, sputtering in the gloom. He'd been walking for an hour, stopping every now and then to listen for pursuit. He wouldn't be able to relax until he had reached the safe house, until he had made himself completely untraceable. He can't enjoy the money if he's dead. Half a mile further and he's crawling out of a manhole and into a nearby park.
He changed his trousers and jacket, throwing the old ones back down into the dark. Satisfied that his tell-tale hair was completely hidden by a black hood he moved off confidently, pacing down the street to the agreed safe-house.
The first hide-out was in an out of the way garage, not abandoned, but closed for refurbishment. It lay on the outskirts of town, a good five miles from Hollow Bastion. The night was darker out here, further away from the vicious night-lighting of the centre of the city, and quiet, void of the night-life he'd grown used to in the area around the club. He leaned against a wall in an alley just down the road and lit a cigarette, watching the entrance for cars or movement. Although tense, his hands finally stopped shaking. A warm breeze blew the smoke into his eyes and he blinked, almost missing a flash of white in the direction of the forecourt. He pressed his shoulders back into the wall, straining his eyes for further movement. Moments passed without event, the cigarette burning down to the filter and just scorching his fingertips. The pain spurred him into action and he shook away the fear, reasoning it away as being a cat. A push at the gate forced it to squeak open, and he winced at the sound, glancing around to be sure he wasn't noticed. Gaining more confidence, he made his way to the side of the building and let himself in.
The building was dark inside, electricity off or the fuse blown. Roxas blinked, struggling to differentiate between shadows as he moved cautiously forward, pressed against the wall. He lurked outside for just another moment, searching for shadows cast in the dim corridor.
Every creak of the floorboards made him jump and flinch, and every shadow morphed into Xigbar or Xemnas himself, there to execute him for his betrayal. The chittering of rats as they fled from his feet turned into the menacing giggle of Larxene and sent shivers down his spine.
Finally he turned into a large office space in the depths of the building, furnished only with a desk and decaying scraps of nude calendars and rat shit. And in the middle a man, dressed in black, back turned.
With fury speeding his feet, Roxas dropped his bag and launched himself at the stranger, who turned in time to catch a shoulder to the chest that completely winded him. Roxas twisted his elbow in the man's stomach viciously, knocking them both off balance and driving them both to the floor. The figured doubled up underneath him, struggling to protect his stomach and face from further blows. Roxas lashed out indiscriminately, pouring all his fear and anger from tonight into cuffing the man. In the dark he missed as much as he hit and with a crunch he ended up punching the concrete. He yelped, tears springing to his eyes. Swearing loudly, the figure lashed out too, fist connecting with Roxas' jaw firmly and knees frantically pushing and kicking him off. Roxas rolled in the dust and shit, scrabbling for a handful to grind in his opponent's eyes, trying to keep him too busy to pull a gun. Coughing and spitting blood, the man shuffled backwards, hand out to ward off further attack as he cleared his lungs.
"Rox! Roxas, it's me!"
Adrenaline pumping, Roxas barely heard him as he tackled him again, pinning him to the floor with his knees, one hand pressed against the man's windpipe. With the other he yanked the balaclava away from the man's face, determined to see who had caught him so quickly.
The usual laid-back smile was replaced by a grimace of pain and a black hat covered the tell-tale blonde hair, but Roxas recognised the bloodied face, possibly the only friendly face in the world tonight.
"Hayner?"
A/N: This has been a long time in planning and it's finally done. This will be my first multi-chaptered fanfiction EVER, and my first in the KH fandom and I would love critical reviews. Many thanks to timydamonkey, my beta, for her insanely hard work editting this and for contributing the first paragraph. Round of applause ladies and gents, the girl's got determination.
P.S: I'm having an insane amount of fun writing the background characters in this, despite it supposedly being Roxas-centric. So if you follow my LJ at all, expect to see prompts related to this AU there. With muchos Demyx.