Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any material related to Square Enix in any way or form.
"Code."
"Six-zero-zero-one-three." The door opens, and I am met with a small group of men and women— advisors, as the higher-ups like to call them. There is a slight tension in the air, and I can't help but allow a small smirk to tilt my lips; after all, it's not every day these people get to see the number one assassin in this country. I come to a standstill at the foot of the onyx table, my eyes staring straight at the only person I will answer respectfully to.
"You know your mission." It comes out as a statement, not a question, like he was merely commenting about the weather. I take in the all-too-familiar face framed by flame-red hair, and the man's entire body is encased in an expensive-looking black business suit, complete with white shirt and black tie. Jade eyes bore into my cool azure, and I nod once, flicking the thick sweep of hair out of my right eye. Needless to say, this gesture is always in vain; my hair refuses to stay out of my face. And if Axel is going to dress immaculately, the least he could do to avoid vexing me is to have his shirt buttoned up completely, with the tie properly settled between the collar lapels. His rather flirtatious manner does not appeal to me in the least.
"Heard of it." The man makes no move, and the others are absolutely silent, no doubt fearing for their lives lest they irk one of us. Such plain people.
Suddenly, the redhead across from me smiles, the small twitching of lips that he's known for when he's either amused or royally pissed off. My eyes lift to the young blonde man who steps to his side, the boy's short, upswept hair barely brushing his eyelashes. I can't tell his age, but he's possibly only eighteen, and his cerulean eyes are perhaps just a shade lighter than mine. I make a mental note to talk to Axel's boss about letting a mere teenager in, even if he is an adult. Nevertheless, I can tell he's probably on very good terms with my boss.
"Axel…" He presents a suitcase to the redhead, his soft, breathy voice irritating me though it's only a whisper. I never have liked such submissive men like him. I watch as Axel's black-gloved hands reverently snap open the case, as though he's handling the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments. I don't make a move, already knowing what's in store for me.
"Xigbar." My sharp ears detect my boss' faint murmur, and a man behind me, tall, with an eye patch over one eye and more scars than I can count on his face, pulls out a chair, silently gesturing for me to sit in it. I do, and languidly cross my legs, as though I have all the time in the world. In all honesty, I probably have only two to four days to get the assignment done. They never assign number one to duties longer than that. More chances for me to be killed, I suppose.
"This is the sole picture of your target. It was taken five years ago." I gaze impassively at the small photograph Axel slides across to me, my fingers already itching to grasp the thin biography most likely still encased in a manila folder in the suitcase. However, something about this soon-to-be victim attracts my attention; perhaps it is his strangely-cut mohawk-mullet hair style, or even the intensity of his bright blue eyes. Whatever it is, it manages to keep me interested.
"Keep the photo." My gaze lifts, and I see Axel holding a cigarette to his lips, the young man beside him holding a lighter. Once lit, he takes a drag on it, holding his breath before letting it gush out in a foul-smelling cloud in my direction. He ought to know that I hate smokers.
"Thank you, Roxas." The blonde only nods, retiring to his place behind Axel's chair in the shadows. It is only then that I realize nothing else is being handed to me. Not a few sentences' worth of a biography, nor any documentation regarding places of interest my target has been to. I can feel my eyebrows dipping together in a frown that matches the one on my face as I look at Axel. The redhead reclines in his chair easily, his emerald eyes closed in what appears to be meditation. I know better.
"One last thing." He flips out a small business card, and I catch it between my index finger and thumb, ignoring the nonsensical delivery-business details while turning it over to see the single name scrawled there in blue pen. My lips part for the briefest instant, reading the name over and over again. When I look up again, I manage to keep my face cool, calm, collected.
"Him again?"
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"Code in, please."
"Nine-zero-zero-one-three." Man, I hate doing this. Time after time, that stupid computer voice keeps asking for my number, as though I'm some sort of package being delivered. Well, I guess I sort of am, considering what I do. And considering the fact that there are two extremely buff guys in business suits & sunglasses with gun holsters under both arms. I may laugh, but I still wish they'd come up with some other sort of ID-ing thing. I'm getting tired of having to say my number fifty million times over every single year. I mean, why can't they just— Hey… Why aren't the doors opening? Oh, come on, stupid flippin—
"Waah— Oof!" Whoops, blew it again. Some entrance. Ugh, everybody's staring at me, like I'm some sort of, I don't know, freak. Ew, and they're all smoking. They should know I hate smokers. Oh boy, and Vexen's here. Again. Great, can my day get any fucking worse?
"Hey, guys. And gals." I wink at one of the cuter women in the group, but she just sucks at her cigarette with bright red-painted lips and looks the other way. Yes, I can flirt with the opposite sex, but I've always found men to be much more attractive. I can't help but smile when I remember one mission where I had to be bisexual. Such an easy mission…
"Keep your head down to earth and sit down." Man. If there's one thing I can't stand on the face of this earth, it's this old fart that looks like a woman on a bad hair day. I plop down in my seat, throw my legs up on the table, lean way back, and wait for the show. This is my normal routine, as everyone knows. I also know that the way I act tends to raise the blood pressure of many people. Walking the fine line between life and death is such a fun game to me. Still, I can't help it; it's the way I am. I smile my cocky smile at Vexen just to irritate the bastard. But I feel the smirk fade as I see he has a new partner. I haven't stayed alive this long without fine-tuned skills beyond any other men or women in my field.
"Bring it, please." A man with long, layered pink hair steps from the shadows, startling a few people on either side of my blonde boss. I almost laugh; I guess they didn't know he'd been standing there. I watch as the rose-haired man opens the suitcase in his hands, revealing two pieces of paper lying on soft black velvet. Vexen takes them out of the case, gloved fingers handling them delicately as though they were dangerous chemicals in his favorite laboratory. I can't help but roll my eyes. That man is always unbelievably obsessed, and even though he works as the head of this agency, he manages to put some time aside to play the life-saving chemist. Someone behind me taps my shoulder, and I look up to find dreadlocks hanging a few inches above my nose.
"Hey, Xaldin." I can feel a smirk worming up my jaw and into my lips as I stare into impassive brown eyes, but before I can make a single remark, a sharp click snaps my attention back toward Vexen. I realize he's snapped his fingers to get my attention back on the two slips of paper between his fingers.
"You know what to do." He makes it sound like I know everything there is to know. Which, in fact, I do. I'd already heard many agents speculating about who would be sent on the mission most vital to my country, and I'd kind of hoped it wouldn't be me. But I guess fate has a way of following around a guy who's got no other life than the one of an assassin.
"Yeah. I do." I pick up one of the papers Vexen slides across to me, a small smile flittering across my lips as I study the face of a young man with a bluish-silver sweep of bangs covering one half of his face. Piercing blue eyes seem to stare daggers at me even from the photograph, and I can't help but remember that this man was— is— extremely attractive. The fact that he's looking just past the camera with an alluring pompous gaze is not helping the tingling feeling in my lower stomach any. I carefully slip the picture into a hidden fold in my wallet, making sure no white remains. Then I pick up the slip of paper with a single name written on it in black ink. I can't help the elated smile that spreads across my face, and I don't give a damn that everyone can see.
"Him again, hmm?"
A/N: Hmm... What do you think?