Summary: AU. Toshiro Hitsugaya turned and faced the cocked gun pointed at him. "Took you long enough, Hinamori. Even after seven years, I never doubted you." Shamelessly based off of Agent J by Jolin Tsai.

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to the slightly sexist Tite Kubo, and even the story line is liberally adapted from the mini movie/ MV of Agent J by Jolin Tsai.

A/N: I just bit off a chip in my gel nail. Ughhhh, the collateral damage of writers block (or more like, how-do-I-phrase-what-I-see-in-my-head) frustration!

Agent M

Chapter One: Of Greed and Lust.

888

Greed. Greed and lust. Born out of pride, man's greatest sin.

The skyline of Paris was well worth all the sung praises, especially from the roof of the thirty four story hotel Le Pavillion de Lettre. The sunset bathed numerous skyscrapers in a healthy orange glow, the sky a beautiful mixture of pink clouds and gradually darkening indigo. The obvious outline of the Eiffel Tower sat dark and proud in the middle of the breathtaking scene.

But it went unnoticed to the uncharacteristically soft brown eyes, set in an otherwise mask of stone, as they searched single-mindedly for her target.

Dressed in a skin tight black long sleeve shirt, short leather shorts and black boots that traveled up past her knee, she made her way silently across the rooftop, knowing that he would be there. He was a person of rigid habit and he had never failed to appear daily at the rooftop of this particular hotel every day at sunset.

Or so her report said.

A slim figure suddenly loomed into her vision, standing fifty metres from her, silhouetted in the setting sun. Was that her target?

She fingered her handgun, Tobiume, that lay concealed in the top of her right boot as she approached the figure with graceful stealth. The blurry silhouette sharpened into unruly hair, which appeared snow white as she made her way closer. His back was also to her, which she decided, somewhat belatedly, was a good thing.

She could finish this without him ever seeing her. She pulled out Tobiume and cocked it, wincing slightly at the sound.

The figure didn't turn, and she let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She knew she had wasted enough time, and if she didn't pull the trigger, he would turn around, and she would have to see him, the kill would no longer be blessedly clean. She brought Tobiume to eye level and aimed.

Toshiro Hitsugaya. Primary body guard to Governer Kaname Tosen, a proven traitor. Sinner.

He spoke suddenly, his voice quiet and strained.

"Took you long enough, Hinamori."

She jumped a foot into the air in shock and almost dropped Tobiume. Toshiro Hitsugaya turned around and faced the cocked gun pointed at him. "I said you took long enough, Hinamori"

Hinamori? She didn't know what he was talking about, but something in her stomach told her to stay her hand just a little longer. Perhaps it was curiosity.

"It's been seven years, yet I never doubted you." The slim white-haired man continued with a sad smile. "Remember, Hinamori? If we ever got lost in this big city – " He gestured to the Paris skyline. " – we would always meet back here."

His tone became pleading. "Don't you remember, Momo?" He pulled out his left hand where a golden ring sat on his ring finger and waved it in front of her. "It's me... your Hitsugaya-kun."

She hesitated, something in her mind tugged at her, and she lowered Tobiume a fraction.

"Momo-chan... it's been too long..." Those icy blue eyes pulled at her, instilling a deep sense of desperation. His arms opened in what seem like an embrace. He wanted to hug her? It made no sense.

... That is enough.

She gripped Tobiume tighter and pulled the trigger.

888 – One year previously.

Lust and greed are more gullible than innocence. Pathetic.

Omaeda sat in his private booth at the most exclusive club in uptown Paris. The smell of marijuana, Cuban cigars, and expensive brandy hung in the air. The loud and obtrusive music pulsed a symphony in his drug and alcohol addled mind, and the strippers on the poles writhed and danced in ways that made his hormones surge.

It was through this haze that his eye caught the young woman who was serving them the latest round of the House's finest brandy. Her bright brown eyes glowed in the semi darkness and the sheer red fabric barely covering her slender body, yet leaving just enough to the imagination, made her a coy Aphrodite.

He decided in a split second that he wanted to go home with her, and so he motioned to her to sit on the couch beside him.

"I," he said importantly, "am Mareyicho Omaeda. Whats yours." He slurred his words slightly, and placed an oversized hand on her upper thigh. She smiled slightly, and leaned in to speak to him. Her voice was like singing wind chimes, and it instantly made him wonder what she'd sound like in bed.

"That's no fun." She giggled and lightly stroked the beginnings of a bulge in his pants. "I'd rather not tell you." She flipped her hair so he could smell her sultry perfume, and he lost it.

Mareyicho Omaeda didn't seem to have heard a word she said; all coherent thought that did not relate to her, bed, and moaning escaped his mind. He smiled stupidly at her.

"I'd rather," her voice dropped another octave as she climbed onto his lap. "Go to a more... private room. Wouldn't you?"

Greed reduces a great man to nothing but a sinner. A slave to lust.

Toshiro Hitsugaya carried the cup of instant ramen to his desk, and he sat down amongst the vast array of previous takeout boxes and stacks of paper.

It has been six years that Hitsugaya braved the city of love alone, six years spent searching and searching and never finding. The bulletin board opposite him bore witness to his obsession as it was drowned in various thumb tacked canon shots of a petit brunette with soft brown eyes and a loving smile, often with her hair in a bun but some with her hair down in a fan around her pale heart shaped face.

He blew on his ramen to cool it, but his mind was rather occupied staring at the deep pools of chocolate eyes. She was a beauty, and there was not one day that he'd let himself forget it.

More often than not, she was accompanied by a man whose unruly hair was white as snow, his normally ice cold eyes softened with love as he held her against various backgrounds. Sakura trees in spring, the coliseum in Rome, a sunset on a beach, and the biggest photo of all: her in a long white dress kissing the unruly haired man in front of a crowd of what looked like various family members.

The pictures where often obscured by newspaper clippings (although they never covered her smiling face), the most obvious one was six years old, yellowing around the edges.

"Missing while on her honeymoon in Paris, France: beloved Japanese dancer, Momo Hinamori."

But for once Hitsugaya was not obsessively pouring over newspapers in their various stages of decay. As the youngest head of the French National Police force's homicide division, he was bombarded recently by the mysterious string of murders. Many members of the federal left-winged opposition party have been killed by a single shot through the head, with the bullet never being found at the scene of the crime. Gin Ichimaru was the first of many, the opposition leader's direct right hand man. Then came Coyote Starrk, a prominent left-wing minister. Then Ulqiuorra Schiffer, another loyal supporter. Then Soi-Feng, an intelligence head, and now yesterday, Marechiyo Omaeda, the most important supplier of political funding lay dead in a private room of an exclusive Paris club.

The oddest thing about each and every murder was, at the scene of the crime, a candid picture of the victim was left beside the body. On the back of the picture, written in a distinctive cursive, were the victim's name, profession, their approximate time and place of death, and the word sinner.

He reread the piece of paper that he clutched in his hand as he methodically ate his instant ramen.

Toshiro Hitsugaya, head of the Homicide Division in the French National Police Force, was to be assigned as undercover body guard for Tousen Kaname, the last surviving prominent supporter of Sosuke Aizen, leader of the Federal Opposition Party.

888

And so the world must be cleansed. Of greed. Of lust. Of sinners.

The shimmery red fabric slid down her body to rest on the floor as she climbed into her bathtub. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes as the scalding water slowly loosened the muscles she didn't know was knotted.

After all, a successful mission deserved relaxation.

She smiled idly, and reached for the bible that sat on the toilet cover. In her absence, something was slid between its pages.

Another name. Another face. Another time. Another location.

Tousen Kaname. Two weeks from now outside the Louvre Museumwhere he is to give a speech.

And life goes on.

888

A/N: Please make me so giddy and happy and review. Also! Check out the fabulous MV that spawned this story!