"… around the way they call me Lucifer…"

Roxas

I can't remember how I even got to school; it was like one second I was standing in front of Pence's house and Hayner had me by the neck, and then the next, I was standing outside the cold, iron gates of my school.

Honestly, I have no idea how I traveled that quarter mile; teleportation? That might explain why I didn't get run over by a car or something on the way here, because I definitely wasn't paying attention to the world outside of the little bubble that has sprung up around me. All that I could think about-that I can think about- are Ollette and Hayner. Her crying; him telling me that it was my fault that Pence was dead.

And then there's me, not knowing what Hayner was talking about but still getting the feeling that he's somehow right and I am partly to blame for this, though I don't know how. He kept alluding to stuff; throwing around names and talking about some of my past…associations; making it sound like I'm the one set things in motion. Like whatever it was that Pence was involved with sits on my head.

Like I'm still one of the players.

I shake my head violently, running my fingers through my dirty blonde spikes, trying to snap myself out of this frame of mind. I cannot allow myself to think this way! It's not my fault that Pence was stupid. He should have never messed with something as dangerous as HEARTLESS and he never should have gone anywhere near the guys who sold it.

I mean, he wasn't a kid! He was practically an adult; he should have known what that junk does to you. He should have known that there would be consequences…

I'm getting angrier and angrier by the second. Angry at Hayner for putting the idea in my head that Pence dying a junkie's death was somehow my fault. Angry at Pence for being a dumb, weak-willed bastard; for trying HEARTLESS and pissing somebody off enough to get ganked. Angry at Olette for crying those stupid tears and looking so sad and making me feel...

All of my cold logic and rationalizations suddenly catch in my throat; my stomach begins doing flip-flops. Oh…oh no. Nonononononono!

I rush up to one of the trashcans sitting outside the front gates of the school and stick my head inside just in time for me to puke up everything I had for breakfast this morning.

'Huurrghggh!'

After around a minute or so, I pull my head from over the mouth of the trashcan, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. I notice a small group of people at the main gate staring at me- they're punks. Nothing but small fry saps; they're not Nobodies but they are giving me the look.

I regain my presence of mind and remember where exactly it is that I am; the guilt and sadness and confusion that afflicted me barely three seconds ago get pushed to the back of my mind as the danger senses kick in.

I move aggressively toward the little knot of students, a look of pure murder in my eyes. A peon wants to try to get his name up by taking me on he's going to need to be prepared to bleed.

"Got a problem," I growl at them.

I reach into my pocket and grab my screwdriver just in case these boys are feeling adventurous this morning. My bluff works. The little clique back off; a few of them sort of shrug their shoulders and looks indifferent. One of the braver ones even laughs at me, playing the whole thing off.

I know empty bravado when I see it; they don't want it. Not here and not now and not with me. I keep my grip on my screwdriver and don't let go until I see all of them pass through the gates and walk across the courtyard towards a mob of twenty or thirty other people.

In their midst I find two very familiar faces holding court; a tall boy with vibrant red hair standing next to a short girl with hair antennas who-despite being practically a midget- somehow seems to tower over everyone surrounding her.

'Friggin Nobodies.'

The tension in my body doesn't ease up. I can never ease up; I'm at school.

Lunch; my favorite subject, hands down. It's wedged right in the sweet spot between Maths and English. I grab my bag lunch and beat my feet towards my usual lunch spot, namely, the loading dock at the back of the school. I don't mix with the general population

My school's official name is the Twilight Town Preparatory Academy. The handle makes the joint sound like it's got class and prestige; too bad it's got none of the former and the wrong kind of the latter.

Our main claims to fame are the student body's abysmally low test scores, frequent incidences of assault, vandalism, arson and other very bad things. The situation here finally got so crazy that two years ago the provincial government stepped in and took over administration of the school to try and stop the madness and bring order.

I grin wryly to myself; there always been an "order" of a sorts in this school, though those slapheads in the capital would probably burst a hemorrhoid if they knew about the stuff that really went on here. There was a whole other side to TTPA, an underground society with its own mores, folkways and economy. That's the problem with old people; they always underestimate the young.

Not to brag, but I'm a big part of the reason why things are as they are at Twilight Town Preparatory Academy. Before I can stop myself, I'm reminiscing about the past. I get to thinking about the school, which leads me into thinking about the Organization, which leads me into thinking HEARTLESS which- predictably- leads me back to…

"Pence."

I say the word softly, reverently; abrasively. That name becomes a prayer and a curse in my mouth at the same time. For what has to be the dozenth time since this morning, I think about him and how absurd the idea is that he's dead. I'm still having a hard time wrapping my brain around that one.

I hate feeling this way with guilt creeping up my spine and making my chest feel like it's filled up with cotton balls. Hayner's words keep playing back in my mind over and over again.

'Is it really my fault?'

I want to ignore it all. I want to be as apathetic and cynical and jaded as I was yesterday and I'm finding out- to my shock and disgust- that I can't. I'm one hell of a liar but I've never been able to be anything but honest to myself. I know, deep down, I know that Hayner is right on the money.

'Brrrrriiinnnnngggg'

The bell; lunch is over. I finish off my food and throw my trash away. Everything that my mom makes is delicious.

Why do I feel sick all over again?


2:27 pm.

It's funny, but I never notice how long a second is until I'm counting them as they tick down on the clock on the library wall. When I was back in primary school I hated the library with a passion, mostly because I hated books. Currently, I consider it a sanctuary of sorts; nobody is going to try anything while you're under the watchful eye of old Mrs. Robin, the librarian.

Nobody who's interested in getting away with it anyway…

School doesn't end until 3:25 but I've decided to cut last period.

I should just go home. I don't want to stay around here; after all, it's pretty risky for me to be hanging around on school grounds by myself. At the same time, however, I really don't feel up to hopping on my Vespa and leaving, because going home would mean having to pass by Pence's house again.

I'm really not up for that just yet.

'God this is pathetic,' I think to myself. All I'm doing is sitting here being emo and angsting! I'm Roxas; I don't angst!

Forcefully, I slide my chair back from the edge of the table and grab my bag, ignoring Mrs. Robin's disapproving glare at my disturbance of the room's tranquility. Screw all this emotions crap, I'm getting out of here and then-

"Roxas?"

'Ffffuuuuuu…!'

I look to my left and see Olette standing there with the most gut-wrenchingly pitiable look on her face. The bloodshot puffiness of her eyes tells me that she has been crying recently and all at once my plans of ditching school come to an abrupt halt as I realize that I can't leave her like this.

"Yo," I say weakly. "How are you feeling?"

She just sort of shrugs and smiles that small Olette smile; for a second I can almost convince myself that she's gotten over Pence's death already. Almost.

"Honestly? This day has kinda sucked," she says seriously.

"Good news is I'm just about all cried out so, y'know…"

I make some kind of half enunciated grunt/words of comfort as a response. I idly wonder if it sounded as lame to her as it did to me. The silence between the two of us draws on for a while and I find myself at a loss for what it is that I'm supposed to do now. Do I sit back down? Do I leave like I was going to do before she showed up? Do I put my arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright?

"…. wanted to apologize for this morning."

"Wha?"

Damnit! She caught me in the midst of an internal monologue.

"I said that I wanted to apologize for this morning; y'know with Hayner and what he said? I think that he was way out of line and I just want to tell you that I don't blame you."

"Thanks. I, um… I really appreciate you telling me that," I reply, while guilt tears my heart into a million little pieces.

I notice the tears welling up in the corners of Olette's eyes. Apparently she isn't all cried out just yet, I think. And suddenly, I feel like I have to know. My mouth goes dry and my voice catches in my throat. I shake off my nervousness and push forward because this is something that I need to ask.

"How long was Pence using," I ask in a rush.

She looks surprised for a second that I would care to ask, but she gets over it quickly and answers me.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure," she answers.

"For the longest time neither me nor Hayner ever noticed anything different about him; he was just the same old Pence, y'know? I started noticing that he was changing- I guess those were the warning signs- around a month ago. But still… I never thought that it was drugs! You knew Pence and he isn't the type of person to…"

Her voice fills with emotion and I can see the tears coming. I move without thinking and embrace her; she melts into me without a word and begins shaking as a new bout of sobs wracks her body. I feel sick down to my soul.

How many other friends and family members had to lose loved ones because of HEARTLESS? I didn't give those drugs to Pence, but I gave them to plenty of other people. For the first time I wondered how much blood I have on my hands.

Unbidden tears arose behind my eyes; I screw them shut and squeeze Olette tighter into my body.


Running into Olette like that caused me to spend more time at school than I had originally intended. I check my watch and sigh. I barely have ten minutes to get to my Vespa and beat the rush to get away from these halls of torture.

I reach the school gates, cross the threshold and turn to where I have my scooter chained up. I freeze when I see that someone I know is sitting on it already. A small part of me says that I should just turn around, go back to hiding in the library and wait until that guy decides to leave. The much larger part of me is screaming 'don't be a punk'; demanding that I step to him and wreck his ass if he gives me any trouble.

I look around; nobody seems to be out here except for the two of us. I move aggressively, yet warily, towards the flame-haired delinquent sitting on my Vespa with his back to me.

"Sup' Roxas," he says.

"Sup' Axel," I reply. I should've known that I wouldn't be able to sneak up on him.

"So, you got this rust-bucket to actually run, huh? I remember seeing this thing in your backyard, thought it was scrap metal. Guess you proved me wrong."

He turns and looks over his shoulder at me.

"Guess so," I reply, not really sure where he's going with this but playing along. Axel loves to talk in circles.

"So…any reason why you're sittin' on my scooter man? I'd offer you a ride home but… y'know."

Axel just smirks and shakes his head before lifting himself off of my wheels. He turns to face me; I get that little twinge of envy I always get when he makes it apparent just how much taller he is than me.

"I just wanted to ask if you heard about that kid that died," he said. "Pence; you knew him right?"

I swallow the anger that I'm feeling and throw on a snide face.

"Where'd you hear that," I ask warily.

"I heard it from him," the redhead replies. "He was a real clam most of the time but when he got a little based, he'd start jawing nonstop."

"So now you're, what, mourning the loss of a valued customer," I ask.

The redhead just shrugs and pulls a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches out of the pocket of his blazer. He pulls one, lights one.

"Sure, why not," he sort of chuckles.

I shake my head, my disgust apparent on my face. The redhead sees the way I'm looking at him and scowls at me.

"You're unbelievable," I mutter.

"Don't you start," he says blowing out a cloud of smoke. "You and me both are hip to the game; fiends aren't people, they're money. And don't matter if they give you a dime or they give you a dollar; money in the pocket is money in the pocket."

He holds out the pack towards me, offering me one. I hesitate for a second before reaching forward and taking one out of the pack. He hands me a match; I take it and light up. Inhaling the smoke down into my lungs, I feel the comfortably mellow feeling of the nicotine working its way into my bloodstream and calming my nerves. I nod in thanks.

This whole situation is surreal; here we are, me and Axel, sharing a smoke and shooting it like we're still chummy-chummy.

"I wonder how one fiend biting the dust deserves the attention of one of the Organization's Numbers," I ask him.

Axel looks down at and rolls his eyes.

"What can I say? Pence, he's…well, he was, good people".

First he's just another fiend, now he's good people. He kicks dirt on the dead's name in one breath, and then praises him in the very next. I should have remembered that you could always count on Axel to be contrary.

"You saying he was affiliated," I ask.

His green eyes bore straight into my blue.

"I'm not saying nothing except that I knew of him and he knew of us...but then, everybody knows us so that don't really shine a light on this little dark area, now does it?"

We both pause to knock the ash off the ends of our cancer sticks. I give the redhead an appraising look.

"Axel, what do you want? If Pence talked about me to you then you have to know that me and him weren't exactly close anymore; that's doubly true if he was knocking around with Nobodies."

Axel shrugs his shoulders and takes a long pull on his cigarette. "I'm just a bit curious about the circumstances of our boy's death."

"Your being curious makes me curious," I say back. "And what does any of this have to do with me? Pence might have been your boy, but he definitely wasn't ours."

"Try to keep up," Axle says flippantly. "Remember how I said Pence had a worrisome tendency to squawk when he got based? Well, he got based often, especially recently. So, I've got to ask Roxas. Did he squawk anything in your ear?"

"Nothing," I snap, maybe too quickly because the redhead gives me an odd look.

"Am I the only yeg getting the jaw?"

"Look, I wasn't trying to get into an argument with you," Axel said, his tone slightly less harsh. "And as for your question, no, you're not the only one getting the business. But every other interesting yeg is getting leaned on much harder. You're the special boy that get's my personal touch- figured you're owed it given our history and all."

"You came to talk because you were worried about me," I reply incredulously. Axel and I are enemies- technically. He shrugs.

"Manner of speaking."

"So what is this then?"

"This is me finding out where your head's at," he says, getting right up into my face with a hard stare in his eyes. "This is me warning you not to do anything stupid."

"Stupid," I ask, not backing down an inch, the edge in my voice clear.

"I know you Roxas; something goes wrong, it's in your nature to try and fix shit," the delinquent said in response, walking past me just as the final school bell sounded from over the wall.

What the hell was up with him? And what was with confronting me without a squad of Nobodies hanging around for support? As I climb on the back of my Vespa and fire up the engine I know one thing for sure; Axel's right. It is in my nature to try to fix things when they go wrong.

The screwdriver slips into my pocket as smooth as you like.

"Alright then," I mutter, at once to nobody and to the whole world. "Then I'll be the goddamn handy man."