Heartfire

A tale of sorrow and pain; of hate and love - a story surpassing the boundaries of the game and delving much, much further, deeper. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it – and thus, I hold it up to you for judgment.

Enjoy.

Warning: YAOI content.

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Chapter 1

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A bright flash of light flared high in the cold, starless night sky, illuminating a figure for the briefest instant crouched in an alleyway, grey-blue eyes flickering up as the light reflects in them. He tenses but for a moment, waiting to hear the footfalls of approaching people; and, sure enough, moments later the heavy footfalls of several men could be heard on the street, from where the flare illuminated.

"Wha' the hell wassat?"

"How should I know? – better get the hell outta here, somethin' funny is up."

"Should we—"

"Yeh, burn the rest, we're leavin' in five minutes, yah got that?"

The man in the alleyway narrowed his eyes as the black-clad drug-dealers turned and jogged back into the building. Running his tongue over chapped lips, he glanced down to the watch he had on.

23:59 PM

Half a minute passed. The watch clicked over to 24:00.

The man uttered a low whistle, and from four surrounding alleyways teams of three figures each crept forward. The streetlights now outlined the man clearly; he was a tall blonde, wearing a grayish-white trenchcoat with red crosses emblazoned on the sleeves, and carrying a heavy gunblade in his right hand. He was the picture of concentration, forehead knitted together, eyes narrowed as he slid against the heavy metal door the drug dealers were behind, eyes flickering up and about to see where each team was located.

They were all in position- the other two from his group looked at him for direction, and he only looked at them briefly beforeplunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve the lock-picking device he had. Moments later, a dull click was heard, and he smirked self-satisfactorily. Appraising the door, he looked over to the other two, a brow raised--suddenly his face broke into a rakish grin, eyes devilish. "Pass or fail, eh?" he half-whispered, suddenly moving to slam his weight against the door, twisting the knob at the same time, as the other three teams jogged toward the building.

He fell into the room, brandishing his gunblade with flourish, immediately taking up a fighting stance.


Nothing.

The room was black, and silent, and only the acrid scent of something burning hung in the air. Two others, one of his team and one not, had also joined him in the room, looking about—the only thing that could be heard was that of breathing. One of the men in the room, a short spiky-haired blonde with a tattoo on his face-- one of the lieutenants that had come on the mission to supervise -- drew in a breath. "They're gone."

Then, it happened. The blonde heard a shuffle, like that of a foot being reset, and the dull click of a hammer being drawn back. "SHIT!" he cursed, throwing himself to the floor, just as a sharp blast ripped the air, adding the thick scent of gunpowder to the foul scent of burning marijuana and cocaine.

Quickly drawing in on himself, the blonde cast Fira, lighting a nearby table on fire, illuminating the room in a flickering, dancing aura—and glinting off the barrels of quiet a few guns which were barely poking out of holes in felled tables, boxes, walls.

And they all went off at once.

The noise was deafening—shots were being fired from both sides, and there were screams of pain being torn from both, as well.

The blonde struggled to concentrate, but he didn't dare stand—he lay on his stomach in the middle of the room, gunfire whipping above. With a grunt, he rolled to the side, thrusting the gunblade at a felled box – the blade ripped the cardboard easily, and a scream issued from within. When he jerked back the blade, it glistened wetly, dripping crimson.

In a few moments, gunfire ceased, and the tall blonde found himself being helped up by the spiky-haired lieutenant. He mentally checked himself over for injuries, and, deciding he had none, looked quizzically to his helper.

The smaller blonde smirked. "I think we got'em," he muttered. "C'mon, get yer ass in gear, Seifer, clean-up time."

Seifer's mouth pulled in a sneer, but he followed.

Moments later, they found the light switch, and the blonde lieutenant flipped it to reveal the carnage. Most of the drug-dealers lay dead—no doubt some had escaped, but they had busted it up as well as possible. These particular drug dealers had been in Balamb for a while now, and had begun letting themselves be known a little too much.

Seifer's heart pounded, and he let a grin come upon his features. "That went well," he smirked. "Not too exciting, but .. hey, what can yeh ask?"

The tattooed blonde laughed. "Yeah, whatever."

"That's Leonhart's line, Chicken Wuss—I doubt he'd like it too well if y'took it—it's his favorite."

The smaller man glared, fists subconsciously balling up. "That's Lt. Dincht to you, Almasy," he growled, but looked back toward the door. "Let's get back—if yer not nice t'me, I ain't gonna pass yeh."

Seifer laughed, walking up to the smaller blonde, gripping his shirt front and pulling him close. "Oh, Zell, I know you ALL too well-- you'll pass me," he purred, dipping his head down and pressing his lips roughly to the other man's.

Zell allowed himself to melt into the other man's embrace, kissing him back for a brief instant before pulling away with a sneer. "Thought yeh said you weren't gonna do that in public."

Seifer only grinned the patented Almasy grin, winking at his lover. "Tch, touché," he replied, before brushing past the tattooed blonde, who followed close behind as they headed back to the Garden.

End Ch. 1—I know, it'll get better, I promise! ;)