Notes: This first chapter takes place less than an hour after the prologue. It goes into Sora's origins as a killer, and introduces the main plot.

That Evening

Their apartment was large, much larger than was really necessary for two people. The managers just thought that the tenants in room 206 were pretty well-off (as were at least half the other tenants) and were enjoying their privacy.

And the place was rather isolated, as apartments go: it was on a side of the hotel rarely visited by other guests; it had no windows; the hotel phones were only called by the staff, on the rare occasions when Sora needed a wake-up call.

It wasn't as opulent a place as they could afford. In fact, if Sora hadn't insisted on practicality, then Cloud would have bought their own mansion and decorated it in the most garish manner ever conceived of by man. As it stood, the apartment was large, elegantly decorated, and very comfortable.

Sora walked in, dead tired, and threw himself down on the couch, putting his legs up and kicking off his shoes. He had picked this particular couch out from the catalogue just last week, as Cloud had been unable to get the bloodstains out of their previous couch. That last job had earned Sora a gunshot wound in his arm, and though it wasn't serious (the bullet had miraculously gone clean through without hitting anything vital), he had bled profusely all over the nice leather couch, and so the next day Cloud had him pick out a black velvet couch to order.

Sora's wandering eyes caught sight of the large grandfather clock across the room. It proclaimed that it was only nine forty-five, and Sora's sighed inwardly. Peering into the kitchen, Sora saw an ice pick on the table, one that Cloud had been using last night but was too lazy to put back in the drawer. Slumber was starting to overtake him. Slowly, he closed his eyes and became lost in memory.

Sora was still in a state of shock. Had that...really happened? Yes, there was no doubt. He could still feel the sensation of where Ansem had touched him, and could still feel the horror he had experienced in that dark confessional booth.

Ansem hadn't said anything, but he also didn't apologize for his "mistake," but what shook Sora up the most was his own reaction. Why hadn't he fought? Why hadn't he said anything? Hell, why hadn't he run screaming to his mother the very next second?

He was only thirteen, and he wasn't too keen on having a girlfriend for at least another couple of years. The only person who had ever touched him there was...well, no one, except himself.

He had no business doing that. Who did Father Ansem think he was? Just because he was a priest, he thought he could...do that to people?

Is that what being a priest is? An excuse to do what you want?

Ansem had acted like he usually did, like the nicest man in the world, reminding the kids after the service to come to the choir that night, where, among other things, Sora's friend Selphie Tilmitt would be singing "Ave Maria."

He loved Ansem. All the kids did, because even though he was a priest, he wasn't, well, preachy. People his age still occasionally came to confession, and Ansem was very accepting and open-minded. Even Sora, when he had first had a sexual dream about a girl in his class, had expressed his fear of impurity to Ansem, and the man had said that it was only natural, and to accept dreams like these, but remember to always treat women with respect.

In short, Ansem had been a man to be admired, looked up to, and confided in. But now?

There was no way it could have been an accident. It was too slow, too deliberate, and hadn't Ansem's breathing quickened as he did it? It was on purpose, without a doubt.

So what to do?

If he told someone else, Ansem would get in trouble, always assuming people believed him. Had this happened to other kids, but their parents had thought they were lying? Had other people been...hurt like he had been?

But Sora didn't want Ansem to get in trouble. He wanted to settle things himself. Ansem had taken a trusting relationship between pastor and child and destroyed with an act of...evil. What other kind of act could possibly ruin a dynamic like theirs?

Ansem deserved to have that same evil visited upon him, of that Sora was certain. Resolved, Sora formulated a plan in his mind.

The choir was going very well. Father Ansem had opted to take a private seat in the wings of the church, and Sora saw him out of the corner of his eye as the rest of the room watched Selphie walk up on stage to loud applause.

One last time, Sora thought about whether or not he was about to do the right thing. Then he saw what sealed Ansem's fate.

Selphie had spotted Ansem, and Ansem had waved to her. Waved with a glint in his eye that Sora had never seen before. And Sora could easily read the momentary expression of intense fear on Selphie's face. That was it. Then it vanished, and Selphie turned nervously towards the rest of the congregation and began to sing as Sora started making his way inconspicuously towards the secluded spot where Ansem was cloistered.

"Ave Maria

Gratia plena"

The crowd was focused entirely on Selphie, and Sora had no problem walking quietly to where Ansem was. He was surprised by how naturally it came to him, this art of moving without making noise.

"Maria, gratia plena

Maria, gratia plena"

Ansem was seated by the confessional booths, in a large wooden chair that was usually reserved for special guests. Sora crept up behind him and removed his weapon of revenge from his pocket: the ice pick that he had taken from his mother's kitchen. Slowly, surely, he was right behind Ansem, so close that he could see the priest's chest rise and fall as he drew breath.

"Ave, ave dominus

Dominus tecum"

He gripped the ice pick tightly in his right hand and tensed his left hand as he reached for Ansem's head.

"Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus

Et benedictus frutus ventris"

Quick as he could, Sora grabbed Ansem's face, placing his left hand over the man's mouth and forcing his head back as he stabbed into his jaw with the ice pick. Driving deeper and deeper, Ansem did not struggle so much as twitch, and the warm blood bubbled and flowed out in a torrent onto Ansem's chest and Sora's hands. After a few seconds, the pick went deep enough to pierce the brain, and Ansem fell limp, his hot blood still gushing out onto his clothes and onto the floor.

"Ventris tuae, Jesus"

Sora withdrew the sharp pick smoothly from the base of Ansem's skull, and stepped back. There was no screaming, so he could be sure that no one had seen him do it. Sora ducked inside the confessional booth and quickly turned his dark shirt inside out, feeling the still-warm blood dribble down his chest. His hands were still a deep crimson color, but that could be rectified.

He moved quietly towards the front doors of the church. No one saw him leave, and since he had told his parents that he was feeling too sick to go to the choir tonight, no one had known he was there in the first place. Thanks to the lights in the church focused on Selphie, there was no way that she could see him from her place at the podium.

"Ave, Maria."

Sora heard Selphie end her song and resisted the urge to wipe a tear from his eye. If he did that, his face would be smeared with blood.

"Hey."

Sora's eyes snapped open, and they instantly caught the clock. He had been asleep for only thirty minutes, and in that time, Cloud had returned, and was grinning at him.

"Congrats on a job perfectly done."

"As always," said Sora as he sat up on the couch. He saw that Cloud had come back with a suitcase, one that usually had a large amount of money in it, and two large cheese pizzas. Hardly an elegant dinner for a hired killer, but right after a successful job was when Sora allowed himself to let go a bit and eat what he wanted. Otherwise, he kept himself on a strict diet. "Client was happy?"

"Ecstatic," Cloud relied, setting down the pizzas on the coffee table. He opened one of them up and dazedly inhaled the aroma of the fresh pizza inside. "Three hundred fifty thousand dollars, all paid in cash. Think maybe we should get a new computer?"

"Maybe," said Sora, for once actually considering it. Their current one was nice, but a couple of years out of date. "Why did he throw in the extra fifty thousand?"

"He said that his contacts said that the police still think it's an accident, and his boys on the inside are pushing that story. This one pretty much can't go wrong." Cloud took a bite of his pizza and relished the hot taste of the tomato sauce on the roof of his mouth. Sora took a slice of pizza for himself as well.

"One week," he mused before taking a bite. "Why," he continued with his mouth full, "did the guy want Riku dead?"

Cloud shrugged. "He didn't say, I didn't ask. Who knows, maybe this was a drug hit. Either way, it doesn't matter anymore. For now, we can relax."

On cue, the phone rang as soon as that last syllable left Cloud's mouth. Both faces turned towards the special phone, seated on the mantle of the fireplace, always kept fully charged.

It meant there was a job. It could mean nothing else, because no one ever dialed that phone by accident. How could they, when the area code was #? It had taken a pretty penny to set up that line, but they decided it would be safer in the long run. It could only mean that there was another assignment for Sora Hikari.

Cloud crossed the room in a few strides and picked up the phone. "Speak."

"Yes."

"How much?"

"I see. And the target?"

"CIA?"

Sora's eyes trailed away from his food at this. He had never had to get to anyone in really high security, but was always up for a challenge.

"Any guards?"

"Just one?"

"You have the fax number, I presume?"

"Send us the information. It will be done in seven days."

"That's right, seven days."

"It has never taken us longer."

"A CIA agent?" asked Sora once Cloud had hung up. Sora didn't like taking any calls, and only did so on the rare times when Cloud wasn't around. "With just one guard?"

"Guess she can't be too important, especially if they can make her vanish."

"You don't think," said Sora, eyeing Cloud, "that this might be a trap?"

"Please," muttered Cloud, rolling his eyes. "We're just assassins. What does the CIA care if some drug runners or mayors are whacked?" The beeping of the fax machine prompted Cloud to exit the room, leaving Sora with his pizza, which he thoroughly enjoyed.

Cloud returned with three papers in his hand. "Here she is, in all her splendor," he said as he tossed the papers on the couch. Sora picked them up as he chewed.

"Kairi Yamato. Twenty-four, same as me. Red hair, blue eyes. Why does she need to go?"

"Apparently, she likes to speak her mind a bit too much for the administration's liking, so they want her gone. Politics is dangerous."

Sora examined the papers in closer detail. Here was an official picture, where this Kairi was dressed in a neatly-pressed suit, here was one where she was relaxing and eating ice cream, here was one of her boarding a plane. All were in color, and Sora was struck by how pretty she was. In ways, she reminded him of Selphie, but more…mature.

"She's staying in the Sullivan Hotel, top floor. If I were you, I wouldn't shove her off, it might make people suspicious."

"No, no," Sora muttered, shaking his head absentmindedly. "Got to do something different, something I've never done before. Something…elaborate."

"Well, remember, seven days. And then we get the biggest paycheck you've ever seen."

"Just how much was it, anyway?"

Cloud grinned, then whispered the amount in Sora's ear. He was immediately happy that he wasn't eating anything at the time, because he would have choked if he had been. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah," agreed Cloud, still looking like the cat who had eaten the canary. "After this, we won't need to do anything for another few months."

"No hope of retirement, though."

"Well, not unless you plan to move to the suburbs, no." Cloud pushed Sora's face so that their eyes met. "Don't fuck around. If you wanted to leave, you would have done it a long time ago."

Sora smiled. "You bet. So, we start tomorrow?"

"Of course. Sleep well, Sora."

"Yeah, you too, Cloud."

As of tomorrow, Kairi Yamato had seven days to live, no matter how pretty she was.