VERY BAD LUCK

Prologue

Seifer stared, and the envelope on his desk just stared back. He expected an explosion, or at the very least, some tactile poison that would seep into the pores of his skin when he tried to open it and kill him before he completed the action. It looked innocuous to him - but surely that's what the Commander of Balamb Garden wanted him to think.

Here was a letter, and this letter was from Squall Leonhart, and it was delivered by a young SeeD to Seifer's office.

Backtrack two years.

The Sorceress Conflict offered as compensation one benefit to Seifer: the entire world suddenly knew the extent of his capabilities. The media exaggerated his combat prowess to mythical proportions, but it made for good business. Not long after the dust kicked up by the War had settled, a steady stream of lucrative requests for his skills arrived at his door. His clientele consisted mostly of the crooked politicians, gang leaders and disgruntled divorcees -- people too public, too shady or too poor to contract SeeD. He made for a very capable, cost-efficient substitute.

A year later, Seifer had gone on enough missions to open an office in Deling City. The plaque beside the door read "S. ALMASY, HANDYMAN," a cover for when the authorities came knocking - and they did, quite often, because they knew enough about Seifer to guess he didn't install windows for a living. However, he covered his tracks so well that the Deling police could never even force an arrest, and he remained the assassin-for-hire that everyone knew about but no one spoke directly of.

Fast forward back to this envelope, this letter from Squall Leonhart.

He fingered it idly. Perhaps it wasn't even from Squall, but he had to wonder what anyone from Balamb Garden would want to do with him.

A television rested in the corner of his office. Though it was always on, mostly to keep the room from ever falling into the deadly sort of silence that he absolutely hated, he rarely paid it any attention. Now, though, his eyes flickered to the TV as he caught a glimpse of none other than Squall himself on the screen. It wasn't unusual for the Commander to make the nightly news; this was part of the reason Seifer hated television. But today, with this letter in his hand, he felt compelled to watch.

"In other news," the stuffy anchorwoman said, "Commander Squall Leonhart of Balamb Garden announced plans today to marry his girlfriend of two years, Rinoa Heartilly. The pair met on a SeeD mission that set into motion the beginnings of the Sorceress War, which Leonhart is largely credited for resolving. The stoic commander had this comment to make when asked for an official date."

The newsreel cut to footage of Squall fighting through a crowd of reporters. One anxiously asked, "Is it true that you're going to marry Rinoa Heartilly? And if so, when?"

Squall set his grey gaze onto the camera and, with his trademark eloquence, replied, "Soon."

At this, Seifer smirked. He thought it strange, even for Squall, that a man should be so grave in announcing his wedding. He always figured Squall would end up with a woman who would melt that icy exterior of his, but the annoyed image on the TV screen looked listless and generally apathetic as ever.

Shaking his head, Seifer looked finally to the envelope in his hands and opened it.

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Quistis Trepe desperately needed her morning cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Zell had broken the coffee machine while trying to adjust its settings to somehow make hot chocolate. She fumed, but her work demanded finishing whether she'd had her usual dosage of caffeine or not. Her first task of the day was always to sort through a stack of SeeD requests, and send those that weren't absolutely ridiculous off to Squall's desk for a final decision. The job held no challenge, but it irritated Quistis to find requests for entire task forces in exchange for pennies.

The first two requests fell into the trash bin for this reason. She lifted the third just as Selphie entered her office cautiously, holding a steaming mug in her hand.

"Oh Quistyyyyyyy," she said in a singsong voice.

"That better be coffee," the recently promoted Head Instructor declared flatly.

"How'd you know?" Selphie exclaimed, setting the cup before Quistis, who took it in her hands and sipped it luxuriously. The world was right again.

"Any big offers?" the hyperactive girl continued. Without asking, she grabbed the first file from Quistis' stack and looked at it, her eyes widening. "WhooOOoOooaa! That's a lot of zeroes, Quisty!"

Quistis arched an eyebrow, holding her hand out to take the file back. "Let me see it."

Selphie handed it over, and Quistis read over the initial request.

"Oh Hyne," she gasped. The request offered the largest amount of money Quistis had ever known to be paid for a single mission. The catch came in the third line of the request, which read:

The mission, to be detailed below, will require the skills of SeeD's most elite class of fighters. For this reason, the client requests no other than Squall Leonhart to accomplish the mission. Any substitute will be rejected and no payment shall be made.

"This is ridiculous," she remarked.

"What's ridiculous?" came Squall's voice from her doorway. She glanced up at him, but he had turned his attention to Selphie. "Selphie, what are a dozen oversized Cactaurs doing outside the Front Gate?"

Eyes widening painfully, Selphie punched her fist into the air and exclaimed, "They're heeeeeeeeeeeeere!"

Without further explanation, she darted out of the room, singing at the top of her lungs. After her departure, Squall looked to Quistis for an answer. She merely shrugged, and then beckoned him over to her desk.

"Look at this, Squall," she urged, tilting the file for him.

He skimmed it. When he reached the part specifically requesting his services, he quirked an eyebrow and looked to Quistis.

"It's a trap," he declared.

She nodded agreeably. "My thought, as well. But what for?"

Sitting halfway on her desk, Squall shrugged at her. "I don't know."

"And all that money..."

"We could use it," he murmured thoughtfully.

Quistis narrowed her eyes at him and asked carefully, "You're not seriously thinking of doing it?"

"...Why not?"

"It's a trap," she insisted. "Someone's trying to kill you, and you're going to walk right into it?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," he replied, giving her a knowing look.

To that, she had no counterpoint, except to say, "You can't. The media will follow you. Hyne, it's absolutely ridiculous of anyone to request you for a supposedly covert operation."

He gave another shrug. "They won't if they're busy tailing Rinoa while she plans the wedding."

She flattened her hands against the surface of her desk, leaning forward to emphasize her statement. "Squall. This is a particularly dangerous move for you to make."

Squall stared back at her for a moment, his grey eyes searching her face carefully for some sign of humor. How could she be so concerned for him when he had hardly a worry about the ominous request? Completely jaded... Two years of paperwork did that to him, made him crave absolutely anything outside of the ordinary. Two years of a desk job made him realize that he'd rather die excitingly than live boringly. And even though he had a lot going for him, the temptation of combat and the thrill that came with missions... Hyne, if he'd known his first mission to Timber would turn into his last, he would've cursed it all to Hell and gone renegade, Seifer style.

Seifer.

He realized suddenly that Quistis was speaking, but instead Squall thought of Seifer, a name that hadn't entered his brain in months. Unreasonably, Squall decided that he had to go on this mission for the simple reason that Seifer would have done it.

"...If you're sure, I can set you up to leave tomorrow. Should I approve the offer?" Quistis asked, voice dripping with disdain and frustration. It almost wasn't a question, more like a challenge she didn't intend for him to meet.

"Approve it," Squall commanded gently. He turned to leave her office, telling her over his shoulder, "Oh, and you're in charge while I'm gone."

Quistis sat there and stared after his shadow, shaking her head shortly. All that, and now her coffee was cold.

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Author's Note. I like this. But I need all the help with characterization I can get. Any criticism and tips you have to offer, especially concerning Squall and Seifer, will be eternally appreciated. And yes, I did reuse that "What are a dozen oversized Cactaurs doing at the Front Gate" line again. In case anyone happened to notice ;)