Authors Notes~

So this is the new version of my old Feathers of the F a l l e n story. The only thing that's different is that they're teenagers. The plot is pretty much the same, minor adjustments. Enjoy. I'm really sorry if you were following the other story and waiting for the next installment, but there was just nothing there. Their age is too different from my own.

In light of that, this one is a little better planned and might even prove to be entertaining. I dunno.

Feathers of the F a l l e n REVAMPED

R a v e n Feathers.

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Prologue

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Sacrifice

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'Who is fit to govern others? He who governs himself. You might as well have said: nobody.' ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, 1827

…

10 years ago.

Two young blond boys are playing in a small backyard in a quiet suburban town. Similar. Twins.

There's light in the older ones eyes, he's a happy and cheerful, bubbly kind of boy. His name is Ventus and he's prodding his little brother with a stick, trying to wake him up from his afternoon nap.

The little one is more solemn, opening wide blue eyes languidly, blinking to clear the sleep hazed blur. His name is Roxas, the quieter of the twins.

He gets up and stretches, smiling at his twin and then walking off to play in the sandbox. He liked the colour of sand.

Normal five years olds are fascinated by the simplest things. That's why Roxas' parents think there is something wrong with the boy. Always sleeping, always quiet. The fact of the matter is he's bored, being observant and understanding everything is very tedious.

Ventus entertains his little brother by drawing pictures in the sand and attempting to build something from the slippery grains. Humans fascinate Roxas, he cannot fully understand them.

"Woxy, pass me the spade!" The five year old demands, amusing his little brother.

"Was tat?" he asked, pointing to four lumps of sand arranged messily in front of him.

"It's us! Mama, Papa, me and you," he laughs and it's cheerful and pure "We're a happy famawee, togetha foweva."

Roxas shook his head, pulling up the corner of his lips just enough to dimple. He wished he was as easily amused, Ven made everything seem so fun. But then again Ven was healthy… Roxas wasn't born with a healthy heart, partly why he was always sleeping.

"I wuv you Ven," Roxas smiled.

"I wuv you too Wox," he said, a little perplexed at the sudden outburst.

Roxas watch as he furiously as he dug a huge hole into the sandpit, unsuccessfully because the san was sinking in again. Ven made a deep lunge and accidentally threw the spade further into the yard.

"Oops."

He went to retrieve it, leaving Roxas alone for a few moments. When he returned Roxas Strife was nowhere to be found.

Current day.

He saw life in snapshots, and he didn't just mean photographic memory. It was as if everything was too slow. So sitting and examining a situation was not a problem. It was what to do in some situations that were the tricky parts.

He strutted confidently into an alleyway, calloused hands ghosting over his hidden holster and then further tugging his black leather jacket over it. He was greeted at the end by a few more burly men with sour expressions. They chewed on their cigarettes, showing glimpses of yellow teeth before they allowed the teen in.

He was met at the end of an ammunition store by another thug in a dirty white singlet, chewing on tobacco "Want somethin' kid?"

"I'm here to meet with Alphonso." He drawled flicking dirty blond spikes out of his eyes.

The man in front of him narrowed his eyes. He made his skin crawl, and smelled foul. He hated this store, selling lousy weaponry and trying to be all intimidating like.

The teen spied a decent looking revolver to the side of the counter, the man nudged the table, it didn't move.

"Whatcher' name boy?"

"Raven." There was no hesitation in his voice. He didn't like being reminded of how young he was compared to his comrades, but it was a good sign, that meant they were underestimating him.

"A'hm under no grounds ta let a 'Raven' through."

His eyes twitched and under instinct his hand twitched towards his belt, he wanted to slaughter this man so badly. He hated those who assumed they were superior.

"Double check it with your boss," he demanded "and he'll tell ya how wrong you are."

He rolled his eyes "I know kids like yours, they walk in here, all gangster type and the like," he scoffed, picking up the revolver and watching his reaction "but most of them pussies run at tha sight o'this very gun."

The teen watched him, piercing eyes never leaving the muddy brown ones of this less than intimidating man. His cold ice eyes narrowed and the man slowly rose and walked into a back room.

From the beginning of his training he had been taught to properly hide his emotions, but he nearly broke into a grin when the man snarled at him and told him to go in, down two flights of stairs. He wasn't warmly welcomed into a really dark room with feint green lighting. Several tall men stood in a confined space, attempting to move so that a path was created to a lounging figure surrounded with spirals of green tinted smoke.

He looked around; it was a store room of some kind. There were sets of weapons on the wall behind the leader figure, ordinary and exotic. There was a shelf of tools to his left, guarded by three guards. There was an anvil on top and an open toolbox on the top shelf. There was a table to his right, with strange gun making materials, a bowl of gun powder and a few odd screwdrivers. There was a lone light hanging from the ceiling, it looked strong enough to hold his weight for a bit.

He turned his attention back to the man. He was sharp, with a suit and hat stereotypical of a mafia boss. He had his hand on his leg, which meant a gun holster. He wasn't crossing his legs; there were weapons within arms length and just out. His men were evenly spread throughout the room, which meant they thought him capable to fight on his own.

Alphonso stroked the stubble on his chin as he sized him up, he hated that look. Every time he had to look indifferent when people thought him incapable of anything he came seconds closer to absolutely snapping.

"So you're the Raven that was sent in to complete a thousand dollar drug bust?" he proclaimed, as if the matter was laughable. To further piss the teen off, he did start laughing, and all his subordinates joined in too.

"Yes… My superior thought of no where else to acquire quality coke." He smiled a knowing smile while maintaining eye contact with the mafia boss.

"Well then your superior has fine taste," he narrowed his eyes "does he have means to back up this transaction?"

"I can assure you, my superior is not mentally retarded," the blonde flicked his bangs out of his eyes again and flashed a wad of paper munny. But he didn't throw it to the table like they were expecting "drugs first."

"We have five grams for three thousand."

The reason that he had been given a commission to axe this guy was because he enforced too much money for his drugs, and wouldn't reveal to anyone his suppliers. He'd then send hitmen after people that couldn't pay, so he must have murdered someone with enough money to pay to Organization 13. The amount that he was giving was only worth 300 munny, because if it's cheap diluted substance, being only 20% of the original form.

"Send it down to one thousand."

Alphonso scowled, arm tensing, weapon at the ready.

"We are not accepting that kid."

"Oh, I think you would want to. There are going to be consequences if you don't, selling fifty grams of twenty percent coke for three thousand? That's ridiculous."

"I'm giving you three seconds."

"Pfft, like that's gonna change my mind."

"Three."

"Two."

He tensed arms to his holster when he saw everyone in the room copy his movements.

"One!"

In blinding speed he side stepped right, picking up a fistful of gunpowder and throwing it into the guarding subordinates' eyes so that two writhed on the floor in pain, clutching red eyes in absolute agony. Turning left he drew his pistol and fired it at the wall behind the open tool box, then behind the anvil. They ricocheted off the wall and between the objects with enough force to knock them both down and onto three of the subordinates' heads. The pointed section of a hammer embedded itself into one of their heads and the anvil managed to completely crush someone's skull. Five bodies had tumbled to the ground gracelessly, and with each his smile grew wider and more frightening, not even caring that his shirt was no splattered with blood. The remaining body guard lunged at him but the blond jumped and grabbed onto the light bulb chord, swinging and kicking him so hard in the neck his spine snapped and he joined his comrades in a gruesome untimely death.

The wire snapped and all light in the basement flooded out, while he dropped soundlessly to the ground. He made his way over to Alphonso, who he heard piteously crying in the corner.

That's what you get for underestimating me fucker.

"Whatever you're being paid, I will double it. Spare me and I'll somehow make it worth your while! Please!" he begged like the sniveling coward that he was, true light shining on the brink of death.

He didn't need sight to aim directly at the guys forehead, he could hear it with precise accuracy.

"W-who are you?" he screamed.

He laughed, a kind of dark hysterical one "I'm XIII of Dusk, darkness is here, and nothing more."

A loud bang and his soul started to wither away…

The Angel of Death left that mission with more pointless deaths and a trail of black feathers in his wake.

f a l l e n

Organization 13 are nicknamed Dusk. They're an elite group of assassins that were created for the sole purpose of creating elite killing machines for whatever purposes may cross their path. Most, like him, have been with Dusk since their childhood. Probably because the truth of the matter is they kidnap you.

To him. That wasn't the case.

He'd walked into the clutches of Dusk. Willingly.

Complaints? Flames? Compliments? I'm down with whatever.

kobes.