Vices and Virtues

Pairing: Axel/Roxas

Genre: Drama, Romance, Humor (Because who's never wanted Axel and Roxas to be wise-cracking killers?)

Prologue - The Ballad of Mona Lisa

"That whole thing with Mona Lisa was the idea that there is this character. For us, you look at the painting, and you can't tell what this person is thinking. Not showing too much emotion, there's this Mona Lisa smile masking what's going on in that person's head," he explained. "The song is about a battle in yourself […] an inner struggle in oneself. The duality in nature, where you see yourself as a bad person, and the good person trying to correct your bad habits. That's what it was about. We thought that would be an easy way to describe how we were masking our own emotions and trying to figure out how we can solve the bad choices we make." -Brendon Urie on the making of The Ballad of Mona Lisa

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't own the title, Kingdom Hearts and this plot is just a mishmash of me watching way too much Killer Girl K, City Hunter and my long un-indulged fantasy of Axel and Roxas as assassins.

Major thanks to my beta, Slaycinder and a major thanks to you for reading.

October 2005

"All right, Number Eight, focus. We're just going to do this like we did in training. But with no fuck-ups, got it?" a familiar voice reverberated through the young adult's ear piece as he lay on a darkened rooftop. His hands tensely wrapped around his weapon.

"Yeah, yeah. Unbunch your panties, I got this, Boss." He responded.

Number Eight fidgeted minutely beneath the dark blanket covering him. He checked his timer and the setup of his sniper before he scratching the band of the generic dark beanie his hair was tucked uncomfortably into. He hated the thing, but since he insisted on keeping his attention-attracting red hair in such a crazy style, he was forced to wear it.

According to his superiors, his sense of style and covert operations didn't go hand in hand.

He rested his face against the scope once more. He'd been scolded about his restlessness so much he could already feel the newspaper colliding with the crown of his head.

He checked the timer again. He had about a minute before the President of Ssang Corporation showed. A minute before his bullet melted. A minute before he went from a simple chronic fuck-up, to the real deal. He resisted the urge to tug at the beanie again.

"There he is! Line it up. You've got 45 seconds left!" The voice hissed in his ear.

Eight jumped slightly, and willed the tremors erupting through this fingers to cease. He peered through the scope and spotted his target. A portly, vertically challenged man, his hair more gray than brown and balding slightly in the center, stylishly square glasses perched upon his nose. He stood proudly in a crisp, designer suit. He looked nothing like a man who'd recently gotten off Scott-free for the murder of his wife. Nor did he look like a man who would allegedly be responsible for illegal in vitro fertilization operations and embezzling. That was Number Eight's opinion, anyway and as he'd been told frequently, his opinions was worth less than camel shit.

"Wait!"

Eight halted the same time the exclamation assaulted his ear drum. A young man, roughly a year younger than Eight, blocked his sight. The obscurer of his shot had a head-full of beach blond hair and a diminutive stature.

Shit Snacks. He mentally growled.

"Stand down, Eight."

The redhead looked over at the timer.

29 seconds. He quickly scooted over and realigned his shot.

"Fuck that, Boss." He responded before pulling the trigger just as the blond male moved away. The bullet pierced the man's temple, gliding through the skin like knife through butter. No exit wound. Perfect. Like he'd practiced.

Number Eight released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as a short, muted ding came from the timer. Perfect and just in time.

A cacophony of screams and gasps erupted from below as he quickly broke down his perch. He looked over at the crowd once more. He caught another glimpse of the blond. Azure eyes stared on wide and blank as he took halted steps backwards. Even from this distance the frantic heaving of his chest as he struggled for air was apparent. Blood painted his face in an intricate pattern.

Eight found himself stuck in his crouched position as he watched the young man turn around frantically searching for the source of the gunshot. He looked up directly at and through Eight, unable to actually see him in the overhanging shadows.

The assassin's heart dropped as he recognized the wild terror racking the young man's frame. Sorry, Kid. He knew firsthand that watching the light in someone's eyes extinguish right in front of you could fuck a person up.

"Eight, get your ass out of there!" His superior scolded loudly snatching him from his musings.

"Ass is in motion, Boss." He answered shortly before grabbing his stuff and doing a quick double-check of his area. Still crouched low, he paused momentarily and cast a glance back into the chaos. He looked back over to where the blonde previously stood. He could hardly be made out, now swallowed up by the frenzied crowd as he ran in the opposite direction.

"Don't stop moving, or the darkness will overtake you." Eight muttered towards the ambling blonde, before turning on his heels and vanishing into the night.