Vices and Virtues

Chapter 2 - Alliances

Major thank you again to all of you guys who have read, reviewed and followed and what not. You guys give me the warm and fuzzies and I love you all. I'm pretty sure I answered all reviews but if I missed you, I'm so sorry. I'll get you this time around, promise. I've been pretty busy with college things, forgive me?

This chapter is Roxas-centric and flashback heavy.

Another shoutout to my beta, Slaycinder. She whoops grammatical ass, yo.

Enough babbling, enjoy.

October 2012

When Roxas opened his eyes, there was an explosion. A hybrid of fireworks and gunshots detonated within his head. He took in a sharp breath, squeezed blue eyes shut against the torturous light pouring in from the windows before letting out an anguished groan. In his twenty-five years of existence, he had never felt such a searing pain.

"Fucking tap-dancing shit on fuck." He hissed. He instinctively reached a hand to his head only to find it already occupied. He peeked one eye open at the object. Half a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 (or was it more than half?) that had previously been in the kitchen was now empty, his hand curled around the neck of the bottle. Before even getting a moment to really think about the implications of this, or to even think about a way to eliminate his headache, his traitorous body had yet another surprise for him in the form of an extremely powerful wave of nausea.

The blond man leaped from the bed and took off down the hall of his apartment towards his bathroom, where he was forced to stay for the next thirty minutes.

"Dear God, I promise if you make this stop, I'll stop drinking hard liquor. I'll stop tricking the vending machines with Monopoly money. Hell, I'll even reduce my F-bombs by like seventy-five percent." The young man prayed audibly for perhaps the thousandth time, after his second round of dry heaving. He collapsed on the floor, letting the cool tile soothe him as his stomach's revolt subsided.

It took a couple of minutes before he was able to muster the strength needed to get onto all fours and crawl to his kitchen for a bottle of water. He mentally noted that not only was the Wild Turkey gone, so was a decent amount of his bottle of Everclear. He flopped back down onto the floor and drained his bottle. Before being able to deduce how his recent alcohol consumption had not killed him, he saw them.

Boxes. Large, filled to the brim, cardboard boxes.

"You're a liability, McCartney. I'm sorry but we're going to have to let you go."

The words raced through his pounding head. The resounding echoes of the words filled his throat with an all too familiar lump. Roxas, still quite unable to make use of his legs, crawled the short distance to his living room where the boxes sat, his name plate on top, a single business card next to it. 'Roxas McCartney, Detective.' He laughed lightly at the typed lie.

"More like Roxas McCartney, Leader of the Fuck Up Brigade." He laughed bitterly, flinging the objects away from himself. A half-sob escaped his lips, the ball of his hand smacking against his forehead, doing nothing for his hangover. It was over. His entire career, because Internal Affairs was too busy sitting around with their thumbs up their asses to realize what he'd done was right. Prior incidents, temper problem, it was all bullshit. It was self-defense and they knew it. They just wanted him gone. He had been too close to the truth and not at all swayed by things like money or influence. Roxas shakily kicked the box away from him, in a weakened, fit of rage. He got up on his feet, still weak and wobbling, but ready to stalk back to his bedroom and sulk, when a manila envelope with his name written in black, messy script, caught his attention. He blinked at it intelligently for a minute before bending to pick it up.

Roxas,

We've been watching you. Answer in 4 seconds.

Before the blond man could fully process the words, his phone rang. The device vibrating violently in his back pocket nearly caused the man to jump through the roof. He reached around and retrieved the object and proceeded to stare at the screen. Unknown Number. Roxas blinked and turned around to the large window behind him. The curtains and blinds were somewhere between open and closed. He walked over to the window, phone still ringing. He pressed the green 'answer' button and placed the phone to his ear.

"H-hello?"

"Good morning, Roxas." a digitally distorted voice greeted him cheerfully. Roxas' jaw moved inaudibly. Half of him unable to respond, the other half realizing he lived on the second floor; his window over-looked a rather large retention pond. So how would anyone know if he'd opened – "How's the hangover treating you?" The voice broke into his musings.

"Who's this?" Roxas demanded. His tone fell short of the intimidating tone he was going for as the words came out with a slight crack. He couldn't tell if it was accompanying the goose-bumps suddenly lining his arm or the remnants of acid from his earlier bathroom rendezvous.

"Oh, just a friend. A friend that's been keeping an eye on you. Saw what went down yesterday. Really sucks for you, kid."

"I'm hanging up."

"You could. But just how long can you keep your head above water with measly unemployment checks? Especially with all of those medical bills your mom left, hmm?"

The blond man paused and squeezed the bridge of his nose in an attempt numb the intensifying headache. "How the fuck do you know that?"

"I told you," The voice answered patiently. "I'm a friend that's been keeping an eye on you." Roxas let out a haughty huff of air. "And I know wasted talent when I see it."

The blond man ran a hand through his mussed locks. He'd fully scanned the area the best he could. Whoever this person was, they weren't outside. But how did he know... Roxas spun around and began examining his living room.

"Oh, Roxy. I didn't bug your living room. Personal space and all that, you know?"

"Then –"

"I have my ways, get it memorized."

Roxas removed the phone from his ear, holding it at arm's length so he could examine it. This had to be some little neighborhood brat that had seen him trudging home yesterday. He could feel disgust pulling the corners of his lips downwards as he remembered how the entire complex muttered as he unloaded the boxes from his car. He'd even left one because of the staring. The way the harsh whispers scraped against the few threads of dignity left. But no one knew about his mother. He never told anyone. He had no one to tell.

"Who are you?"

"Can't get quite that specific yet, Rox." The voice answered with a slight chuckle. Roxas felt his nostrils flare. Apparently someone was getting much more amusement out of this than he was. "Not until we're on equal ground."

"What the hell are you even –?" Roxas blinked hard. Why was he even still on the line? "Look, I don't have time for this."

"Really? Because it seemed to me like you have all the time in the world now."

The blond bared his teeth in a snarl. "When I figure out who the hell this is..."

The voice sighed. "So volatile. You're no fun. Look, I come from a small group that's interested in your talents. You're efficient. You're fast. You have knowledge that could greatly benefit us. You know exactly what needs to be done in this world. Twilight Town is far from the gem it used to be, wouldn't you agree?"

The blond man's jaw tensed. "That's why there are cops."

The voice let out a hollow, bitter, laugh that chilled the young man to the bone. "Cops? You worked with them. You've seen this legal system. In this town all you need is a decent bribe, some social standing and a good-ass lawyer and no one gives a fuck about what you did, how you did it, or who you hurt. No, Roxy, that's why there's us."

"Us? You're off your motherfucking rocker. Who is this? It's that little ass-flea, Seifer from downstairs isn't it? Saved all your lunch money so you could buy that voice changing toy so you could fuck with –"

"October 28th, 2005. Remember that date?" Roxas' brows knitted together briefly before blue eyes grew wide with realization. His lips dropped their scowl and his voice got lost somewhere between his throat and lips.

"Otherwise known as the day I saved your ass." The voice chirped proudly.

Knees weak, the blond dropped down onto the floor. "You – You shot him?"

"Before yougot the chance to stab him, yes. It's amazing how a sniper scope can pick up the faint glint of a knife, huh? Well that and years of training." The cock-sure smirk was audible now. "By the way, with the way you were standing, at least 3 people would have seen you and he would've lived. Number one rule, kid. Dead men can't testify."

"Why would you...?" He trailed off.

"It's not like I was there specifically to stop you or anything. It was my job. You were just...a surprise occurrence. Got a lot of shit for taking that shot after I was told not to, you know. But there was something there. I even convinced my superiors at the time but then you went and joined the army, which was pretty fucking noble. But after that you joined the freakin' police academy.Ick."

"So, what? You're blackmailing me?" Roxas cut in.

"Pfft, no. Just informing you of your debt. That and the fact that I'm not some random kid. The fact that I know about your mom, her depression and the life support. The fact that –"

"I get it! I get it! You know shit. Bra-motherfucking-vo." Roxas cut him off. He didn't want to hear his own life story from the mouth of some sick fuck. "If you're not blackmailing me then why are calling me? What do you want from me?"

"Your body."

Roxas got silent, an aghast frown setting in.

"Well if I knew that would quiet you down, I would have mentioned that minutes ago." Roxas felt his heart palpitate at the sound of the man's laugh. "Look, I didn't mean it like that. Put your eyes back into your sockets, man. I meant your talents. Like I mentioned before –"

"No."

"No?"

"Exactly. No." Roxas moved the phone from his ear, thumb ready to hit the red "End Call" button when a single sentence brought him to a standstill.

"$6,000.

The phone flew back up to his ear. "What?"

"Upfront. Legitimate cash. Can even pay taxes on the shit, declare it a gift or whatever. Make another easy 9,000 after the job and it'll keep rolling in like that after you join. Legitimate paper trails. No Feds knocking on your door. All you have to do is say yes, and a huge chunk of your mother's medical bills could be done with, just like that."

"I'm an officer of the –" Roxas started weakly, his hand as shaky as his resolve.

"You were an officer."

"I can't –"

"You can. Only thing stopping you, is you. Debts paid off, no more rent to pay, the ability to do everything your other job would never let you do. Making a real difference. Letting go of a life that never really offered you anything other than the shittiest parts possible. No more being alone. All you gotta do is agree."

Roxas swallowed thickly, saliva going down like sandpaper. Common Sense screamed at him to simply hang up the phone, pretend that this conversation never happened. Common Sense wanted him to take something for his splitting headache and get down to finding some other job. Common Sense wanted him to ignore the part of him that agreed with everything that had come out of this stranger's mouth.

But Common Sense isn't nearly as common as the world would have one believe.

"Fine." The words came out as a strangled whisper, tangled in the pleas Common Sense was still desperately screaming.

Roxas received a small chuckle as his first reply. "Very well, then. We'll be in touch. Keep an eye on your account. Everything should be in place within twenty-four hours." The voice paused for a moment. "Oh and Roxas. Not to freak you out or anything but there's no going back now. Get used to being Number Thirteen."

"W-why Thirteen?" The blond asked. He was nearly panting now, oxygen suddenly seeming impossible to grasp. His chest felt unbelievably heavy as the reality of the situation settled in around him.

"Good-bye, Roxas and welcome to the Social Moderators."

Roxas dropped the phone as he heard the line click. His hands shaking too violently to support the small device any longer. His heart slamming against his chest to the point where he could swear it was audible. He pulled his knees into his chest as he fought for air; his physiological reactions betraying him for perhaps the third time that week. Slowly, he counted down the ten minutes until the edges of his vision cleared again. As his breathing became normal again, the young man crawled into his old over-stuffed recliner, still somewhat curled into a ball. He stared down at his phone, its dormant state contradicting the whirlwind of trouble it had contributed to. He chewed on his lip as his eyes moved from the phone to the box containing everything from his desk. His old desk. His old life.

He stared at the boxes a while longer before he carefully climbed out of the chair, stacked one box on top of the other and picked them up. He walked them outside, eyes straight ahead. The nosy hens that occupied the apartment next to his, watching him carefully. He could hear the steady rumble of whispers start up, each one stinging more than the last.

Sad, isn't it?

Poor thing.

...Issues...

...Alone and unemployed.

He dropped the the boxes into the dumpster and spun on his heels, leveling the women with a healthy glare. He began to walk back into his apartment when the sight of a small white card at his feet caught his attention. He bent to pick it up, immediately recognizing it as his business card.

"Roxas McCartney, Detective, huh?" He muttered to himself. He started walking back to the apartment, stopping briefly in front of the gossiping women. "Here," He gruffly shoved the card at the women. "Here's something that's just as useless as you."

He ignored their indignant squawks as he locked himself back into his apartment.

Being polite to strangers didn't matter anymore. Neither did building rapport. He still had no idea what he'd exactly gotten himself into, but one thing the digitized voice had said to him still rang through his mind.

There was no going back.

December 2012

Twilight Town was not immune to the hustle and bustle that came along with the holidays. Two days before Christmas and you were hard pressed not to get trampled as people jumped in and out of taxis and cars lugging large boxes to and fro. The streets were beautifully lit with an assortment of colored lights and oversized Santa figurines. People dressed as elves lined up at every other store entrance, ringing bells, asking for donations for the less fortunate.

But Roxas didn't have time for any of it.

He rode through large clumps of people on his skateboard, scarf pulled up over his nose to fight the biting cold. He'd earned a healthy amount of incensed curses as he pushed through the throngs of anxious shoppers.

"Estimated time of arrival?" A male voice asked through the small ear-piece perched in his right ear.

The young man tugged the scarf down as he stopped at a crosswalk, scooping the skateboard up into his arms. "45 seconds. Building's in sight."

"Wig and contacts in place?"

"No need to ask stupid questions."

"Shouldn't there be a sir at the end of that?"

"Don't push it."

The voice chuckled lightly at the man's response. In the time since their first contact, the voice alteration had been cast aside. But Roxas still had no idea what the man on the other end of earpiece looked like. All of their contact had been strictly on Number Eight's (as the man identified himself) terms. Via phone, visual contact all on his end and Roxas still had no clue how the man did it. The money, as promised, was wired to Roxas' account within a day and the second phone call 48 hours after that. The second phone call informed the blond man just what exactly he had to do to earn his place. Take out the Owner and CEO of Cerberus Inc., Hades. Roxas knew plenty about this man. He was the last guy he'd investigated before he'd gotten fired. The man had millions of dollars unaccounted for. Not to mention he frequently supplied the drug cartels with illegal firearms. Those were just the crimes he could prove but Roxas knew the ruthless businessman had committed many more, including a few murders. But even with hard-hitting evidence, the guy got nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Benefits of a good lawyer. The memory made the young man grit his teeth. But now, with the job of infiltrating Cerberus Incorporated's annual Christmas party. After over a month of planning, Roxas could taste the poetic justice.

"All right," The voice broke the blond from his musings as he stepped into the building. "Get to the waiter stand in the Banquet Hall. What you need is on your cart. You're station 1. Hades' table."

"Got it." Roxas replied as he shed his coat, hat and scarf, making sure to keep on his gloves, revealing a waiter's outfit underneath.

"You fill out that outfit well, Number Thirteen. Ever think of going into the food service business? Although I must say that black wig and brown contacts do nothing for you."

Roxas rolled his eyes, incredibly use to the lecherous comments. "Go fuck yourself."

"Care to repeat that?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Go fuck yourself, sir."

"Ah, much better." Roxas gave an exasperated face. "Remember, you've got five minutes so in and out."

Roxas gave an affirmative grunt as he made his way down the hall, moving towards the sounds of music and chatter. He'd only just stepped through the door when a hand accosted him. He turned, arm poised to retaliate.

"You're late!" The man growled.

"Head caterer. Don't hit him." Number Eight informed him.

The caterer grabbed the young man by the arm. "I had three of my men call in sick, last minute. Damn flu taking people out left and right. I need you to take stations one and two. Your carts over by the table. Get a move on. We're already behind on glasses of champagne."

Roxas sneered at the man, ignored Axel's accompanying snicker and moved to grab his cart. Only, it wasn't there.

"It's not here." Roxas spoke up.

"What?" Axel and the caterer asked in unison.

"It's not here." Roxas repeated.

Roxas spun around and looked into the Hall. There were four other waiters, each pushing similar carts.

"Find that cart. You've got four minutes."

"Any particular way I'm supposed to be able to tell?" Roxas questioned under his breath, a bit of an edge in his voice.

"Bottom of the tablecloth has a heart insignia stitched into it."

The blond man pushed his way into the hall, ignoring the caterer's calls. His eyes quickly scanning the bottom of each cart. He spotted the heart insignia at the bottom of the cart being pushed by a tall brunette. Roxas maneuvered his way through the crowd to the young, tired looking woman.

"Excuse me," The woman stopped and looked up. "You look like you need a break. I'll take your cart."

The woman stared at him for a moment. "A-are you sure? I don't want us to get into any trouble."

"Yeah, I'll cover for you. No big deal. Can't have you passing out on the floor, right?"

The weary woman nodded, obviously too tired to argue. "Thanks. I just got here from my other job and... Anyway, I owe you." She gave Roxas a weak smile before trudging away.

"Look at you, Mr. Charming." That audible smirk was buzzing in his ear. The blond man gave an annoyed grunt at the voice before placing both hands on the handle of the waist-high cart. "Okay, Hades is in the Northwest corner. You've got three minutes."

Roxas easily spotted the tall, slender man. A small crowd gathered around him as he spoke, using lavish hand gestures. The sight of the man, made Roxas' skin crawl, but he managed to keep his face pleasant.

"Near." Roxas spoke softly as not to garner any attention from the crowd of people surrounding him.

"Good. Then, it's my turn. You know what to do."

Roxas' brow temporarily furrowed in confusion as he made his way through the crowd, parking his cart behind the CEO. Just then, the light instrumental version of Silent Night stopped, the speakers gave off a loud screech of feedback. The synchronized upward turning of heads as a digitized voice poured through them, was almost comical.

"Ladies and Gentleman, sorry to break up your little shindig but dear me, I think it's rather important." Roxas smirked slightly. Number Eight. The voice may have been altered but no amount of computer engineering could eliminate that asshole-centric tone. Roxas, quickly getting back to the task at hand, reached underneath the table cloth to the little shelf on the underside of the table. He pulled out what felt like a pen and examined it shortly. It looked very much like the insulin pens he remembered his mom taking. The needle was short and skinny. He wouldn't even feel it.

The blond man put one hand on the cart, the other grabbing the needle and injected its contents into the CEOs lower back quickly while h was preoccupied directing security. Roxas tuned into the Number Eight again, catching the tail end of the distraction.

"... How ironic that you're sitting here listening to a song about how Jesus came 2,000 years ago to change a world torn by injustice and inequity. Two millennia and some change later and people say he's coming again. How people have hope for the Second Coming when the first changed nothing, is beyond me." Roxas smirked at the words, he looked around at the faces in the room, some registering guilt, the others blank.

"Done?" The voice in his ear nearly made him jump in surprise. Roxas looked up at the speakers, confused. "It's a recording. Fourteen hacked the speaker system." Roxas blinked, eyebrows raised from curiosity. It was the first time Eight had mentioned any other members. "Looks like it's kicking in."

The blond looked over at Hades, noticing the man. His face was rapidly turning red and swelling. Hives covering his skin. He was grasping at his throat with wide eyes, obviously unable to breathe.

"Did you know that Hades is severely allergic to penicillin?" Number Eight asked while Roxas watched the businessman's face begin to turn blue. "Guess what you just gave him an epi-pen full of?" Roxas could hear the grin on the other man's face as he turned on his heels, the cries of the crowd to call 911 meaning little to the blond faux waiter. He scooped up his belongings and took off through the door he'd come in through.

"How do we know the ambulance isn't just going to save him?" Roxas asked as he took a turn town a near-deserted street.

"There was more than enough in that pen to take him out, trust me. Looks like we just saved his horribly abused wife and cut off about 20% of the cartel's armory. You're a lot better than I thought you'd be."

"Gee, thanks." Roxas huffed as he quickly pulled off the wig and removed his contacts before he dug out a book of matches and lit one, effectively setting the synthetic wig on fire before tossing it into a nearby dumpster.

"It's not like I thought you'd suck ass or anything. I knew you'd be good but damn..."

Roxas let out a wry laugh. "Sounds like someone needs a cigarette to go along with that afterglow."

Number Eight snorted in return. "M'not that creepy. Jeez. Anyway, might wanna speed it up there. Ambulance is on the way."

Roxas nodded, shrugged back into his coat and took off on his skateboard, winding his scarf back around his neck as he went.

"Oh, by the way. Check your phone when you get a chance. I'll be in touch."

"What?" Roxas muttered as he heard the connection drop. He pulled the earpiece out and shoved it into his coat pocket. When he was far enough away from the scene, he stopped and pulled out his phone.

New Picture Message: Number Unknown

Received at 10:02 pm

Roxas opened the message and nearly dropped the phone in surprise. Contained in the text was a picture of him injecting the pen full of penicillin into Hades. The wig and contacts were in place but anyone who really knew him would be more than capable of recognizing him. Underneath the image were the words: This is what I meant by "equal ground". Guess this means I'll be seeing you soon.

Roxas stared at the message. How on earth did he –

The blond man racked his brain. He'd scanned the area fully as soon as he walked in. There were no cameras as far as knew. He'd studied the layout of that Hall for weeks, there was no fucking way in the ninth dimension of hell he could have...

Roxas may have known before but now he was 100% sure. Despite what the news, politicians, law enforcement and gossip mill said...

The Social Moderators were no amateurs.

April 2013

"Hey, Sweetie, you done with that plate?" A raspy female voice stole Roxas' attention from the small circles he'd been drawing in the leftover cinnamon bun icing on his plate. He looked up from his seat at the bar. The people who'd been sitting at either side of him were long gone. He was nearly the last person in the diner. Apparently, he'd missed the dispersing of the lunch crowd.

"Uh, yeah." He handed the plate over to the waitress, his hand trembling slightly.

"Might wanna lay off the coffee there, you're looking a bit jittery." She advised with a motherly smile.

"Y-yeah." He answered as the woman scooped up his plate. She offered the man a soft smile before turning on her heels and walking away.

Roxas went back to his previous task of trying to get his heart to stop slamming against his ribcage like an unjustly jailed prisoner. He looked down at his watch. Ten minutes. He sighed and roughly scrubbed at his face, particularly rubbing at the evident dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been able to sleep since Number Eight told him that he'd have to move to The Social Moderators headquarters. Being something of a freelancer for them, doing what they needed and heading home was one thing, this was something entirely different. He had to admit however, that it did make sense. The gossipy hens in his apartment complex had been getting suspicious. No job since October and yet his standard of living hadn't changed at all, if anything, it had slightly improved. Roxas could outmaneuver anyone in a car, his small frame made him especially adept at hiding in crowds and his quick tongue could charm most (when he wanted to, anyway). But no one could outrun a good rumor once it was sent into motion.

He ran a hand through his blond locks. He looked up at the fragile-looking old-fashioned TV placed high up on the wall.

"Breaking news?" He muttered to himself. "Excuse me," He called to another waitress manning the bar, she gave him an acknowledging look. "Would you mind turning that up, please?"

The waitress smiled and pulled an oversized remote from beside the register, turning up the volume.

"...Davidson was pronounced dead at the hospital after many attempts to revive him. Witnesses at the scene have reported seeing the heart insignia used by the terrorist group known as The SocialModerators, but law enforcement has yet to confirm..."

Roxas felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew that café. And that meant, Number Eight, The Social Moderators' only other field worker, was there. He had been within an eight block radius. Roxas' breath caught in his throat.

"Terrorists?" The first waitress that had taken his plate was back. "That's what they're calling them now? I call them saints."

Roxas' eyebrows flew up in surprise. Before he could open his mouth to reply, another voice spoke up beside him.

"Saints, huh?"

Roxas inconspicuously clutched at his heart and looked to his left. A rather tall, skinny sandy-blond man with an indiscernible hairstyle had perched himself on the stool next to him. He screamed of hippie as far as Roxas was concerned.

"Yeah, you heard right. Dirty work but someone's gotta do it. Heaven knows the cops ain't." She scoffed, wiping her hands on her apron. The second waitress shook her head with an amused smile but stayed quiet. "Anyway, Love, what'll you be having today?"

"Just a coffee to go, Flora. Please and thank you." He answered with a wide grin. She smiled back and shuffled off towards the kitchen doors. The man reached around to his back pocket, leaning a bit too close, invading Roxas' personal "bubble". Before the blond man could saddle the invader with a healthy glare, he spoke.

"So how are you, Thirteen?" The man asked in a low voice, taking the smaller young man off-guard for the second time that afternoon. He offered Roxas a knowing grin and in turn, he stared at the other man momentarily, slack-jawed. This guy... was he…? No. Roxas knew Number Eight's voice inside and out by now. This guy's voice had a light, musical bounce to and wasn't nearly as deep.

"Number Nine." The man introduced himself, outstretching his hand. Roxas shook it hesitantly. "I'll be your ride today." Words escaping him, Roxas nodded. "You know, Eight said you were a bit of a smart ass but you seem pretty quiet to me." Number Nine mused with a smile.

"I-I'm the smart ass?!" Roxas sputtered. His nose wrinkled in annoyance.

"Ahh, he speaks!" Nine laughed, before Roxas could go off on the tangent that was already poised on his lips. "Don't worry, I knew Eight was full of it when he said it. I'm like, 99.9% sure he came out of the womb bullshitting people."

Roxas gave an amused chuckle as the waitress came back, coffee in hand.

"Here you are, Love." She handed him the drink. "Just like you like it."

Nine took it with another charming expression and handed the woman a ten dollar bill, clearly over-paying the woman. "Keep the change." He replied with a wink as he jumped from his stool. "Ready?" He asked as he looked over at Roxas. The young man blinked in return, a series of knots turning over in the pit of his stomach.

"Y-yeah."

"Oh, I didn't know you two were friends." Flora said, a surprised pleasant look on his face.

Nine nodded with a child-like enthusiasm before draping an arm over Roxas shoulder and pulling the man in close for an incredibly awkward half-hug. "Yep. Fast friends." He grinned widely.

Roxas forced a weak smile of his own.

For the umpteenth time, he was sincerely questioning just what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

Next Chapter: Roxas meets The Social Moderators and maybe a clue or two as to what happened to the original Organization! And perhaps a plot twist or two. Please leave a review, comment or whatever floats your boat! It's the only way I'll know you enjoyed it, if you did. Thank you for reading!