Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Author's Note: [Repost from Fanfiction.net] So, over ten years ago, I posted a story with the same title at fanfiction.net. It was the first thing I ever wrote. It got one great review, which inspired me to keep writing. Last year, I "retired" the story by taking it down, and promptly lost it in a hard drive crash. Probably just as well, it was terrible. I mean, this was over ten years ago. Anyway, it's taken me this long to revisit FFVII, and I'm not surprised to find the Turks in my sights once again.

Now, I aint played Crisis Core or any of them other games, so canon is strictly FFVII. This isn't AU per se; it implies connections between characters that aren't mentioned in the game, but hopefully explains them in time. Contains a few OCs, more familiar faces, and hopefully a moderate dose of entertainment. Enjoy!

Tseng stared down in disgust.

"I just bought these shoes."

The soles of his leather brogues were sunk in half an inch of black, congealed blood. He had taken two steps into the room, and the imprint of the first step remained, like a gelatin mold.

"Sir," said Rude.

Tseng looked at him.

"I wasn't making an observation. That was a wry comment."

"Well…what did you want me to say?"

"I don't know, give a dry chuckle or something."

"With all due respect, sir…I think the shoes are the least of our worries right now."

"That's the point. It's funny. Well, sort of, at least."

"Apologies, sir."

Tseng gave a deep sigh. "For god's sake, we need to identify Valentine's replacement. I haven't had a damn two-sided conversation in six months." Then he gagged. "Go open the vent or something. This place stinks. I can forgive HQ for getting these kids slaughtered, but not for putting me through this shit."

"Shouldn't we secure Red Bird first?"

"No…" Tseng briefly shut his eyes. "They got him in the end. I can sense it. His aura is weak. There's no way out of this place, so he must be dead, or too badly hurt to move."

"Or waiting in ambush?"

"That's not Red Bird's style."

The apartment they stood in was located in the Sixth Sector, commonly known as The Graveyard after an ironworks had forced most of its residential quarter underground. These one-room apartments were very much like graves, or the drawers in a morgue, arranged along endless, featureless corridors bored deep into the earth. It had become a grave that day. Twenty-six men and women, two divisions of Shinra military police, had gone in to apprehend the fugitive Wu-Tai assassin Red Bird. Tseng had insisted they wait for Turk backup. He had been overruled.

In green-tinted light from an old, sick bulb, the bodies were strewn around the room like a child's toys. Some might still be revived, but one boy, no older than nineteen, was impaled on a steel pipe torn out of the wall. Tseng reached out, expressionless, and pulled down his eyelids.

"The power of the Limit Break," he said quietly. "You can't make them understand til they've seen it. By then, it's too late."

Rude moved to the bathroom door, his boots squelching. He threw it open, pointed his rifle left, right.

"Clear!"

"That leaves one place."

Tseng advanced on the closet door, stepping over a damp red futon, between two motionless bodies. He called out in a language Rude didn't understand. It was the mother tongue of Wu-Tai.

"Red Bird!"

Then they both heard the sound of a ragged breath drawn in the closet. A cough.

"Tseng," came a voice. It sounded tired.

"I'm opening this door," said Tseng, "and if you want to shoot me in the head, fine, but you're wasting your time."

"I know. Open the door." Another cough. "I won't fight anymore. I…want to see your face."

Still, Tseng raised his pistol in one hand before sliding the door open with the other.

Red Bird was crouched there on the futon bedding. A small man. He had Tseng's dark complexion, and the same style of beard; a thin, wispy goatee. There were only a few specks of blood on his dark suit. They hadn't landed one blow. But he was finished. All his strength was used up.

When he saw Tseng, he smiled. Tseng didn't. He leveled his pistol, the arm completely straight.

"I suppose…I should spit in your face…call you a traitor," said Red Bird.

"You can do what you like."

They still spoke Wu-Tai, and Rude kept silent, his weapon likewise trained on Red Bird.

"Nothing I could say…would make any difference. You're dead, Tseng."

"You have an interesting way of assessing life and death."

"You can kill my body. My soul will go to heaven. Yours…Tseng…when you broke your oath…you might as well have spit on the Emperor's face, dug up your ancestors, and consumed their flesh. Your soul is dead."

"That make you happy?"

"No," said Red Bird, still smiling. "I don't bear you any grudge…not anymore. But what's done, is done."

Tseng bent closer, his long bangs falling loose. He addressed Red Bird by a different name.

"Listen, Zhang. Don't you know the words of the Sage…'in times of chaos, the sage seeks only to preserve his own life?'"

Red Bird gave a single, pained laugh.

"Are you a sage now, Tseng?"

"Maybe. All I know is, countries come and go. My allegiance is to the Nation of the Living. Zhang…life is all there is. You shouldn't give it up for something you can't see."

"But I can see my country. Even now. I see the mountains, and I smell the maple bark, and the cold spring water in fall. And when I die…I'll go there…but you, Tseng, you'll never be there again…"

Tseng stepped back. He raised the pistol.

"Any preference?"

Red Bird understood. He shut his eyes.

"The heart."

Tseng nodded, then aimed carefully.

Later, at the bar, Rude asked his supervisor the first direct, personal question Tseng could remember in the year they'd known each other.

"What did he say to you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I just…I was curious. I couldn't understand what you were saying. I wondered what he said to you."

Tseng gazed at Rude over the rim of his glass. Half the big man's face appeared submerged in whisky. There was a certain naiveté about him, after all. The thought never seemed to cross his mind that what had passed between Tseng and Red Bird had been confidential. Rude wasn't curious about much, it seemed, but when so, he expected his curiosity satisfied.

The low-rent bar was filled with Shinra employees, mostly security and maintenance workers. Both Tseng and Rude preferred their company to that of the suits. They were all too drunk to hear a word, downing beers, playing games of quarters. The chocobo racing was on the TV behind the bar, the brightly-colored birds barely showing through the grime.

Tseng lit a cigarette.

"Rude," he said, "you served in the war, am I correct?"

"Twenty-seventh rifles. Sir."

"See much combat?"

"Five tours."

Now that Tseng thought about it, how in hell hadn't he known that? It must have been in Rude's personnel file, but he'd forgotten the details. Rude certainly hadn't bothered to remind him. Had something happened to make him such a quiet bastard, or was he born that way? He'd come to the Turks with the nickname; Tseng suspected it was ironic.

"Anyway," he said, through the nimbus of smoke growing around his head, "ever heard of the Four Guardians?"

"Some kind of elite special forces," said Rude.

"Correct. The elite of the elite. Wu-Tai spent as much money training them as a whole division of regular army. Named after sacred animals. Blue Dragon. Red Bird. White Tiger. Black Tortoise."

Rude's face slackened. Tseng imagined it was surprise, but then, it was hard to tell past the shades.

"What, didn't you look up Red Bird when you heard we'd be going after him?"

Rude shook his head. "Not my job."

"Listen to this guy. Fucking choirboy. Not my job. You're real grade-A material, my friend. I bet old man Shinra wishes every grunt were as spineless as you.-Sorry. You're not spineless. You're just…Rude."

Rude shrugged. He drank, then Tseng did. Tseng went on:

"Well, Blue Dragon, they say he was a master of disguise. Died on a deep-cover mission. They say he almost wiped out the Shinra brass. White Tiger? He went down with the Honor Guard outside the Emperor's palace. Blaze of glory, all that. Probably took down a couple helicopters. Red Bird…well. You know that story."

"Yes, sir."

There was a long pause. The phony voice of the chocobo race announcer; drunken cheers, curses. Tseng sipped his whiskey. Rude watched him, expectantly, from behind the shades.

"What?"

"Well…what about the fourth, sir? What about Black Tortoise?"

"What about that fucker?"

"What…happened to him? Do we know?"

For some reason, Tseng laughed. It was a low chuckle, barely audible, like a sediment of mirth.

"Why are you so interested?"

"Sir, if he's out there, he's a war criminal like Red Bird. He could be a threat to public safety…"

"Him? Oh…I doubt it." Tseng leaned back, blew smoke in the air, and emptied his cup with a quick, violent motion. "The tortoise," he said, "is not an aggressive animal. It watches. It waits. It probably adjusts itself to suit…ah, screw it, I'm drunk. Suit the convenience of the times. If that old turtle's still alive, he's probably sitting in a bar somewhere, getting wrecked on cheap whiskey, having a smoke, all in the company of a former enemy. Yes, sir. I'd say that would be just his style."

Rude nodded.

"They taught him the Art of War," said Tseng, faintly. "They had only themselves to blame when he practiced it…and ditched a lost cause for the only game in town." Then he snuffed out his cigarette, watching the last plumes of smoke float upwards in the moist darkness. "Hell. I can't stand that flashy country music they play at the races."

Rude glanced at the TV screen. "Hey. Don't you have a bird in that race?"

"I never watch." Tseng shrugged. "My bookie'll tell me if I win."

"That's an honest bookie."

"He knows it's better than a dead bookie.-Anyway, enough of the history lessons. Now this case is off our plate, we can get down to business. We need a new senior man."

"What about Kotch?"

"Kotch is a cowboy. So he's a good shot. Who cares? It takes more than that to be a Turk. Honestly, I'd like a new senior man, and a new young gun to replace Kotch. But I'd settle for one or the other.-C'mon, let's get out of this shithole, it's sad and boring."

Obediently, Rude downed the rest of his drink; stood. Tseng got to his feet a moment later, brushing his suit flat.

"Sir?" Rude asked quietly.

"What?"

"I mean…what you just told me. Well. Is it supposed to be a secret?"

The huge, scarred face, underneath the bald dome, was sincere. Staring at it, Tseng gaped in amused disbelief.

"Of course it's no secret," he said. "Everyone knows. I can't believe you didn't."

"Well, it…"

"Wasn't your business? Yeah. Yeah."

"I just wanted to say, if…it was a secret…well, you could trust me to keep it. Sir."

Tseng pounded Rude on the shoulder, then laughed helplessly.

"You're a good guy," he said, steering him towards the door. "I like you, you silent son of a bitch. Let's go someplace classier. I'll get a few more drinks in you before the sun comes up…"

Chapter Text

"Graveyard shift, huh?-Excuse the pun. You're in luck, cause we're here to relieve you guys."

The Shinra military policeman peered at the newcomers, cautious. In the blue body armor with the facemask down, the two young men were identical to himself and his partner. Something about this man's voice, though, and the way he held himself, was somewhat less than professional.

"You're twenty minutes late. Let's see your ID."

Grudgingly, the relief guard dug out his wallet.

"You sure take your job serious for a guy guarding a roomful of corpses at midnight."

"I don't recognize you…this seems to check out, though. Still doesn't explain why you're late…Private Jones."

"Eh, the trains were stopped again. I think they had another jumper. You know how it these days, suicides left and right. You step outside and get hit by a falling body. It's the modern world with all the technology, you ask me; rots your brain. Anyway, you know our relief will show up an hour late too. Nobody wants to be down here."

"That's true," the guard admitted, then, sounding at once very tired: "Alright, I won't report you. Have fun, boys."

He and his partner walked off, striking up a normal conversation.

"You heard about the race?"

"Hell, yes. I had three hundred riding on Maiden's Delight. Lost every gil."

"Well, you win some, you lose some…"

The moment they vanished into the darkness of the long Graveyard tunnel, the newcomer tore down the crime scene tape and, clutching the knob to keep it from squeaking, opened the apartment door. He and his partner slipped in.

"Aw, lifestream take me," gasped the man, tearing off his mask. "It stinks like a bugbear's armpit. Carlos, gimme some light."

A flashlight blazed, illuminating the man's stubbled cheeks, his bright, deepset eyes, and dirty red hair. It also illuminated bloodstains on the walls and floor of the room, many in the shape of late members of the 13th MP brigade.

"Fucking slaughterhouse," said the man, shaking his head. "Never had a chance."

Carlos, a boy with a nervous face and large eyes, nodded.

"Hey Reno?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you believe in ghosts?"

"I believe there's enough to be scared of without ghosts. Now, you know the drill. Watch the door, and if you see or hear anybody coming, give a yell."

"I don't get it. What makes you think we can find this thing when," his voice quavered briefly, "the Turks couldn't?"

"I told you. This guy spilled to his girl at the Honeybee. I guess they were both Wu-Tai, so she caught him in an unguarded moment or whatever. She told the Don, the Don owed our boss a favor, so he clued us in."

"So where is it?"

"I don't know."

"But…!"

"Relax," said Reno. "He told her it was someplace…shameful, like the state of my life."

"Now you tell me! The hell's that supposed to mean!"

"I got an idea…" Reno gingerly picked his way between the dark stains and dents in the floor, holding his nose with two fingers. When he reached the bathroom door, he turned back. "Hey, Car. You know why they call our employer the Rat King?"

Carlos shook his head.

"Well, who wins a war?"

In the sharp mix of darkness and light, there was something unnerving about Reno's hollow-cheeked face as he grinned.

"I d-dunno."

"The rats do," said Reno. "They chew the bones of the losers. Then, someday, they eat up the winners too. The Turks think they're dirty; they don't know what dirtyis. To get ahead in this world, you got to be willing to go…" He knelt by the toilet. "Right…" He plunged his hand in and, with a slight grimace, reached. "Down…" He tugged; something came free. When he pulled out his dripping arm, something was clenched in his fist. He opened the fist, and it glowed dull red. "…to the bottom."

It looked like a quarter slice of a blood orange. Reno tossed it to himself as they walked down the skyway between sectors six and seven of the plate. They'd long since ditched the stolen uniforms at a safehouse.

"C'mon, man, cut it out," Carlos pleaded.

"You saying I aint got a steady eye? You saying I might," and with a wink, Reno pretended to fumble, then caught it just below his waist, "slip up?"

Carlos wiped sweat from his face with both hands. "I wish I had your guts. I'll just be glad when this is over."

"Eh, eh, c'mon now. There was nothing to it, am I right?"

"If it's Turks," said Carlos, in childlike earnest, "it's serious."

"Turks? What Turks? A bunch of pricks in suits. I could take them all if I was…on fire! Hey kid, once we drop this off, let's hit the Honeybee. Tell the Don thanks, from his old pal the King."

"Reno, you know I got a girlfriend."

"Sure I do. You won't shut up about her. Now you can have two."

"Aw, shut up.-Anyway, what do you figure it is?"

Reno shrugged broadly and tossed the object from one hand, over his head, into the other.

"I figured it was a materia. Looks like a Summon. But like a fourth of one."

"Can you even do that? Cut up a materia?"

"Sure, if you want a big boom. How you think those reactors work?"

He cut his head at the giant bulk of the no. 6 reactor, floodlit, visible behind the grimy glass enclosing the skyway.

"Maybe it's just a big ruby."

"That's my guess. We'll never see a gil of what it sells for, but we did the job. So how about that Honey…?"

The skyway was deserted so late at night. No birds or bats flew in the soot-thick Midgar sky, and the mere suggestion of sound and movement caused Reno to look up.

"What's that?"

"Wh-what?"

"I swear a bird just flew over us."

"Quit trying to scare me!"

"Aint nothing scary if it is a bird; aint you seen birds in zoos? Maybe one got loose. It won't last long…there, right there!"

It looked like a swallow. As they watched, it darted across an arc light and swooped down, moving gracefully parallel to the glass outside.

"Poor little guy," said Reno.

"Um, what should we do?"

"Nothing we can…do. Wait."

Reno squinted. No mistaking it. It was headed straight at them. And unthinkingly, he had just tossed the jewel back up into the air.

Tseng and Rude sat in one of their regular haunts on the Sector Six plate. Soft blue light played on their faces, broken by the shafts of a slowly revolving ceiling fan. Five whiskeys had a balancing effect. Tseng got quiet, absentmindedly turning the glass in his hand, his head sinking between his shoulders as if each glass doubled its weight. Rude didn't get talkative, but when he spoke, he sounded relaxed; at times humor even crept into his voice.

"You're doing it again," he said.

"Huh?"

"That thing with the napkin. You always do that."

Tseng looked down. Unconsciously, he had folded the cocktail napkin into the shape of a tiny crane.

"Well, goddamn."

"Wow. How d'you make them so small?"

"Didn't I ever tell you?" He held the paper crane in the palm of his hand, looking at with some gentleness in his bleary eyes. "This is the first trick you learn at the Imperial Academy. They call them Paper Gods. First term, the dorms are full of the things."

"They teach you that in school?"

"Wu-Tai magic. Enchant them, and they act like real birds. Carry messages, fetch items, things like that. For the war model, make them out of sheet metal. They'll slit your enemy's throat."

Rude's eyebrows rose over his shades.

"That's some trick."

"That's all it is."

"Well…come on. Let's see it."

Tseng shook his head. His eyes drifted to the window, where the night looked very still and black, like a painting.

"Nah. I don't do that trick anymore," he said, and curled his fist around the crane.

"Oh shit, shit, shit…my first big job and some bird…! What the fuck!"

"That was no bird," said Reno.

He pounded the glass wall. The paper airplane, or whatever the hell it was, already reduced to a white speck, looped back toward the lights of Sector Six.

"What do we do? I mean what do we tell him?"

"You wait here, and if I'm not back in half an hour, go tell him I won't show my face again til I've got the thing."

"What are you…!"

But Reno had already leapt up and gripped the parapet with both hands. He swung up, balanced on the rail-thin glass, and took off running.

From this high it was just possible to keep the bird in view. It was headed downtown though, toward the Shinra building, and getting further away every second. Fate smiled on Reno. The number twenty-train, right on schedule, roared underneath him, and after a second's hesitation he jumped. He hit metal with a crash that rocked the car, and sent lances of pain all through his body. Getting to his feet, woozy with shock, blinking back tears, he saw the bird now traveling directly alongside them, two or three car lengths ahead.

Reno loosed his nightstick from its leather holster. A souvenir of his brief law-enforcement career, it was socketed with two cheap, black-market materia: Lightning, and Sense. He ran his thumb over the latter and it glowed bright yellow.

Hazy images filled his brain. Suddenly, he knew where the bird was headed. The train would take him there.

"Come…come…that's a good boy."

The paper crane, bearing the weight of a large, wedge-shaped jewel between its wings, settled on an outstretched palm. It was the delicate, white hand of a girl.

She breathed in a huge sigh of relief. Immediately, the bird seemed to loose animation. Controlling it had been a huge effort. Then her eyes sparkled with a mixture of greed and contentment as she handled the jewel.

"Come. To. Mama."

She slipped it inside her green raincoat. Underneath the coat, her skinny legs were conspicuously bare. She looked perhaps thirteen, but had the intelligent expression of a much older woman. Although the jewel was safely out of sight, she cast intense, paranoid glances in all directions.

She was standing in alley between two great black lumps of buildings. It stank of garbage. Even on the plate, the back alleys and rear exits were caked with grime.

She had nearly made it to the street when the footsteps caught up with her.

"Hey! Hey!"

She walked faster, keeping her head down, but in a moment her pursuer was in front of her.

"Where you going in such a hurry?" asked Reno.

He was breathing raggedly, and his rust-red bangs were plastered to his forehead.

Instead of playing innocent, something in his manner, in the way he loomed over her, caused the girl to flare up.

"Looks to me like you're the one in a hurry. Where's the fire, huh? I'm just minding my business."

"The hell you are, you little sneak. Now where's the stone?"

"I d-don't know what you're talking about."

With an audacity all the more shocking because it seemed completely innocent, he tore open her coat. The jewel had been secured in an inner pocket. It bounced out, and he snatched it before it hit the ground.

"Just found this lying around, huh?"

"What…that cheap glass thing! It was a prize in a cereal box."

"Oh, cut the cute stuff. I don't know who sent you, and I don't know how you did that magic trick, but…" Reno peered more closely in the dimness. He gripped her face by the chin, digging his thumb in her cheek, and turned it back and forth. "You're Wu-Tai."

"So what if I am!"

"I got it. You're that girl from the whorehouse. You set us up, just to get your hands on this thing."

She turned bright red.

"Wh-whorehouse! You….you take that back, I'm twelve!"

"Oh, like that means anything nowadays. But, I believe you. On second thought, your scrawny, flat ass wouldn't last ten minutes at the Honeybee…"

The girl's leg shot up, but Reno was quicker. The instant before it made contact with his groin, he clenched his own legs together, pinning it there. She tore it loose and tried to run; he grabbed her waist.

"Rape! Rape!"

"Oh for crying out loud, who'd want to rape you! Look, I won't ask who you're with. Just get lost."

"No way! Finders, keepers. You can't prove it's yours."

"Well, it's mine now," said Reno, holding it over his head, "what're you gonna do about it? Huh?"

A loud voice stopped them both cold.

"What's this?"

Slowly, almost at the same time, they turned around. Two men in dark suits stood at the end of the alley.

"Oh," said Reno, and breathed in, "shit."

"Heaven's sake," said Tseng, whose eyes were bloodshot, but whose voice and posture were steady. "If you've got to rape someone, at least don't make it a kid. That's twenty to life."

"Nobody's raping anybody! She stole my…thing!"

"Oh yeah, how did I manage that when you were all the way…over…there…"

The girl clapped a hand over her mouth.

"You see? You see?"

With ponderous, drunken gravity Tseng said: "Allow me to inspect the article in question."

Rude jostled his shoulder. "C'mon, sir, let it go. I'll just give him a good kick in case he was trying to rape her. Scumbag probably deserved to get robbed."

"Who's a scumbag!"

"You are, my friend, and if you keep giving a Turk that attitude you'll be a lot worse."

But Tseng, holding the glowing jewel in both hands, gaped at it in abject disbelief.

"Where did you get this?"

"I told you, she stole if from…"

"Where did you get it, asshole?-Rude, grab the girl," he added, seeing that she was edging away. Looking somewhat uncomfortable, Rude complied. "I said. Tell me. Where. You. Got. It."

Reno stepped back. All at once, the fight seemed to go out of him, and he scratched his head.

"You now what? It's not worth it. You guys want it so bad? Take it. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Rude, holding the girl with one hand, grabbed his wrist with the other.

"Hey! Hey watch the hands, I'm a concert pianist, you big bald queer!"

He slugged Reno. The smaller man fell like a stack of papers, but got back up just as quickly, rubbing his jaw.

"I'm not bald," said Rude. "I shaved my head."

"Oh, so the queer part don't bother you none?"

"That's hate speech. I'd be playing into your hands if I got mad."

Reno laughed, then coughed, and spat a globule of blood into the gutter. "Alright, alright, just stop spewing that whiskey breath all over me. Hell…you're so drunk you can barely stand up."

"That never stopped a Turk from carrying out his orders."

"Heh. You guys got class, I'll give you that…okay, I'll come quiet, but let the kid go. She's a pickpocket, she don't know anything."

The girl didn't look grateful. She glared at him, pure venom in her eyes.

"What does that make you?" asked Tseng, stepping forward.

"Me?" Reno dusted off the front of his suit. "I'm a big wheel down here. I'm surprised you haven't heard of me."

"You work for yourself?"

"Of course."

"And you just happened to come into possession of this…artifact."

Reno shrugged. "It was a prize in a cereal box."

Tseng turned to Rude. "We're taking in this comedian, and the girl too."

"Hey!" yelled the girl, squirming in his grip. "I didn't do anything! Arrest this guy for trying to rape me, why don't you!"

"Aw, please," said Reno, "come back in a few years, then we'll see."

Tseng muttered to him as he frog-marched him out of the alley: "You haven't the slightest idea what you've just become involved in."

Chapter Text

The day had started with a throbbing hangover, and it wasn't getting much better. After passing three security checkpoints in the stainless-steel and white plaster basement of the Shinra building, Tseng was headed for a meeting with his least favorite person in the world: his commander, General Karl Heidegger.

He had observed, as an immutable law of nature, that those with the least ability wielded the most power. Capable soldiers were needed in the field. The men best able to command them were stationed close by. Only here, in an office as far removed as possible from where anything got done, a man like Heidegger was placed where he could do the least harm. It didn't help that so many of the army's best had perished in the five-year war.

Then again, Tseng supposed, it wasn't much better in Wu-Tai. Wu-Tai was ruled by the Emperor, a man forbidden by law from being useful. There would be a scandal if the Emperor poured his own tea.

The sterile halls and hard metallic light gave way jarringly to Heidegger's wood-paneled office, filled with books he never read, decorated with pictures of men, war heroes, who lent him a phony aura of authenticity. The general, husky, his field uniform decorated with impressive-looking medals awarded for feats like working ten years at a desk, was eating a plate of shrimp cocktail. Tseng watched each slimy morsel vanish into his mouth. When the shrimp were gone, he used one finger to scour the sauce dish before finally looking up.

"Sir."

"Ah!. Tseng. Sit down. Cigar?"

"No, thank you."

"Straight from Costa Del Sol. Like the kiss of a pretty, sun-baked little girl. Heh."

"I had a rough night, sir. I'd just as soon…"

"Of course, of course. Now, it must be something very important to bring you to my humble abode. I never see you."

"I try to control my wild desire for your company, sir."

"Gya-ha-ha!" Heidegger slapped his thigh. Tseng could never tell if the general found his jokes funny, or if he took every excuse to literally laugh in his face, this lackey of his with eight times his combat experience, this bond slave of a conquered people. Then Heidegger pushed his bulk over the desk, peering at Tseng's briefcase. It was, notably, handcuffed to his wrist.

"What've you got there?"

"Did you read my briefing, sir?"

"I read things all day." Heidegger waved his hands. "You'll have to refresh my memory."

Tseng placed the briefcase on the desk and opened it. Heidegger's eyes widened.

"These are three pieces of the Heaven Stone."

"Hmm! I don't have any idea what that is, but I like the sound of it. I like the Stone…and the Heaven, I like that bit too."

He eyes still fixed on the three materia shards, big like ripe fruit, glistening in the crushed velvet interior of the suitcase, Heidegger opened his cigar box. He trimmed a cigar and inserted it between his lips in a disturbingly sensual way, his whole manner dripping greed.

"Allow me to explain," said Tseng, keeping his face expressionless. "The Heaven Stone is a powerful Summon materia…so powerful, in fact, it has never been used in modern history. It was to be a weapon of last resort. When I defected…that became impossible, obviously. The sages of Wu-Tai who understood its nature, and who distributed the pieces to me and my…former colleagues, are dead; and the fourth piece is still missing. The third was recovered last night. It had been in Red Bird's possession, as I suspected."

"And why wasn't I informed of any of this, hmm?"

"It was before your time, sir. General Weaver, my handler, oversaw the operation. The file was triple-sealed and locked in the vault. We never expected it to come to light again."

"And what about the fourth piece, hmm?"

"The fourth piece should have been recovered when Blue Dragon was killed. But I wasn't present, and I'll need your permission to access that file," said Tseng, then added with a note of concern: "I should say, Blue Dragon was a spy, and a master of subterfuge. I can't discount the possibility that he is still alive."

"Well, well!" Heidegger rubbed his hands together, and let smoke roll from his tongue. "The plot thickens! You have a lead, that's good. I expect the whole stone on my desk by Monday."

Tseng lightly kneaded his forehead with one hand. This was the part he hadn't been looking forward to. "Sir…with all due respect, I don't advise that course of action."

"Hmm?"

"It was…my view at the time, that the surviving pieces of the stone should be destroyed in a mako reactor, to keep them from falling into the hand's of Shinra's enemies. My view remains unchanged."

Heidegger burst out in another horselaugh. "Wha-at? Destroy something called the Heaven Stone? I'd thought you were smarter than that, my boy. Why destroy what we can use?"

"We can't use it," Tseng said painstakingly. "For all I know, all four Guardians had to be alive, or it might blow up half of Midgar. Even if we could use it, and knew exactly what it did…well, sir, what for? The Wu-Tai Empire was the last remaining obstacle to Shinra interests. That's why you…why we goaded them into a war that cost us billions of gil and nearly as many lives. We effectively own this planet, and I'm as happy to be a part of that as you are, general. But who needs weapons in peacetime?"

Heidegger's eyes narrowed, and he looked more intelligent than usual. "Let me explain something," he said, jabbing the smoldering cigar at Tseng. "There's no such thing as a gun that's too big. Do you understand?"

"There is if it's too big to hold."

"Then mount it on a car! Strap it to a building! Build a robot to carry it! That's-that's why we won. Because we understood what was necessary. I thought that's what you Turks were all about."

Tseng looked at Heidegger steadily, and blinked several times. Finally he said:

"I underestimated you, general."

"Hmm? How's that?"

"I had thought you were a man without ideas. It turns out you have exactly one."

Yet again, Heidegger laughed, and Tseng was more sure than ever he was being laughed at; not with.

"You'll follow Red Bird's trail. Maybe you can find out where your buddy Blue Dragon is, if he is still alive. And don't let those shards out of your sight. Sleep with that handcuff on your arm."

"Understood."

"Oh…and Tseng?" said Heidegger, as Tseng turned to go. The cigar had lifted his spirits, and he seemed very sharp now. "What about that promotion? You'll need a good man for an operation like this."

"I still haven't found anyone, sir."

"My army's full of capable soldiers! Put one in a suit. I don't see what the problem is."

"It takes," Tseng said delicately, "a certain kind of man to be a Turk."

"Oh, yeah? What kind of man is that?"

"A man…who has been so abused, so kicked-in…so smoked by the fires of life, he cares about almost nothing. Almost nothing."

"Gya-ha, ha! I see."

"It's a delicate balance."

"Well, find him. Drag your feet too long, and I'll pick my own man. A real clean-cut soldier boy, a drill sergeant, to whip you drunkards into shape."

"The threat is well-taken, sir. Good day."

Reno tapped the wire cage separating the front and rear seats of the car. "Hey, teach. Where's this school bus headed?"

Rude didn't answer.

"You're a quiet bastard, anyone ever tell you that?"

The girl prodded him with her elbow. His right wrist was handcuffed to her left. It was an odd arrangement, but it seemed Rude only had one pair of handcuffs, and it decreased the odds of either escaping individually.

"Don't provoke him," she hissed, "look at him! He could take your head off!"

"I'm tougher than I look, sister."

Suddenly, without turning his head, Rude spoke.

"What's your name?"

"My…oh. I been called a lot of things. My ID says Sal Jones. But call me Reno. Everyone does."

"Alright, Reno," said Rude, his voice calm, slow. "You ever killed a man?"

They were driving through a long tunnel. Periodically, the white lights washed over their faces and the smooth back of Rude's head. Reno bit his lip.

"Depends on the day you ask," he said. "Maybe yes. Maybe no."

"I have," said Rude. "Six years, regular army. I saw my best friends die in front of me. Punched off their feet by bullets. Fried by magic. So if you think, for one second, you can rattle me with your cute punk act, think again."

"Oh! This kitten has claws!"

"I'd just like to point out," said the girl in a high, shrill voice, "I'm being totally co-operative."

"You're a good kid," said Rude, nodding, and gestured at Reno with his thumb. "Stay away from guys like this. They're poison. A real man knows when to hold his fucking tongue."

"Hey, no need for profanity in front of the lady. And if you want to talk about a real man, you bald prick…when was the last time you got laid?"

Rude was silent again. They turned; the tunnel seemed to go on forever. Behind and in front of them, commuters, trapped in the machine of Midgar, inched toward their destinations.

"Not recently, huh," Reno whispered. "You give everything to the job. Don't you? It burns the soul out of you. There's nothing left to give a woman."

"Shut up," said Rude.

"Don't get me wrong. I understand. My remark yesterday? Well, I apologize, I got nothing against queers. But you are one, aren't you? I bet you and that ice-cold looking Wu-Tai brother get it on in the supply closet every thursday. Because you gave up hope of ever feeling a woman's touch again. Am I right?"

"Shut up!" said the girl. "Shut up, shut up!"

"It's all right," said Rude. "We've arrived."

He turned again; some device embedded in the car allowed them to pass through a red security screen. Then they were out in daylight, and above them, sucking up the light in its immense shadow, stood Shinra headquarters.

"Welcome to the best five-star hotel in town. I hope you enjoy your stay." Rude got out of the car and, holding a rifle as casually as if it were a briefcase, came around.

"You're real calm," Reno whispered to the girl. "You realize what this means, right? I bet you didn't kick up a fuss about a lawyer, or anything like that, cause you're like me. No lawyer. No family. Nothing. And when you go into that building with nothing, you never come out."

Looking straight ahead, she whispered back: "Don't worry. I got a plan."

Rude opened the door, poked Reno in the ribs with the gun, and hauled him out. The girl was pulled after him. More gently, he helped her to her feet, all while keeping the butt of the gun raised to smash Reno in the face if need arose. Then he looked Reno in the eyes, the blank shades staring.

"You don't know what it means to have your soul burned out," he said. "You will. Someday."

"Oh yeah? Look behind you."

"Oh…come on. You don't really think I'm falling for that one, do you?"

"It was worth a shot."

Then the paper bird swooped down, weighed down by something the size and color of an eight-ball, and as it passed over them the object rolled off, angled straight at Rude's head. There was no hesitation. Rude dived, covering the gun with his body. The object struck the ground and exploded.

Reno was engulfed in a cloud of bitter-tasting smoke, and suddenly felt a wrenching pain as the handcuff tried to tear off his hand.

"Run, creepazoid, run!" screamed the girl, and he ran.

They ran. And ran. The area behind Shinra HQ was a maze of disused warehouses and loading bays, from the days when manufacture, and not energy, had been the company's main line. Several times they heard shots fired behind them, but when Reno turned his head he never saw Rude. He was breathless with admiration. It had been a move worthy of himself.

Finally they stopped, sides heaving, plastered to the wall of a garage, a place not unlike the alley where they'd met.

"You're pretty good," gasped Reno.

"Thanks. You kept up okay, sleazebag."

"What's your name?"

"Yuffie."

"Why're you after that stone?"

"It belongs to Wu-Tai."

"So, what? You a secret agent or something?"

She shook her head angrily, her cheeks still red from the sprint. "You don't get it. Our materia aren't like the trash you guys cook up. They're the blood of the gods."

"You use some god's blood to heat your house? That's messed-up."

"They gave it to us. It's a blessing. So I'm not gonna let it rot in some," she spit out the word, "Shinra reactor."

"Alright, we aint got time for this. Looks like," and he jostled the handcuff, "you're stuck with me. I need the stone because in this city, there lives a very scary man. Whatever he wants, he might as well have it. Whoever he wants dead, they might as well be dead. He told me to get this for him, and until I do, I'm as dead if he finds me as the Turks. So I suggest we combine forces, because that increases the odds one of us will get the damn thing."

"No way! I'm not stupid. You'll just beat me up and take it."

"Or maybe your superior guile will let you get the drop on me before that happens. It's a gamble you'll have to take. Because if the Turks keep the thing, I'm dead, and you're dead because you're with me."

She thought hard, her precocious face wrinkling. But of course, she had no choice. She clasped his hand, her small, brittle fingers in his large calloused ones.

"Okay."

"Then let's go. You got a place to lie low?"

"Yeah, in the slums. But you sleep on the floor, and you are not getting in the shower with me."

"Fine, but I'll eat your food."

"Deal."

They took off running again. Reno was, again, astonished at how natural it felt, as if they had been partners for a long time. It felt good to work with a pro. He thought, with a shock, of Carlos. Had sending the kid back empty-handed to the Rat King been the best idea? Maybe he should have laid low too.

"Hey," Yuffie panted, "um, were you just kidding back there?"

"Bout what?"

"You really think that bald guy is gay?"

"I was just messing with him. Why, you liked the merchandise?"

Her voice echoed out just as they ducked into a sewer tunnel: "Oh, shut up!"

Carlos had never seen the boss before. Few people had. The Rat King wasn't exactly mysterious, he just didn't invite curiosity. His orders came, they were carried out; if not, the consequences were immediate. The lion had no reason to emerge from his den.

As Carlos knocked on the office door, sweat squeaked inside his boots. The hand as it knocked trembled, and hardly managed a tap. He was about to knock again when a low voice said:

"Come."

He shut his eyes, breathed in, and opened the door.

There were two people in the dark, cramped office, that looked no different from any bookie's. There was a desk with papers and spreadsheets arranged in neat stacks, and behind it sat a man who looked like an accountant, going over a ledger. He wore shirtsleeves and thick, square-framed glasses, and had a face Carlos forgot the instant he saw it.

Leaning against the desk was a seven-foot giant with what appeared to be a gun for a hand.

The man had arms like the cuts of meat that hung in butcher-shop windows. He was smoking loco weed-no mistaking the thick, skunky smell-and his eyes were bloodshot. His shaved head looked raw and bloody under the light. His left arm, below the elbow, became a double-bored shotgun somehow nightmarishly woven into his flesh.

He looked at Carlos, his heavy lids blinking.

"Yeah?"

The word made Carlos flinch like a blow. In a stuttering voice, starting over several times, and unable to meet the man's terrible eyes, he related the story of what had happened in the apartment; and after. The man listened without moving, except to take long drags on his spliff. The shotgun hung, dead weight, at his side. When Carlos finished, he laughed briefly and said:

"Reno always was a fuck-up. He really knows how to pull defeat from the jaws of victory."

Then the accountant looked up. He removed his glasses, polished both lenses with a white cloth, replaced them, and prodded them into place with the middle finger of his right hand. He blinked several times. In a flat voice, utterly lacking character, he said:

"Understood. I have one question, however. Why are you addressing my bodyguard?"

Carlos' head whipped around.

"S-sorry! I thought…but…you…"

The man had forgotten he existed. To the big man he said: "Reno's ripped me off. Find him and kill him, with or without the stone. You have three days."

His bodyguard grunted.

"I-it's not true!" Carlos burst out. "Reno's solid! He's putting his life on the line to get your…s-stone back!"

The Rat King removed his glasses, and began to polish them, a second time. "Dyne," he said, "kill him."

"What…right now?"

"What did I say?"

"Forget it. I'm sick of blowing people away cause they looked at you wrong. Let's save the bullets for our enemies."

"Are you disobeying me?"

Carlos was frantically jangling the door handle, wheezing with fear. The Rat King calmly opened a desk drawer, took out a silver-barreled revolver, raised it and fired twice.

Dyne sighed, and blew out a long plume of loco weed smoke.

The Rat King, taking out other implements, began to clean and oil the gun. Licking his thumb and forefinger, he selected another bullet.

"Dyne. This organization functions on two axioms. What are they? Efficiency, and accountability. You are my only employee I would exempt from that rule, because of your value. But that won't keep you safe forever. Cross me again, and consider your position terminated."

"Yes…sir."

"Good. Now…" Glancing down, the Rat King noticed a speck of blood on his sleeve. His eyes narrowed in annoyance. Brushing at it would only make the stain larger, though. He turned back the sleeve to cover it. "Now. I hope you're ready to put in some overtime. Reno is good. But let him get away with this, and he will start thinking he's the best. We can't have that, can we, Dyne?"

"No, sir. You're the best, sir."

"And why is that?"

"Efficiency…and accountability."

"Correct. Now drag that thing out of here, and tell Adena to bring me some new carpet on your way out."

Chapter Text

AN: So, I've noticed this story is slowly turning into "Guy Ritchie Directs the Prequel to FFVII," or "FFVII: Snatch" (or "Hard Man Pissing Contest"). I'd apologize, but if you're like me, you think that's awesome. Cue the Benny Hill chase music! Hopefully my United Kingdom readers will know what I'm talking about on both those counts.

To be honest, I had very little idea where I was going with this story when I started. I'm pretty happy with how it's turning out.

The Turk arsenal was a simple affair. One wall of the narrow closet was lined with metal shelves, like a jeweler's, that pulled out to reveal glowing rows of green, blue, pink and yellow materia. The other was a backlit plastic screen, and from it hung rifles, pistols, shotguns, and Tseng's ceremonial sword, that hadn't left its sheath in years.

After some consideration, Tseng fitted the one socket in his pistol grip with a green Barrier materia. Rude, with practiced, sure movements, equipped his brass knuckle with a Cure and a Time, and the butt of his rifle with a pink Accuracy.

"Sir," he suggested, over the satisfying click as materia slid into place, "shouldn't we take a third man? Or an MP patrol?"

Tseng frowned. "Discretion is our watchword. Heidegger didn't say as much, but I think he wants to keep Scarlet's claws out of this operation. The Heaven Stone is aweapon, after all, and the Wicked Witch of Weapons Development is sure to take an interest."

Tseng slammed home a fresh magazine, engaged the safety, and holstered his gun.

"Still," he went on, "another pair of eyes would help. Let's use that Public Relations girl…what's her name."

"Elena?"

"Right, Elena. The blonde."

"You sure about that? She seems…untested."

"Well, how do you test someone? She'll never be a full-blooded Turk, perhaps; but she could use toughening-up."

As he loaded his rifle, Rude remarked, casually: "They say Wu-Tai men like the blondes."

"They also say we smoke the loco weed and have small penises," said Tseng, grimacing. "I can refute half of that."

"That's…a bit more information than I feel comfortable with, sir."

Tseng chuckled. "There, now you're catching on. I'll have them issue your medal for Workplace Banter. Alright, lock-n-load, we've got a whole lot of red to find."

"Sir, sir! Please wait!"

The high female voice was followed by a crash of papers cascading to the floor. Tseng turned his head, with an expression of mild curiosity, to see a pretty young woman, her blonde hair cut in a pageboy flip, desperately scooping documents back into a manila folder.

He and Rude stopped their progress down the hallway, allowing her to catch up. Breathing heavily, brushing hair from her face, she saluted.

"Present and accounted for…Mr. Tseng!"

Tseng regarded her with an unblinking gaze, hands clasped in front of him. The confidence slowly ebbed from her face, and it paled; until she almost looked as if she were going to cry.

"Elena," he said.

"S-sir?"

"That's a Turk suit."

"It's…just a dark blue suit, sir."

"It looks like a Turk suit to me."

"Well, I suppose I thought I'd…blend in. Team solidarity? Presenting a unified front..?"

"Only Turks wear Turk suits."

Rude coughed. "C'mon," he muttered, "quit screwing with her."

Tseng's face relaxed into a thin smile, and Elena, overcompensating, let out a big, false laugh, stifled it, burned for a moment with shame, then lightly cleared her throat and regained her composure.

"Had time to run over that briefing?" Tseng asked, indicating the big folder in her arms.

"N-no, sir…"

"Then let me give you the short version. Our rooster-headed friend could be anywhere by now; we need to find out who hired him. Now, there's two names in the slums. Don Corneo, and the Rat King. But the Don is soft. He's a pimp, a pornographer; the most he'll move is a couple fur coats that fell off the back of a truck. The King…is another story. He's hard as a diamond, and he moves drugs, weapons and black market materia. The MPs won't go after him because he's probably sitting on an arsenal half the size of their own. I'll bet my left testicle he's our man, but the Don might still know something. Rude will go shake the old pimp down, while you and I…pay a visit to the Royal Court."

Elena seemed to burp with shock. "Me!"

"You've got a way with people. Isn't that why we hired you?"

"Sir, I've never been in a place like that before. I-I've never fired my weapon!"

"No better time to learn."

Elena ducked her head. "Understood." Her eyes then moved to the briefcase, still attached to Tseng's wrist. "Mr. Tseng…I don't mean to speak out of turn…but is it really safe to carry that around? Especially if we're going to Wall Market..."

"Trust me. It's safer here," said Tseng, hefting the case, "than anywhere in this city. I hope I don't have cause, before the end of the day, to demonstrate that fact. Oh…and Elena?"

"Yes?"

"It's Tseng. Just Tseng."

Reno and Yuffie sat at the table in her apartment, if it could be called as much. The three-legged table was propped up by a shabby set of drawers. Dead flies inside the lamp cast splotchy patterns on the walls, and every so often, rats scurried behind the baseboard. The bed consisted of two mattresses stacked on top of each other, now so crusted with filth it was impossible to separate them.

They'd slept on it together, because Reno kept pulling her off when he turned in his sleep. Even then, she'd kneed him awake several times when he accidentally rolled on top of her. Showering had been a terrible ordeal, involving a blindfold, and Yuffie, standing outside with the handcuff chain jammed in the door, had insisted Reno run the tap to cover the sound of his other bathroom activities. But coffee was made, a few rolls she'd stashed away were distributed, and the first meeting of their partnership commenced.

Yuffie placed a small box on the table. Its surface was covered with beautiful inlay in silver and bronze, a patterns of flowers, trees, animals and monsters.

"This is a puzzle box," she said. "Don't get any bright ideas about lifting it, 'kay, cause only I know how it opens."

"Why would I lift it when I don't know what's in it?"

"Cripes, you're slow. It's another piece of the stone. The last piece."

"Oh yeah? What poor sap did you roll for it?"

Yuffie fumed. Her face reddened so easily, Reno couldn't help savoring the reaction.

"I did not steal it! This belongs to me, for your information. There's four. Shinra stole one. They stole another one when they killed Red Bird. And that," her eyes narrowed further, and now she looked very angry, "that man, who was there. He's got the fourth. The Oath-breaker. All this is his fault."

"Hang on, the Wu-Tai brother? You're telling me…he used to work for you guys?"

"There were four of them. Blue Dragon. Red Bird. White Tiger. Then, him…Black Tortoise. I'd kill him if I could. It's because of him we lost the war."

"Hey!" said Reno. "I don't care if you are the toughest goddamn twelve-year-old on the planet, it gives me the creeps to hear a girl talk like that."

"Whatever." Yuffie tossed her head, trying to look tough. "Anyway, the one they're missing is Blue Dragon's. Those losers think he's dead…but he isn't. They'd never get him, not in a million years."

"Oh yeah? How can you be so sure?"

"Because he's my dad," said Yuffie, beaming with angry pride.

Reno leaned back. He felt an odd sense of shock. The information meant little, if anything, to him; but he got the feeling it would be worth a lot to certain people. Well, no sense in getting ahead of the game.

Taking advantage of the pause, Yuffie took a package of cigarettes from under the table. Reno instantly snatched them out of her hand.

"Oh, no! These things'll kill you before the Turks do. Honestly."

"Give…hey…!" He held them out of her reach, keeping her pinned to the table by the handcuff. When she finally gave up, he flipped the pack open, removed a cigarette with his teeth and placidly lit it.

"Hey!"

"Me? I'm a dead man walking. You got your whole life ahead of you, sister.-Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. So if the Wu-Tai brother knows about the stone, then dollars to doughnuts, he's the one running the show. It sounds crazy…hell, it sounds suicidal…but we'll have to get to him. What kind of a piece you got?"

"Piece?"

"Guns. Materia. Hell, a knife, or is it just that paper bird and a couple smoke bombs?"

Yuffie flushed slightly with embarrassment. "No…and that was the last smoke bomb."

"Aw, shit, I might as well be cuffed to a corpse! Alright. I got just enough scratch to pick up something decent, so let's hit the scrap shop in Wall Market. I know the guy; maybe he can saw this cuff off too. Now, on to other matters…I couldn't give two shits what this stone does, or who it belongs to. All I'm on the hook for is the one piece. If we got our hands on the other three…and the Wu-Tai brother will know where they are…would you consider throwing me the one in this box?"

Yuffie reflected. She cast a jealous glance at the smoke issuing from Reno's mouth, and chewed on a strand of her hair. At last she said:

"Sure. If we can do it. Three for one's more than fair. 'Sides. The fourth piece is his, and he doesn't belong to Wu-Tai anymore. Let him keep it."

"Splendid." Then Reno took a drag, and shuddered. "Mother Earth's tits. Did my brain fall out? Kidnapping a Turk. This was supposed to be a simple fetch-and-carry job."

"Yeah, well," said Yuffie, in a tone that made Reno snort, "that's life.-What's so funny, huh!"

"That's life, huh? What do you know about life, little sister?"

But she probably knew quiet a bit, he thought. At least, more than a girl her age should. Suddenly, with a shy motion of her head, she asked:

"So, like…what's your story, anyway? How'd you end up here?"

The question came out of nowhere. Reno regarded her askance. "Why so curious all of a sudden? I thought you hated my guts."

"Well…we can't make a move till it gets dark. We might as well talk, huh?"

He thought he detected a slight tremor of need in her voice. How long had she been alone? But he felt no real curiosity, even if he'd slightly prefer she came out of this alive. She might be a pro in some respects, but a real pro never said more than strictly necessary.

"Eh." He shrugged. "I could tell you one of fifty sob stories, but I might as well tell you the truth. It aint long. I was born on the plate…my dad was a cop. When I was little, he got knifed by some drunk in a bar. Then it turned out the supe had gambled away half his pension…this was before Reeve cleaned up the city a bit. My mom freaked, dropped us kids in an orphanage and ran off. It was me and my big sister. When I grew up, I tried to follow in the old man's footsteps; but that didn't last. So, here I am."

"What happened to your sister?" Yuffie asked, quietly.

"Life happened to her. I'd just as soon not talk about it."

"So you steal stuff for a living?"

"I do jobs. Whatever needs to be done."

She sniffed. "That's no way to live."

"Hey, hey. You aint exactly no princess yourself. What're you doing, running around on your own?"

"Um, eew. Like I'm telling you that."

"But…I just…"

"Yeah! Sucker," said Yuffie, and stuck out her tongue.

Tseng sat at the bar, again. His life seemed to be a succession of events, punctuated by bars; all superficially different, but with the same drunks, the same stories, the same glasses of stale whisky. It had been a fruitless day.

He'd lost touch. When he was new in Midgar, an outcast, he'd enjoyed working the beat. He spoke the language of the damned souls in the slums; understood their hunger, their leanness. Now, life was good, and their eyes reflected their contempt for any Shinra suit. He'd joked with Elena before; but the Turk suit was a suit of armor, as alienating as an MP's facemask. Only threats or bribes got him anywhere. Nobody knew anything about the Rat King, it seemed. The most powerful man in the slums might as well not exist.

"One more," he said, "and leave the bottle this time."

The bartender, a stout, respectable-enough looking man, silently obeyed. Tseng contemplated the bottle of Midnight Express whisky. Not bad for six gil a cup.

Then he felt something cold, and large, push on the back of his head.

"Hands on the bar, Shinra lapdog."

Tseng showed no visible reaction. His right hand, chained to the briefcase, was already on the bar. He placed the other beside it, palm down. The bartender had surreptitiously vanished. The voice sounded familiar. He turned his head the slightest degree. Then faint surprise registered.

"Dyne. What are you doing here?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" The deep-set eyes, chips of pure anger, glared down at him from Dyne's impressive height. "Nothing here for you. You've already taken everything these people have. Not satisfied?"

Tseng moved his hand the slightest degree; the two shotgun barrels prodded him.

"I sneeze, your blood is in the tequila. And this place aint been dusted recently."

"Dyne…are we going to have an issue here, moving forward?"

"Depends. Just how badly do you want to get fucked?"

Tseng heard the door open as another patron, or perhaps the bartender, scurried out into the alley.

"You work for the Rat King now," Tseng guessed.

"I hear you been asking about him. Well. Here's the news. The King aint interested in talking. The King doesn't talk. He doesn't make deals. There's nothing you have he wants, and if you raise a hand to him, he'll blow your arm off. You want war, you'd better come down with an army."

"Alright. Message received. Now put that thing down, and let's discuss this like…ah…I believe my associate has returned from the bathroom," said Tseng.

Elena stood behind Dyne, both hands, trembling, clutching her semi-automatic pistol.

"Drop the…arm!" she yelled, with impressive force.

Dyne didn't budge.

"You pull the trigger on me, Shinra slut," he said, "you'll be wearing your boss's brains for a hat."

"Don't let him roll you, Elena," Tseng said in the firm, patient voice of a mentor. It might have been a field exercise; and his calmness infuriated Dyne, the veins bulging in the huge man's forehead.

"Fuck you. You think I wouldn't take the excuse to rid the planet of another Turk?"

"It's not me you want, Dyne," said Tseng, with something approaching sympathy. "It's Scarlet. Isn't it. And believe me, I hate that toxic bitch just as much as you."

Dyne's voice rose to a scream: "How dare…! You hate her just as much as me, huh? Cause she's a bitch? That's why?"

"Mr., um, Dyne…" Elena swallowed, choked, then went on in an even voice: "You're, you're not going to win this. That arm? It's going to get tired holding up that shotgun, a heck of a lot sooner than my hands are, holding my little p-pistol. So, just put it down, okay?"

"You don't want a war any more than we do," said Tseng, "so tell us what you want…we'll tell you what we want…and see if we can't find some fucking common ground. What do you say?"

Dyne didn't lower the gun, but the hatred in his eyes dimmed somewhat. He bit his lip.

"For some reason," Tseng added, "I suspect our interests are intertwined."

Dyne's jaw rolled. Every muscle in his arm, leading up to the fatal shotgun trigger, tensed. Then after several minutes, he said, in a voice that sounded forced through a vice:

"What do you know about a two-bit thief called Reno?"

"We know," said Tseng, his voice silk-smooth, "he recently pilfered an article of considerable interest to us."

Dyne snorted, loud and phlegmy. "Huh! So, it's a bigger deal than I thought. Well listen up. I got no interest in an article. I'm gonna find Reno, and when I do, I'm gonna kill him. You guys keep the stone. I guess the Rat King wants it…but, fuck it, he should've been more specific. I'll help you out. In exchange for a favor."

"Oh…really? And, what might that be?"

Grim, Dyne reached into his pocket. He removed a tiny object, no bigger than a thimble. Peering, Tseng realized it was a bullet. Dyne tossed it onto the bar, his expression careless.

"I know…I know. I'll never get close enough to use the thing. I came all the way…but now I'm a killer, a piece of garbage, with nothing to show for it. That's how it goes. Just…just make sure…Scarlet gets it."

Tseng nodded. "I will."

He picked up the bullet, examined it. In tiny letters, etched painstakingly with the blade of a knife, a word had been inscribed into the jacket:

Marlene.

Chapter Text

AN: I really, really wanted Barrett to be the scrap shop dude; but if they knew each other, it strains credibility too much that he wouldn't acknowledge Reno at the pillar. As for why Yuffie doesn't acknowledge him, I'll get to that.

Also, I didn't invent what Reno buys; if I recall, it's what Palmer uses to fight you for the Bronco.

Lastly, I should clarify what Tseng means when he talks about "senior men:" I imagine there are a few dozen people in the Department of Administrative Research, with military, administrative or espionage backgrounds, who could be loosely classed as trainee Turks, while only the senior field operatives (like Tseng and Rude) are "Turks" in his eyes. As we've seen, Tseng has very high standards.

A man in a leather apron opened the back door on the alley. He put back his welder's goggles, and stared in abject disbelief. He saw a young man, holding hands with a barely-teenaged girl, both wearing long-sleeved jackets; and in the light pouring out from the shop, even this failed to disguise the handcuff.

"Oh, Reno. Planet's sake."

"Dex, don't be cute. Can we come in or what?"

"Dyne's got half the sector looking for you! What'd you do," he added, with a glance at the embarrassed-looking girl, "kidnap his daughter?"

"Nobody can kidnap Dyne's daughter, Dex, because she's dead; that's kind of a salient point with him. I'm gonna make things right. I just need time, and I need you."

"You'll bring down so much heat this place'll catch fire."

"Look," and Reno jammed his foot into the door as it slammed shut, wincing, "it aint hard to get on the King's bad side! I was in your place, you know I'd do the same for you. And practically have already. Or am I mistaken, my forgetful homeboy?"

Dex's frightened eyes peered through the crack in the door, but he made no attempt to dislodge Reno's foot.

"So what d'you want?"

"The biggest shooter you got, and the sharpest saw. I'll be gone in five. For your mother's sake, if not me, do it for the kid; she didn't ask to get mixed up in this shit," he lied.

Finally Dex relented. "Alright. But if your name ever gets cleared, you owe me big time."

"Don't I always pay up?"

He and Yuffie hustled inside the back room, a hell-hot foundry with piles of scrap rising up to the ceiling, and a belching, open furnace. Yuffie immediately clawed her jacket off, letting it fall over the handcuff.

"Gross-ness, it's a million and a half degrees in here!"

"Yeah," Reno agreed, "heat's the last thing this guy has to worry about. What've you got for me, metalman?"

"This," said Dex, hefting down what looked like an oversized pistol with a trumpet-shaped barrel, "is a mako gun. It'll take down a helicopter."

"Whoa, I said shooter, not hand cannon!"

"You want the best or not? 'Sides, if you take a shot at Dyne with this, you'd better fucking kill him; cause it aint getting out that one of my guns only wounded the toughest guy in Wall Market. You get me?"

"We're hunting bigger foxes than Dyne."

Dex plugged his ears. "Okay! I don't wanna hear any more. Just remember, hold it towards your center of gravity when you fire, otherwise the recoil 'll plant you on your ass."

"How much?"

"Seven hundred."

"I'll give you five."

Yuffie kicked him.

"Wha-at! I'm still gonna have to eat after this.-Fine, you goddamn bandit, seven hundred." Reno counted out the gil, as Yuffie squirmed.

"Look, whatever," she said, "just cut this chain! I'm not gonna be stuck to this perv-bag for one more second."

"What happened, anyway? Magic trick gone bad?"

"Oh yeah, it was that one trick called mind your damn business, gramps."

"I'm twenty-nine! Well…there's an industrial table saw over there. I'll get you aprons and goggles, cause it'll spark up somethin' fierce. No charge; cause I feel bad for you, getting cuffed to this walking suicide pill. Planet's sake, Reno, you pick up trouble like a magnet."

By the time Tseng fed her the third hot rum toddy, Elena had stopped shaking, and was beginning to look quite pleased with herself.

"It's just…" she said, the blood rising to her cheeks. "It's called the Department of Administrative Research. I'd heard rumors, but I still thought it would involve a lot of less of, um, this, and a lot more…paperwork."

"Turks," said Tseng, "don't do paperwork. That's what secretaries are for."

"Yes, sir."

"You did well," he said, and knocked back his own whisky. "It's not easy to stand up to Dyne…he's one of the tougher characters around here, and if he's teamed up with the Rat King, that makes me…uneasy. In any case, that was lesson number one. Lesson number two is holding your liquor."

It looked, thought Tseng, as if she were going to fail the lesson. She was already swaying a bit on her seat.

"Pardon me, sir, but…what else do we know about this, um, Rat King? I don't want to think about who someone like Dyne could work for."

"The King? Formerly known as Gerry Fisk. He was a shipping clerk in Juno, if you can believe it. For fifteen years, he kept his head down, and embezzled two million from right under Shinra's nose. No one knew he was also a stone-cold psychopath, because he didn't need to kill anyone until he got caught. I've never seen him in person, though Rude had a run-in with him once as an MP…ah, speak of the devil."

Rude stalked in, brushing the slum-dust off his overcoat. His face was flushed as well, as if something embarrassing had happened. Tseng raised his glass.

"Salud, comrade! How is our old friend the Don?"

Rude sat down, and immediately began to fill the empty glass Tseng had left ready for him.

"Still a human slug."

Tseng leaned forward. "Is that…lipstick on your collar? Why, you dog."

"His girls were all over me from the second I got there," said Rude, ruefully brushing at the offending stain. "It's his first line of defense."

Elena giggled profusely, and Rude looked at Tseng.

"Been watering the flower, sir?"

"She's a growing girl. You can handle yourself, can't you, Elena?"

"Respectfully, sir, maybe you should leave the field training to me from now on."

"I'm fine!" said Elena, and burped faintly. "Fine."

"Come on, Rude, get that whisky down; then report."

Dutifully, Rude downed the whole glass, wiped his mouth, then said: "Looks like Red Bird had a Wu-Tai girl at the Honeybee. He got sentimental and mentioned the stone, and the Don told the King. It's our guess if he told her anything else of interest. But it didn't sound like either of them had any idea what the stone was worth."

"Which might explain," said Tseng, "why he seems more concerned with tracking down Reno than recovering the stone. He's rich enough, but he's touchy and paranoid, and he's got no patience with fuck-ups."

"Neither do you, sir…right?" Elena ventured.

Tseng smiled. "Yes. We could use Gerry Fisk. If he weren't a frothing-mad dog just begging to be put down. He's killed more of his own men than we have.-Speaking of which, Dyne has volunteered to help us track down Reno…provided he gets to kill him once we're through."

"Sounds fair enough," said Rude, while Elena, who had yet to consider it in such stark terms, paled again.

"He said he'd wait by the gym…apparently he was uncomfortable with my Shinra stink. Why don't you go meet him. It may not be worth the trouble to get the King himself, so we'll see what this Reno knows. In the meantime," he emptied his glass, "I'll see the girl at the Honeybee. If she and Red Bird got along so well, I imagine she'll like me just fine."

"And me, sir?" asked Elena, brightly.

"You've put in a day's work, and I'll recommend you for bonus pay. But why don't you go report to Heidegger. Rude and I can manage it from here. Dyne can handle any threat we come across, and if he becomes a threat himself, I wouldn't put you between me and him again."

Elena got smartly to her feet, steadied herself against the table, and saluted.

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

Then she walked off, looking proud, if a bit unsteady.

Rude adjusted his shades. "Isn't a report a bit premature?"

"Never show a fool half a job. I don't care what Heidegger knows; I just want to imagine the look on his face when that tipsy girl flounces into his office."

He sipped.

"What do you think?" asked Rude.

"She's smart. I quite like her."

"I think I do, too."

"She'll never be a Turk, though."

"Doubtful," Rude agreed.

Tseng's phone buzzed. He answered, listened for a minute, then hung up, looking satisfied.

"That was the bookie. Looks like I'm a hundred in the black, so the round's on me."

Tseng hadn't had occasion to visit the Honeybee Inn, the open sewer into which the filth of Wall Market ran, in over a year. High-class escorts were available to the Shinra brass, and he made use even of those services infrequently. As he approached the neon nightmare of a facade, a drunk MP clutching the arm of a tarted-up girl stumbled into him. Tseng met his eyes, and he blanched.

"S-shir! A-ah'm…ah wash just…"

"What you get up to in your down time is none of my concern," Tseng said curtly. Then he reached into his pocket and flipped a gil coin onto the cobblestones. "Take that and buy some protection. We don't need another VD outbreak when you get back to barracks and nail all your squadmates."

"Yeah, shir!" mumbled the soldier, reached for the coin, and fell over.

Smiling a little in spite of himself, Tseng went inside. A blonde girl, dressed in one of those ludicrous bee costumes, floated up to him. He didn't want to know how she recognized him, though evidently she did.

"Mr. Tseng! We…please, don't disturb the customers…I'll take you straight to the manager."

"This isn't a raid. I was told a Wu-Tai girl works here?"

"Oh," she said demurely, and gave him a knowing wink. "You must mean our masseuse, Moon Flower. Please, sir, right this way."

"Don't get the wrong idea."

"Why, of course not. Moon Flower is very…talented. I'm sure you'll appreciate her services, Mr. Tseng."

Tseng fumed a little, but followed her down a blue-lit corridor.

"How long has she been with you?" he asked.

"Oh, ever since the war, sir."

"A refugee?"

"Maybe. We never ask many questions. She's happy here."

"I'm sure."

The girl knocked on a door marked with a crescent moon.

"Please…come in," came a faint voice.

"She sounds nervous," said Tseng, then, loudly: "Is everything alright in there?"

"Yes. Of course."

She also sounded young.

Tseng paused. He couldn't sense anything out of the ordinary. Still, putting one hand on his gun, he pushed the door open cautiously. The blonde girl quickly slipped away.

The room with its massage table was empty, and dark. Light spilled from under another, partly open door.

"Please, sir, come into the bedroom. I was just resting."

"This isn't a social call," said Tseng, but advanced, slowly.

Then he noticed long strips of paper on the walls. They had been attached recently, and clumsily. Each one was carefully inscribed with one or more characters of Wu-Tai calligraphy.

Tseng muffled a curse, but it was too late. He drew his gun. A closet door swung open. A smirking, red-headed man emerged, both hands gripping a pistol with a barrel the size of a megaphone.

"Surpri-ise!"

"Reno."

"The very same. Reach for the stars, motherfucker."

Tseng did no such thing, and fixed his sights between Reno's eyes.

"Impressive," he said. "I give it a six out of ten. Those paper warding amulets are an especially nice touch. I'm so unused to Wu-Tai magic, I didn't realize my ki sense was muffled. I presume that girl is with you?"

Behind him, the bedroom door swung open, and a moment later he felt another large gun barrel pressed between his shoulder blades.

"Yeah, you bastard," hissed the voice he had taken for Moon Flower's, in Wu-Tai. She was breathing heavily. "I can't believe you didn't see the amulets. I hate you, but I still couldn't believe you'd be so weak. I guess it's true what they say…an oath-breaker's soul is dead. You're just a suit, walking around."

"Hey!" said Reno. "Let's keep this in the common tongue, alright?-Yo, brother. Drop the case."

"I know it's difficult to see, but this case is handcuffed to my fucking wrist. You'll have to cut my arm off."

"That can be arranged. What's in it? A couple stones, maybe?"

"Oh. I just brought it to scoop up what's left of you after I kick your ass. I wouldn't want to leave a mess."

Reno laughed, loud. "Ha! That's a good one. You know, I can't believe my luck. I guess the gods are paying me back for that fuck-up yesterday. The Turk, and the stones, all in one place. You saved me a lot of trouble, my friend."

"Your lucky day…is it?" Tseng stared into Reno's eyes. Although they were about the same height, he seemed, all of a sudden, much taller. "I'm afraid you couldn't be more mistaken. You don't know what a powder keg you're sitting on. I'd thought you were dumb, Reno, but not this dumb."

"Yeah, keep talking, asshole!"

Tseng sighed. He reached up to straighten a plait of hair that had come loose on his forehead. Then he spoke: "Alright, we've had our fun, but playtime's over. Now, given that I'm fairly sure the object pressed into my back is a hair dryer…" he felt Yuffie flinch, "and given that if you shoot that," he stifled a laugh, "howitzer, it'll put you through the wall, and reduce me, your little partner, and the stones to dust, which will most likely result in a chain reaction taking out all Wall Market, including your own sorry ass…I think we're done here. As courtesy for getting the drop on me, I'll give you a running start…how does three minutes sound?"

"He's b-bluffing!" squeaked Yuffie.

Reno narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. If it were that easy to blast the case open, you wouldn't be carrying it around."

"Go on," said Tseng. "Test me. Look me in the eyes, and see if you really want to test me. These eyes? They've seen things that would make that pretty little head of yours blow up like a watermelon. Go on, fancy boy."

And he advanced on Reno with short, silent steps.

"Stop right the fuck there! Stop….stop!"

Tseng holstered his gun, then reached out his arm for Reno's.

"Touch your toes, Yuffie!" Reno screamed.

The gun exploded. The air was ripped in half, green light flooded the room; then two crashes, first as Reno went straight through the cheap plaster wall, then as Tseng, propelled backwards over Yuffie's prone body, struck the bathroom door, snapping it in half.

The mako gun left an evil-smelling blanket of ozone. Yuffie staggered upright, rubbing her eyes.

"R-Reno!" she yelled.

"What! What!"

"I can't hear you, what?"

"Speak up, sister!"

"I think I'm d-deaf!"

"What?"

When Reno picked himself up, frantically brushing plaster dust off his clothes, he realized he was now standing in the adjacent room. It was a bathroom, and a fat, naked man goggled at him from the tub, clutching a towel.

Reno cleaned out his ears.

"What're you looking at, older-timer?"

He stepped back through the ruined wall, wincing with every motion. Yuffie was trembling, clutching her sides, as she knelt by Tseng. Smoke poured off the Turk's body; but he seemed uninjured. Reno gawked.

"Son of a bitch! It didn't scratch him!"

"He's g-got a Barrier materia," said Yuffie. "But I think he's out cold."

"He'd damn well better be."

Then she was on her feet, pounding on him futilely with her tiny fists.

"Hey, hey, what gives!"

"Why'd you do that! You could've killed me, you total whackjob!"

"I panicked, okay! You try looking that brother in the eyes and not freaking the hell out! But it worked, didn't it? Go splash some water on your face, and calm the fuck down. I'm gonna tie him up with the sheets. If we make it back to the hideout in one piece, I'll never do another bad deed so long as I live, cross my heart."

Back in the room, Yuffie, still shaking faintly, attached more amulets to Tseng's arms and chest. The unconscious Turk was lashed to a chair with everything they'd been able to find; blankets, bedsheets, Reno's jacket, the shower curtains; and a sweater was tied in a bag over his head. Somehow, none of it was able to make Tseng look the slightest bit comical.

Reno squatted in the corner, smoking a cigarette, and tapping the ashes into a teacup.

"What're those ones for?" he asked.

"If he was trained like my dad," said Yuffie, her face tight with concentration as she readied another amulet, "he'll have all kinds of crazy ki-based powers. This should keep him down, at least for, like, a couple hours."

She pressed it to the very center of Tseng's chest, muttered a few words, and her forefinger glowed briefly.

"I got to hand it to you, you really saved my ass."

"Well…I couldn't have done it without you." Then she blushed and added: "Even if you did almost screw it up. Cripes, I still can't believe you.-There, that's the last one."

She stepped back, and Reno stood up. Together, they looked down at Tseng, like children who had received a present so lavish it made them nervous.

"The Turks aren't so tough," muttered Reno. "I say we hold him for ransom."

"No way! Let's just get the stones. This is getting, like, way too real for me."

"You said you'd kill him if you could!"

"Yeah, um…not, like, with my bare hands or anything."

"Well…we can't drag him to the shop. Dex saw enough for one day."

"So rent the saw."

"He'll blow his stack if I waltz in there again.-Listen. I'm gonna put out some feelers, tell Dyne I want to talk. Once I get him and the King off my back, we'll have some breathing-room. You gonna be okay with this guy? What am I saying. I'd be crazy to leave you alone. Shit. What choice do I have?"

"I'll be fine," said Yuffie. "I'll just…keep away from him."

"I can hear you," said Tseng.

Reno and Yuffie involuntarily clutched at each other. As if he could see them through the sweater fabric, he chuckled.

"Yo, shut up!" said Reno. "I think it's pretty clear who has the upper hand now. You don't co-operate…I'll cut off a finger. The little one."

"Oh, please," said Tseng, sounding almost tired. "Listen. I realize this is all very exciting for you. Kids your age probably never raised a housecat. But I'm not a fucking housecoat. You've got a tiger chained up, and that means you are beyond fucked."

Reno backhanded Tseng. The blow didn't connect as hard as he'd hoped, and his knuckles stung.

"That's right, shut your dirty traitor mouth!" said Yuffie.

Tseng laughed again. "As for you, little girl, you'll get off with a good, hard spanking. But you, Reno. See…the advantage of being a Turk is, you can work either side of the law. You fucked me over. Sadly, you're not going to get away with that. If you untie me this second, you'll get a fair trial. Kidnapping, assault on a public official…you'll walk in a few years. We can protect you from the King, as well. However. If you make yet another stupid choice on top of the myriad stupid choices you've made today, when I get free, I'll kill you. Then I'll kill your mother, your father, your brothers and sisters. Then I'll kill their mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. I will erase the memory of a shitty little thief called Reno from the face of the planet. How does that proposition strike you?"

Reno picked up his teacup ashtray. He fingered it for a moment, then with a cry, more a moan of, "aw, piss it!" he hurled it at Tseng; but he missed and it shattered against the wall.

AN: What fun would life be if we didn't keep score?

Shards of the Heaven Stone

Team Reffie: 4

Team Turks: 0

Team Rat King: 0

Overall Score

Team Reffie: 25

Team Turks: 8

Team Rat King: 5

(scores calculated using a strict formula of whimsy)

Chapter Text

AN: I like to imagine Bruce Willis in the Dyne role.

Also, I should say, I'm following Square's lead in having Wu-Tai be all Asian countries. I'm very alive to the fact that in reality, the war that this war was transparently based on was fought by Japan against the United States and China. Still, writing Tseng as Chinese gives my inner weaboo a much-needed rest.

Reno decided to light another cigarette. It was an easy decision, the kind he was making less and less of these days. Then he unfolded the note, greasy and crumpled from spending four hours in his palm, and read it for the millionth time.

Come alone to the eighteenth floor of the Shop.

Short and to the point; the King's style. The note had been handed to him by Gan the Fish (named for his drinking habits), a courier at least four steps removed from the King. You had to hand it to him; Reno's request for a parley, and the reply, had been processed with an efficiency Shinra could only dream of. The Shop was an empty office building on the edge of Wall Market, one the King's many fronts, and Reno was standing in the alley behind it, trying to think of a reason for meeting on the eighteenth floor that didn't involve him getting tossed out the window. Failing that, he smoked the cigarette, sighed, tossed it in a puddle, and went inside.

The first seventeen floors of the Shop were full of spooky, deserted offices and cubicles. When Reno climbed to the eighteenth, his arms stuck to his sides with sweat, he emerged into a big room like a warehouse, its windows blacked out with tape. A few old lamps illuminated towers of boxes and crates.

"Yo!" he called. "Anybody home?"

A voice came, disembodied, like an evil spirit's.

"Keep walking, Reno."

He found it difficult, but managed to take a few steps.

"Come on, Dyne…what is this shit? If you're trying to scare me, I'm scared enough."

Dyne's giant shape emerged from the darkness, his shotgun-arm scraping against a shipping crate. Reno stopped dead.

"Now I'm unarmed," he said, "and I aint got the stone. But I know where it is."

Dyne laughed. His eyes, always faintly bloodshot, took in the poor spectacle Reno cut, when he had been so triumphant only a few hours ago. "Nothing you just said means shit to me. If I had my way, what's in this," and he tapped the shotgun against the crate, "would've been in your body the second you walked up those stairs."

"So…why aint it? To whom do I owe this…fortuitous turn of events?"

"Me," came another voice, and Reno realized, his spine turning to granite, that another large man had snuck up behind him with making a sound. "Hands where I can see them."

Reno complied.

"Who're you?"

"Just a big, bald fairy you might be acquainted with."

"Oh…really? Come on. Really?"

He turned his head, and saw Rude's implacable shades, and the barrel of his rifle.

"Really," said Rude.

"Well, the joke's on you, brother Turk. What Dyne here doesn't know? There aint one piece. There's four. All of which I got. And you know what else? I got your boss-man tied to a chair like a fucking damsel in distress. So if you pull that trigger on me, you'll never find one or the other."

Rude blinked behind his shades, then reached up and adjusted them.

"Ignore this kid," said Dyne, "he's got a healthy imagination. Go on and ask him whatever, cause I got a lot of frustration to work out."

"Wait. I'd like to hear what he has to say." And Rude seized Reno by the back of his collar, threw him against a stack of crates, and pressed the riffle barrel to the soft part of his throat.

"Hey, don't damage the goods. I'm a fashion model!"

"I'm supposed to believe you got the drop on Tseng?"

"Try calling him."

Rude took out his phone, staring in Reno's eyes the whole time. He dialed. No answer. Seeming to brush the implications aside, he asked:

"What's this about a fourth piece?"

"My friend, what you don't know could fill every crate in this room."

Dyne stifled a yawn.

"You two schoolgirls done gossiping?"

"It would appear," said Rude, "we're just getting started."

"That wasn't the deal. If I don't care what happens to this little man, I sure as hell don't care what happens to your boss."

"I told you, Dyne, I have the stone! I-I'm not screwing anyone! The King can come pick it up!"

"You know how the King works. A solid man is worth more to him than ten million gil in materia. You? Not solid."

"So you're gonna kill me no matter what."

"Afraid so. Just like Carlos."

"Hang…hang on, what the hell is this about Carlos?"

"Didn't you know? The King took one look at him and blew him away."

"He…what?"

Dyne laughed again. "What did you think would happen, you fucking brain surgeon? Sad part is…it wouldn't have happened, if he hadn't tried to stick up for you."

Reno, for the first time in perhaps many years, was speechless. He stared at Dyne, his expression flexing between disbelief, anger, and fear. Then he said, his voice soft:

"He was saving up to take his girl to the Saucer."

"Yeah, well, looks like she'll have to find another escort. C'mon, Reno. You've been living on this planet for what, twenty years? Does this kind of shit really surprise you?"

"Yo, shut the hell up! Just cause your family died doesn't mean everyone else deserves to."

The shotgun came up, cocked.

"What did you say about Marlene?"

"I…I said fuck your little girl, fuck your little pink princess! I said she's better off in the ground than with a cold-ass, murderous, son-of-a-bitch dad like you! I said it and I'll say it again!"

Rude's gun switched targets.

"Dyne? What you're thinking about doing, I strongly advise you not to do. Reno? Shut up."

"You know what? Shinra deserves a medal for burning your podunk town to the ground, and you all probably had it coming! I'm sick of your maimed soul act, like you're better than us. You chose to do what you did, you fucking psychopath!"

"Turk," said Dyne, "step away from this man, cause I'm gonna blow him into the next sector."

"Reno! Apologize!"

The notion that any apology, however worded, could negate a fraction what Reno had just said, pushed Dyne over the edge. With real madness in his eyes, he screamed:

"Step back or I swear on the lifestream, I'll pop you both!"

The two guns fired at the same time. Reno, clamping his eyes shut, expected pain, but felt only shock as Rude's body collapsed on him.

Dyne was bent over, clutching his bleeding stomach. Rude shot upright, the front of his suit speckled with angry red wounds, and was on him in a second. The shotgun collided with Rude's forearm; Dyne dealt him a kick that made his whole frame buckle. But he was moving slowly, as if the air around him had turned to water. Rude punched him once, then twice, forcing him back several feet. Then he wound up and delivered a haymaker right to the center of Dyne's hugely muscled chest.

The force of the blow sent him through the stacked crates like a bowling ball. He struck the window behind them, cracked the glass, and tore the black making tape. Immediately he pulled himself away; but Rude leapt over the crates, pulling back his fist, and drove it home one last time. The window gave way in a shriek of breaking glass, and Dyne vanished from sight.

Reno, his jaw hanging loose, made no attempt to recover Rude's gun from within arm's reach. He remained speechless as Rude came unsteadily back, brushing blood and fragments of metal off his body. Rude picked up his gun, inspected it, and tucked it back under his arm.

In a voice like a wondering child, Reno said: "You just took a shotgun blast to the face."

"Slow magic," said Rude, touching his brass knuckle; then he winced. "Cure helps too. Still stings like a bitch."

"You…think he's dead?"

"I wouldn't count on it. Dyne's a notorious survivor. Let's get out of here before we find out."

"Why'd you…why'd you do it? You saved my life."

Rude cocked his eyebrow. "Did you forget everything you just told me?"

In the excitement, Reno had, in fact, almost forgotten. Rude reached out his hand. Reno took it, and got to his feet.

"Besides," added Rude, "I may think you're a scumbag…but when it comes to it, I like you a bit better than I liked him."

"Huh. Thanks…I guess."

"Oh, one more thing."

And as he spoke, Rude swung his fist. The still-dazed Reno managed to duck, then caught a second blow on his forearm, and howled with pain.

"Woah, hey, wh-what gives!"

"Just wanted to see if you could fight," said Rude, and cracked his knuckles. "A bit, it turns out."

"What…for…? Ow."

"As a matter of fact, I checked up on you. Don't worry. Your given name can be our secret. But you used to be an MP. Twelfth division, under Styles. Discharged for drunk and disorderly."

"So…so what?"

"So, you still think like a cop." It might have been Reno's imagination, but he thought Rude smiled. "You're loyal to your employer. You never thought about ripping him off, did you? Even when you knew he was trying to kill you, you tried to fix things up. In fact, to do one little job…you took on one so big, you might be the first lucky bastard in the history of the world to pull it off. You went Turk-hunting. Some might call that stupid. And as a matter of fact, it is incredibly stupid. But the problem…as I understand it…is the nature of your employer."

"What're you getting at, exactly?"

"I'm saying, we might not have to do this the hard way. And, I might have a proposition for you."

Yuffie was trying to eat a ham sandwich. She sat as far as possible from the chair where Tseng remained, motionless and menacing, in the opposite corner. In between each bite, she cast a nervous glance at him.

"Stop looking at me."

"What makes you think," he purred, "I'm looking at you?"

"I can feel it."

"Are you really Godo's daughter?"

"What's it to you?"

"If you really are the daughter of my old friend, I have an obligation to protect you."

"Oh…that's rich!" She took a resolute bite of the sandwich. "I don't need your help, thanks. Nobody does."

"You have his shard of the stone, don't you?"

"Y-yeah. Maybe. But I'm not telling you where it is."

"I didn't ask. Tell me…why do you hate me so much?"

She sputtered. "H-how can you even ask that! You haven't been back to Wu-Tai…have you? You haven't seen people queuing up…begging for rice from foreigners. And the women…"

"Do you think I betrayed Wu-Tai because I hated it?"

"No," she said, looking straight at him. "I think you did it because you liked yourself more."

"I betrayed Wu-Tai because I loved it. I still do."

"Oh…bull-shit!"

"Yuffie," he said, almost gently, "what good would it have done if the Heaven Stone had been used? Imagine. What if it summoned the Guardians themselves? Huge, magical beasts fighting over Wu-Tai. When the battle was over, would there be anything left to protect?"

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses."

"I'll never eat roast chestnuts again," said Tseng. "I'll never bathe in the holy waters. But because of what I did, tens of thousand of people, old men, young men, and sweet little girls like you, are still alive. And do you think Wu-Tai was so blameless? Have you heard about what we did in the occupied territories? The Emperor and his generals were suicidal, and full of pride. They were as bad as Shinra, if not worse…"

Yuffie put the sandwich down. She stood up, and stalked cautiously across the room toward Tseng.

"You shut your dirty mouth," she said. "Don't you d-dare speak the Emperor's name."

"The Emperor is a stupid old man. I don't owe him anything. Neither do you. What has the Emperor ever done for you?"

Yuffie lowered her eyes, and said in an uneasy voice:

"Nothing…I guess."

"You know what I'm saying is right."

She took another step.

It was close enough. With one fluid heave of his body, Tseng snapped the chair, a feat for which his physical strength was more than sufficient. His foot shot out; in a moment Yuffie was lying prone, writhing helplessly, and Tseng straddled her, his hands still trussed to the remnants of the chair behind his back.

"Remove the amulets. Now."

"N-nothing doing!"

"Remove the amulets. Now."

Although her eyes were beginning to tear up in panic, she bit her lip and said:

"One condition."

"No conditions."

"You…you're not really gonna spank me, are you? Cause that'd be all kinds of gross and pervy."

"I promise I won't spank you," he said, "now take off these fucking amulets before I head-butt you through the floor."

Raising one shaking hand, Yuffie touched each scrap of paper in turn. Her finger glowed blue, and one by one they fell away. With each removal, Tseng's arms tightened against his bonds, and the air around him began to flex as if from heat distortion; until finally, with the last, he tore the sheets, jackets and shower curtains to shreds, reached up and pulled the sweater off his head, and took a deep, satisfied breath. Then his eyes fell on Yuffie.

"Remember….y-you promised!"

Tseng spoke very slowly: "In case no one informed you, I'm not very good at keeping my word."

Dispassionate, he pulled the struggling Yuffie over his knee.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! I am so telling your boss about this!"

There was a knock on the door.

Tseng paused, his open hand raised. Then, without bothering to lower it, he called out:

"Come in."

Three armed men barged into the room. Wearing motley clothes, and carrying guns of varying size and quality, they didn't look like the Rat King's well-groomed henchman. They stopped short in confusion.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Tseng. "I'd better like what I hear."

Then from behind, came a distinctive, chortling laugh.

"Oh-ho! Ho-hee! Saucy! I had no idea you liked 'em so young, Tseng. No wonder you're so resistant to my ladies', ah, charms."

Don Corneo, draped in his usual, faux-regal red fur coat, waddled into view. Tseng shut his eyes. He gave a profound sigh.

"Listen, Corneo. I've had a long day, so if you step to me, I will get the stick from the cupboard and give you ten times the beating this little brat gets."

The Don tossed his flabby hands in the air. "I had no idea you were here! Honest! Like I told your studly friend, I don't want any trouble with the Turks. A man hired me to find this…delicate flower."

Yuffie pretended to gag.

"A man?" Tseng's eyes suddenly sharpened. "What are you talking about?"

"You have got to be kidding me!" squealed Yuffie. "How many nasty old men are there in this lousy berg!"

"This girl is my prisoner. She's not going anywhere."

As Tseng had said before, the Don was not a hard man. Standing there, wringing his hands, he looked almost apologetic; although a patina of greed, lust, and dark amusement never left his face. Finally he spread his hands and said:

"Throw the old Don a bone, Tseng, hmm? This man paid me a lot of money. Why don't you come with us. If you don't like what happens, you can take it up with him. I'm sure he's no match for a great and mighty Turk."

"What exactly do you know about this man, Corneo? I want every detail."

"I think he's a Wu-Tai businessman. He looked very ordinary. But he had a whole suitcase full of clean bills! What was I supposed to do!"

"He was probably some kind of sex trafficker. How else would he know you?"

"I'll have you know," said the Don, drawing himself up, "I'm still a big name here. If you want something done without a lot of nasty bloodshed, you go to me, not the King."

"Arrest me already!" Yuffie pleaded. "I don't want to meet this guy! I don't want any more of you sleaze-o-ramas messing with me!"

"Be silent." Tseng shut his eyes, placed a finger to his temple, and took several breaths. Then he said: "Fine, Corneo, you helped us out, so I'll return the favor. But any funny business, and you'll get whatever's coming to him. Where does he want to meet?"

"The train graveyard. It won't take up more than an hour of your precious time."

"Let's go."

Don Corneo and his guards left them at the entrance to the sullen, empty collection of boxcars. Tseng breathed a sigh of relief when he finally vanished from sight, still chuckling inanely to himself; and Yuffie, for all she remained terrified, shot his retreating form a mean glance.

The train graveyard had an atmosphere of misery unequaled even in the slums. Here, in a place already full of society's waste products, the people, or rather things Shinra had discarded, were objects that had outlived even that usefulness. There was no wind under the plate, and the wrecked trains sat there, fallen out of time. It was a graveyard in the truest sense of the word.

"This place is so creepy."

"Want me to hold your hand?"

"Um, no."

"Then lead the way. And if your pace so much as quickens…"

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, I don't want any more trouble, okay?"

Yuffie began to walk between the cars, casting glances in every direction. Jagged shadows covered them. Tseng kept his hand near his gun. When they had gone into the graveyard some distance, he called out:

"Anyone who has business with his girl, show yourself!" He added: "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. Five minutes, then we're leaving."

There was no sound.

"That was five minutes, right? Can we go now?"

"That was fifteen seconds."

"Look, whatever!"

Then they heard footsteps. Tseng drew his gun and turned, slowly, catching Yuffie by the wrist. She didn't complain.

"Who's there!"

A voice, sounding old and tired, but powerful, echoed off the hollow metal.

"Is that you?"

"I am myself, last time I checked," said Tseng.

"You…what evil dream is this. What are you doing with her? Have you taken even this away from me…Oath-breaker?"

Tseng's eyes widened in alarm. He aimed his gun in the direction of the voice, and a moment later, moving with slow, purposeful steps, a man came into view.

He wore a blue coat over white robes, looking out of place, and very much like a ghost, among the trains. Unarmed, he appeared defenseless, but there was something in his presence that made even Tseng draw back. He was a Wu-Tai man, with a thick beard, powerful jaw, and burning eyes. He stopped ten paces away, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

Yuffie hid behind Tseng.

"Come over here, foolish girl," said the man. "This instant."

"H-hi…daddy."

Tseng's voice was faint, weighed down by emotion. "Is this your daughter? The apple didn't fall far from the tree. She's devious, fast, and very skilled."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"You always were as good as me…Godo."

"I never thought I'd see your face again. I imagined you really were dead. Certainly…the person you were died a very long time ago. Now I see a demon…possessing the body of my dead friend. I abjure you! What is your name, and what circle of hell did you crawl out of! What did you do to make a good man throw away everything he held dear, and damn his people to ruin under the heel of Shinra!"

"Walk away, Godo. We already have the stone. There's no reason to throw your life away as well."

Godo burst of laughing, bitterly.

"Do you believe, for one instant, I would allow the Heaven Stone…the last legacy of the sacred gods that watch over us…to fall into the hands of the enemy!"

"There is no enemy anymore. No us and them. The war is over. What does it matter if Shinra commands the Heaven Stone?"

"Why am I standing here trading words with you? Put up your fists."

"I won't fight you, Godo."

"You will fight me, or you will die!"

Then Godo loosed his sleeves, and the fabric flexed like metal. He drew back one foot, his motions fluid as water, and his hands formed claws as he assumed a stance.

"Dad!" shouted Yuffie. "No!"

"Stay out of this, girl. You have caused me a lot of trouble…but, I should thank you. Now I can take revenge for Kuri, and Zhang…for myself…and for you, and this cursed world you have to live in, all because of this man."

Tseng glanced around. They were alone in the swamp-like light filtering down from the plate. Godo had chosen his arena unthinkingly, but perhaps, after all, there was something like fate, and he was in its grip. He laughed himself, and it sounded free.

"This just couldn't be any more perfect, could it?"

"You once fought me to earn your place," said Godo. "Climb up out of hell, Tseng. Climb the pagoda once more."

"Very well." Tseng pushed Yuffie back, with the same hand still cuffed to the briefcase. He limbered his joints, rolled his head, and once again the air around him wavered, as if heat were rising off his body. He planted his feet, then put out one hand, palm open, facing skywards.

"Godo!" he said. "Come at me with all your power."

Chapter Text

AN: Last time on Like Turks: Dyne almost killed a man called Reno just to watch him die. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

So, Godo's sword is, of course, one of these:  wikipedia dot org / wiki / Katana

But Tseng's is one of these:  wikipedia dot org / wiki / Jian

Finally here is your music for this chapter:  www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=gaZOGhESWmg

Tseng flew through the air, leg extended. Godo waited, feet planted wide, then seized him mid-flight, and hurled him against the side of a train car. The metal punched in, and he fell to the ground motionless.

"Your wushu is weak, Tseng! Like the thin blood in your veins!"

Gradually, as if waking from a nap, Tseng got up, and dusted off his coat.

"Don't insult me," he said, and coughed. "Quit pulling your punches."

Godo's face flared; he struck another stance, fists balled and close together. Again Tseng rushed at him. This time, however, he feinted at the last minute, ducked to one side, and swept Godo's feet out from under him. They grappled briefly on the ground; then were back on their feet, trading blows.

They didn't seem to be maneuvering for advantage; simply pounding each other as hard as they could. Their bodies thudded like wood as fists, feet and elbows collided. Blood flew from Tseng's lip. Godo began to hold himself lower, protecting his injured stomach. Finally Godo roared, stamped his foot, and the air around him burst in a sonic boom. Tseng was thrown back, but kept his feet. He rolled one shoulder, touched up his bleeding lip, and cracked his neck.

"That was some workout. Ready for Round Two?"

Bent over, Godo was laughing darkly and wheezing at the same time.

"Ha, her, ha, her…if there's one thing…I could always say about you, Tseng…you keep that miserable attitude of yours to the last."

"Master Qan always did like you best."

"I think…he resented…your success with the ladies. We…all did."

"I'll bet he did, the old monk. But," he said, with a glance at Yuffie, who had thrown herself underneath one of the cars, "now I'm frigid as Icicle Inn, and you've got a cute little daughter. She must have been born by then, Godo. Why did you keep her a secret? Perhaps her mother was a disreputable woman?"

"Of course she was. But she was the most beautiful woman in all Wu-Tai. She's dead now," said Godo, the anger suddenly returning to his eyes, and he charged at Tseng. Tseng flung up the briefcase, deflecting his punch, then leapt up in the air.

He landed on the roof of the car behind him, one hand planted between his feet. Godo hesitated a moment, watching him, then ran down the length of the car; Tseng followed, but Godo jumped and made the roof before he caught up, and got his footing. Again they faced each other.

Godo held out his palm, and the flickering air around it glowed blue.

"Guardian spirits of Wu-Tai!" he called out. "Gods, sacred protectors! Imbue my hand! Magic Change!"

With a crack like a firing gun and a plume of white smoke, a long, curved sword appeared in his fist.

Tseng held out his palm; it glowed black, as if the hand were covered in oil.

"Guardian spirits of Wu-Tai! Gods, sacred protectors! Imbue my hand! Weapon change!"

Godo watched in enraged disbelief as, with the same eruption of smoke, a perfectly straight blade, with a red tassel swinging from its pommel, appeared in Tseng's hand.

"How…still…?"

"It's magic, Blue Dragon. That's all it is."

"Die for your blasphemy!"

And once again they came together.

A gun rack stood near the service entrance of the garage. All its forty sockets were fitted Z-190 assault rifles, top-of-the-line Shinra weapons. As the Don or his ilk might have said, they had, in fact, "fallen off the back" of a Shinra truck. As each man entered, dressed identical to the others in a black button-down shirt and blue jeans, he took a gun from the rack with a pregnant click. When the last man passed, the rack was empty.

Four armored cars, rough marks on their sides where the logo of a well-known security company had been scraped away, were parked in the center of the garage. A man in a white suit, with a pale lilac tie, stood beside them, hands in his pockets. His fair hair was combed off his forehead, and his pink face looked scrubbed. It was a blank face without distinguishing marks, except the thick glasses that gave the eyes a bored, fixed look. Beside him stood Dyne, wearing suspenders and a pound of gauze bandages. The men assembled in front of him.

The Rat King coughed into his handkerchief, folded in neatly, and put it away, before addressing them in a mild voice like a school principal: "We move out now. We find the two senior Turks and kill them. This stone could be worth more than the sum total of all other materia that have passed through our hands. Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, sir," they said, in a flat chorus.

"What happens to any man who turns back?"

There was no answer, and evidently there didn't need to be; as the King gave a smile of quiet satisfaction.

"You have each been issued a weapon. Your four team leaders have been outfitted with Cure and Barrier materia. Apply immediate, lethal force. Attack until you die."

"Yes, sir."

"The law of this world," said the King, and he rose a bit on his toes, scanning each of their faces, "is plain for anyone to see. The strong survive. The weak perish. Each one of you is here because you are a tested man. But with increased opportunity, comes increased danger. You will be tested again and again, until the day you die. Those who fall will be thrown on the dump with the rest of the garbage. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are my deathless soldiers! Now move out!" He hefted his gun in the air, each man did like likewise; and as his sleeve fell, a bangle was revealed, set with yellow, pink, green and red materia.

Tseng and Godo were both breathing very heavily now. Tseng was cut across the forehead, and kept wiping the blood from his eyes, while Godo had taken a deep cut in his side. There was no way the fight could continue, but neither was willing to be the first to admit it.

"Not…bad…old man," said Tseng.

"It has been a long time…since I had to exert myself to such an extent."

"Yeah, well…you're welcome, you interfering pest. You take the girl…I'll take the stone. Shinra will never use it. It'll get locked away somewhere, I'll see to that…"

"Unacceptable."

"Godo…I admit it…I shot Zhang in cold blood. It doesn't have to be the same with you. Go back into hiding."

"It sickens me that I am the one who needs to hide."

He managed to get his breathing under control, and struck another stance, although there was little power in it. Tseng did likewise.

In their stillness, the lethal poise of their bodies, was a hint of motion.

The handcuff chain attached to Tseng's wrist swung gently back and forth. It was no longer attached to anything. It had been cut clean through, though whether by Godo's sword or Tseng's own, there was no telling. Godo stared at it as if hypnotized.

"What happened to that case?" he asked dully.

Tseng glanced down from the car. "What happened to your daughter?"

They looked at each other.

"This is your fault, Tortoise!"

"Suck on my balls, Dragon, I'm not the one who started it!"

"You started it when you…"

"Enough about that, the girl needs to be…"

Godo had already taken off, pounding down the back of the train.

"Tseng! We'll finish this some other time!"

"Fine, you coward!" Tseng yelled after him. "Run off and leave me holding the bag!"

Or, Tseng reflected bitterly, not holding it, as the case might be.

The door to Tseng's office was open, and Rude knocked on the inside. Several large books were assembled haphazardly on the desk, and Tseng had been pouring over one of them. He removed his small reading glasses and looked up.

"Ah! It's good to see you again."

"You as well, sir. Are you…feeling alright?"

"What's that?" Tseng asked sharply. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…it's just that, I heard the Wu-Tai girl was working with Reno. I thought she might've wanted to get even."

"It's not in a child's nature to hold a grudge," said Tseng, his eyes momentarily going distant. "I think I managed to knock some sense into her. Hopefully, she won't throw her life away chasing dead gods."

"Any leads on where she is?"

"I'm not concerned. She'll go back to Wu-Tai, of course, and with us watching the jet-ports, the only way is the ferry between Junon and Costa Del Sol. It leaves once a week, so we should have plenty of time to track her down. On her own, she won't put up much of a fight, and the Rat King won't have the stomach to pursue us out of Midgar."

"He…well, Dyne knows there are more pieces of the stone now. Reno blurted it out. Since we've taken such an interest in it, he'll know what it's worth."

Tseng nodded. "That's true, I suppose. We'll deal with him if it comes to that. Anyway, come here. I've been consulting some old treatises, and it would seem there is no known method of sundering a materia…" Rude came closer, and they studied the book together. "Materia have, however, been found in natural shards. It should re-form naturally in a mako-rich environment. The sages of Wu-Tai probably had our materia caves in mind, but the inner chamber of any mako reactor should do. The only danger is, if it should fall into the reactor pool, the results would be…catastrophic."

"No chance trying it in Midgar, then."

"I hope Heidegger will see that much sense. Pack a suitcase; we're headed for Junon." Then he smiled. "Who knows? If she makes it as far as Costa Del Sol, you can pay your family a visit. Your mama must worry about you."

"You don't know the half of it," Rude said, a bit ruefully. "Oh…sir? There is one other thing. Have you given the issue of that promotion any more thought?"

Tseng leaned back, stretched his arms over his head, and sighed. "Why is everyone riding my ass about that? I'd like to, but now is hardly the time."

"Have you considered Therese?"

Tseng shook his head. "I think she had one too many shocks in combat. She used to be one of the best, but anymore, I wouldn't trust her under pressure."

"What about Hunter?"

"He's good too, but he's a career man. He sees the Turks as a stepping stone to a job like Scarlet's or Heidegger's, and he kisses my ass all day long. The only future for a Turk is being a Turk."

"What about Celestine Honeydew?"

Tseng pinched his eyes shut. "Her hair and eyes are a funny color. Also, I suspect her of having a crush on me."

"Respectfully, sir, I think you're grasping at straws. Is it possible…you don't really want that position filled?"

After some thought, Tseng shrugged, and spread his hands.

"What can I say? Valentine was a legend, and he makes me look like a rookie to this day.-What are you angling at, anyway? I think you're trying to tell me something."

"Well, sir…it just so happens, I may have found a candidate." Turning his head, Rude called: "You can come in now."

The door opened further. Reno, in his old, worn suit, looking even shabbier than usual under the cool professional lighting, and more than a little nervous, stepped in. He avoided Tseng's eyes, and scratched under his left armpit.

Tseng looked up, blinked once, lowered his eyes, and resumed flipping through the book. "Rude," he said, "you're fired, go clean out your locker."

"I'm not joking, sir."

"Then neither am I."

"This kid is very good, Tseng. He handles himself under pressure. He…thinks creatively."

"What would you know about that? All you do is shut up and follow orders, and believe me, I appreciate it."

"That's my point, sir. I think the team you're building needs someone…not like me. Someone, well, more like him."

"We need a scrawny thief like we need a teenaged girl for a cheerleader. Get him out of here."

"In all seriousness, the kid…"

"Hey," Reno burst out, "enough with the kid stuff, alright! You aint that much older than me, pal."

Tseng looked up again. His mouth was set as his eyes bored into Reno's. Reno swallowed, but didn't look away this time.

"As for you," he said, "Rude is everything you'll never be. He's discreet, reliable, and he gets the job done. You screwed up so badly, everyone involved almost got killed at some point. Now. Because Rude vouches for you…I'll renege on my oath to murder you and your whole extended family. But I have been known to change my mind. So I suggest you leave this building as fast as your little legs carry you. Understood?"

There was the slightest hint of disappointment in Reno's face. Not as if he had lost something he wanted a great deal; more as if something he'd suspected his whole life had been confirmed. Lowering his eyes, he nodded.

"Fine. I thought the bald guy was kidding anyway. I'll keep my supply closet virginity."

"What?"

"Forget it. Thanks for nothing, brother."

Reno turned on his heel, and walked calmly out of the room. Rude looked to Tseng.

"Should I go after him?"

"Let him find his own way out. I hope he wanders into a restricted area; they'll shoot on sight."

Rude continued to look at Tseng, his hands in his pockets, his expression difficult to read.

"Is there something on my face?"

"Sir…admit it. The reason you won't take him on, is the same reason he's the man for the job."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"He got you, Tseng. He really got you."

"Every man gets lucky once in his life. It's too bad for him, he blew his one chance on something like this. Don't be too sorry for him, Rude. A man like that will never amount to anything."

Chapter Text

AN: Thanks for reading thus far! :-)

I'm cutting it here, because I think Part Two will have a slightly different vibe; more a Western, sort of like Kill Bill, vol. II. God, everything I do comes back to Kill Bill. Anyway, I like to do an omake of some sort between parts of longer stories, so enjoy…

Back to The Well

Meanwhile, behind the scenes at the Square-Enix ranch...

Tseng: …A man like that will never amount to anything.

Director: Cut! That was pure Hollywood, baby.

Rude: *snerk*

Tseng: *pfft*

Rude Ha-haa, ha-ha-ha! Oh God, your face, Tseng, your face!

Tseng: I c-couldn't keep it straight one more second! What does this writer think I am, some kind of tough guy? Alright, now I'm gonna say Jesus eight times in a row, cause I'm sick of making up oaths and swears like "by Jenova's waxen forehead". Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. There, I'm good.

Reno (glancing at his watch): C'mon you two, let's leg it to Studio Four, we gotta do our scene for the new OVA…

In Studio Four

Director: Okay, scene six of "Final Fantasy VII: Friendship is Magic"….and, action!

Cloud: What a lovely day for a picnic, Aeris! I'm so glad you magically came back to life.

Aeris: Tee-hee! How could I die for reals when all our fans…I mean, our friends, love me so much?

Cloud: Hey, look, it's our pals the Turks! Over here, Tseng!

Tseng: Hi, Cloud! I brought you a little present to say, y'know, sorry for all that kidnapping and attempted murder and stuff.

Cloud: What is it, a bomb?

(laugh track)

Tseng: Oh, you're such a kidder, Cloud. Ha, ha, ha!

Cloud (unwrapping it): Wow, it's a Friendship Ring!

Tseng: Mine is the same color!

Reno: All I wanna know is, can we turn these goddamn fans down? It took me an hour to get my hair like this.

Director: No! The script is very specific, dramatic wind in every scene.

Tseng: Um…sir? I have one question…

Director: Yeah?

Tseng: Doesn't this all seem…just a bit out-of-character?"

Director: What do you mean?

Tseng: Well, here I am giving Cloud this present. Are you with me so far?

Director: Sure.

Tseng: When previously, I dropped in on a helicopter to taunt him with having kidnapped Aeris, while my employers were about to crush him and all his friends to death. On top of which, I distinctly recall laughing maniacally.

Director: Ah…that? A simple mistranslation. I have it on good authority that in the Japanese version, you were sobbing with remorse for your terrible actions.

Tseng: What…Japanese…I think I know what I did!

Producer (entering, excited): Boys, boys! I just got my hot little hands on the script for Final Fantasy XV! We lucked out, cause after XIII and XVI, them two characters in "XV" will save us like a billion yen in printing costs!

Director: Alright, let's hear it.

Producer: So the protagonist is called Cumulus War, there's some chocobos, some dude named Cid, and for the final boss you fight Jesus, then God, then plant the Japanese flag on top of a mountain. Only we can't call him Jesus, we'll call him Susej or something. We'll fill the rest with old tropes from Evangelion, like "you're not alone," "kids can do anything," oh yeah and, "the white man's God is an evil tyrant."

Director: We got away with Sin, didn't we? Anyway, I like it. But can't we just call it FFVII part II, and it's set in like an alternate dimension? I don't think Final Fantasy by itself has enough brand recognition. Also, cram it chock full of characters so we can put 'em all in Kingdom Hearts III: Keyblade-o-pocalypse, and make action figures out of 'em.

Producer: Done, and done! You are a genius, my man.

Director: Can we get that same guy to do the music?

Producer: Um…we don't really know what happened to him. Doesn't matter, no one liked him anyway. People only want continuity on the important stuff…not like flying around in the airship and buzzing towns and shit, nobody really liked that. Oh yeah, we got Biggs and Wedge as saxophone players in a nightclub.

Tseng: You people are sick! That's it, I'm walking off this set! Unless you apply another coating of diamonds to my trailer.

Director: No problem-o. Johnny? Grab some new diamonds for Tseng's trailer, and y'know what, order up some huge rails of coke for everyone.

Square Exec (bursting in): You guys, you guys! I just had the greatest idea! Okay, so…Rufus? Was secretly Cloud all along. C'mon, nobody likes that boring asshole Cloud, but Rufus is so bishie!

Cloud: Hey!

Director: I thought this guy was a genius, but you, you're, like, a super genius! I could kiss you!

Elena (to Tseng): Do you think…success…changed us?

Reno: I think you're jealous cause you didn't get your own action figure.

Delivery boy: Who ordered the uh, huge rails of coke?

Everyone: Yaaaaay!

Seriously, I hear the main character of FFXIII was specifically commissioned as a "female Cloud." Yeesh, these guys are worse than George Lucas. Now who wants a pizza roll? Oh yeah and Square, don't sue me for using your characters in my story, making fun of you, or predicting the plot of FF XV with 100% accuracy.

Also, I have nothing against Kingdom Hearts. My only issue is the second one was more Square than Disney, and the third looks like it's going to be much, much more Square than Disney.

Chapter Text

AN: @Imoshen Oops! Sure enough. I'm still getting the hang of this site; in fact, the new chapter posted as duplicate, and when I tried to delete the duplicate, I ended up accidentally destroying and having to re-post the entire story. Ah, well *innocent whistle*

I swear to God this actually happened. When I used the phrase "Friendship is Magic" in the omake, I thought, "where have I heard that before? Oh yeah, it's the name of that new My Little Pony cartoon everyone's talking about, the one that eats men's souls. Ha ha, I bet that does not actually happen. Let's check it out." Eight hours later I'm a goddamned brony and it's all your fault. Just cross your fingers and pray this doesn't turn into a My Little Pony crossover fic, like Fluttershy comes and saves the Turks. Anyway, on with the story.

Junon, a city of seven thousand residents, had risen to prominence as a Shinra base during the war. It was in the waters of Junon harbor that Wu-Tai's vaunted navy had been crushed, after being led being into an ambush by a double agent. Now it was the principal transit hub between the Eastern and Western continents, and known alternately as the Jewel of the Coast, and the City of Lights. It glowed blue and white after sunset, like a sapphire set in the seaside cliffs, and in its boisterous entertainment district, the mako lights burned well past midnight.

The Anchor, a small but respectable bar on the promenade, was shuttered at one in the morning. A tall, healthy-looking girl with thick red hair chased out the last of the drunks, cleaned out their glasses, and transferred the contents of the register to the cash box. She'd cleared over three hundred gil in tips; not a bad night. She was smiling to herself as she lifted the bucket (called the "devil's pot") into which customers spit, poured their unfinished drinks, and occasionally vomited, and opened the door to the alley.

It was a cool, clear night, and the stars appeared sharp overhead, interrupted from time to time by the passage of a military jet. She admired them for a moment, before hefting the stinking contents of the bucket onto the paving stones.

"Hey!" came a voice. "Watch the shoes! I just bought em."

The girl jumped. A man was standing just outside the light that pooled from inside, only visible as a pair of shoes and a lit cigarette.

"There, an' ye scared the livin' ghost out o' me!" she said in a loud, reproving voice; but unafraid. "Feck along now, we're closed."

The man sounded hurt. "Listen to yourself. If that's how you greet your own brother, I'd hate to be one of your customers, Siobhan."

Siobhan's face went slack. She stared into the shadows, until a face resolved itself; then she gave a long, quiet sigh.

"How far do I have to get from hell 'fore the devils quit following me?"

"Oh, so I'm a devil now? This just gets better and better. Should I go before you chuck another of them buckets right at me?"

"P'raps you should."

Reno shrugged. He tossed the cigarette into the fetid pool, and stepped forward.

"If ye've come for money, there's none to be had."

"It aint about money, sis."

"An' yer sober?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Then come in," she leaned her head out, cast a glance around, "before ye're seen. This is a respectable bar, Reno. Can't have it known the likes of you are allowed in."

"Alright, alright." Reno slipped discreetly inside, brushing past her. "With family like you, who needs enemies."

"An' if you bring trouble over this threshold, heaven help me…!"

"I left my trouble back at the hotel. I'm not looking for a place to stay either." Reno held up both hands. In the light of the bar, he looked tired, relieved, and altogether disarming."I just wanted to see you. Honest."

Siobhan threw her arms around him, burying his face in her hair. She was an inch taller than him.

"Ow! Watch the ribs, I'm an opera singer!"

"Curse yer lyin' tongue," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder, "you're a no-account thief still, are ye not; but I love you. I'd rather have you around than money, respect, an' a sense of basic decency."

"Thanks…I guess."

"What're y'doin' here, Reno? Did ye make enough to get out from under that plate? It's an evil place," she said, with conviction. "You're well shut of it."

"Don't I know it. Nice place you got here," said Reno, looking around. It was a tiny, cosy room, and the hardwood bar and stools glowed orange in the light, and the bottles flickered like sputtering lamps.

"What'll it be? Ye are sober an' that's no lie, so have a drink to celebrate."

"Gimme a Mideel Mixer. With the little umbrella. I got to settle my nerves."

As Siobhan moved behind the bar, she shot him a hard glance. "So there's trouble after all?"

"Not now. But, I get the feeling I might be walking into it."

"No use cramming sense into that head of yours! Have that drink, then best be on yer way."

"Yeah, yeah."

Reno settled on a stool, and his shoulders fell in. He looked years younger, here, whether it was the light, or Siobhan's presence; as he'd perched on a stool after hours in other bars, until his kindly sister slipped his underaged self a spoonful of whiskey.

Over the click of the bottles she said: "Y'have no one but yourself to blame fer yer troubles, Reno. We come from poor stock, but poorer folk than us have made good."

"I know. I can tell that from your shining example."

Reno studied her face as she busied herself. All at once, he pulled back in alarm.

"What happened? Your face…"

"Oh?" Her fingers brushed a small, nearly imperceptible scar on her right cheek. "There was some business…it's in the past, now."

"I'll murder the guy."

"There'll be no murders! You've still got father's temper, and no mistake. Drink up, duck."

She placed the blue drink in its cocktail glass in front of him, and, as promised, it was adorned with a red paper umbrella. Studying its Eastern design, Reno remarked, seemingly from nowhere:

"You know what? Stay away from goddamn Wu-Tai."

"Now that's speaking sense."

Reno sipped quietly, and took out another cigarette. Leaning against the bar, Siobhan turned on the television. It was an inane travel show, with some pop singer relaxing in the hot springs near Icicle Inn; she pressed mute, but left it on. The glow of the screen reflected on her face.

"Dear Reno," she muttered, shaking her head. "Dear, sweet fool. Mr. Styles took ye in like a father, for our father's sake, and you washed it down the drain with a bottle o' whiskey. Liquor's the curse on our family. Always has been, always will be."

"Listen. I'm gonna make a change…alright? I got some big opportunities lined up."

"An' how often you've said the same words."

"This time," said Reno, and took a deep drink, "I mean it. You just watch. It's gonna take everyone by surprise. In a couple days, the world's gonna see the new and improved Reno. I'm sick of being a loser, sis, and I'm sick of living in the sewer and answering to the King of the Rats."

"What's this about a King o' the Rats?"

"Nevermind…you know what?" he said, with a grin. "I think you're scared. You got so used to your idiot brother, the lovable failure. You wouldn't know what to do if I made it big."

"I'm scared," she said firmly, "you'll get your fool brains blown out. At least y' know how to fail, I'll say that." She leaned closer. "I have money. Take it."

"It's not about the money. It's about respect."

"I love you," she said. "Isn't that enough?"

Tseng was in trouble. The memory of being lashed to a chair, helpless for the first time in decades, smarted fresh in his memory, and now he was being held hostage by the most powerful man in Junon. No weapon in the Turk's arsenal would break his grip. Even now, as he returned from the bathroom, the voice rang in his ears:

"Turk-man! I ordered up another round of champagne for you cats, and this band's, like, sizzling-hot! And you were talking about goin' back. Get a load of this guy, ladies, and he's supposed to be Shinra black ops. Hey Tseng, if you can't party, how will you have the stamina to track down our enemies?-Whoosa! Hey baby, come over here and see who Rufus is! I got something for ya!"

Rude tugged at his shoulder. "Please, sir…don't put that money in your teeth. You don't know where it's been."

Stepping into a bar on their first night in Junon, they'd had the singular misfortune of bumping into a vacationing Rufus. Security prevented them from telling him what they were doing there, while self-preservation prevented them from disobeying even one of his jocularly phrased "orders." They'd spent the past few days trapped in various bars, lounges, and finally this strip club. The two junior agents they'd brought along-Elena, and Hunter-were combing the streets; but Tseng didn't have much confidence in them. The ferry left tomorrow.

Under the tacky red light, the world resembled an insane carnival with Rufus, sweaty-faced, his trenchcoat open to reveal a pasty chest without a single hair, as its ringmaster. He smoked a cigar and tossed bills onto the stage, and onto their table, which the girls on either side of him pretended to fight over.

"That's right, babe, my daddy's President Shinra! I wanna turn on your power, you know what I'm saying? I wanna plug into your socket. Ooh yeah. Hey Tseng, I got a weird question. Do my nipples look funny? I think they look funny, maybe it's the light. I don't know what would've happened to make them look funny."

"They look fine, sir."

"That's right, baby," said one of the girls in a sultry voice, stroking them. "They're the cutest little things I ever seen."

"Ha, ha! Hey, where the fuck's that champagne? I'm starting to sober up. Breathing the same air as this Wu-Tai motherfucker is making me sober. I'm not discus…discriminating against you cause you're from Wu-Tai. I'm discriminating against that stick up your ass. You got to let out some juice, know what I mean? Hey, baby, how'd you like to socket my friend's materia?"

"Ooh, he's real cute, Ruffie-baby! I'd like that a lot!"

Tseng discreetly brushed the girl's hand off his knee, and reached for his drink.

"What about you, you big bald fuck? You look like you could take two chicks at once. Oh man, that'd be super hot. We should do, like, four chicks at the same time…nah, that'd be kind of gay. Oh Tseng, Tseng, I made up a song about you while you were in the pisser! How's it go. Um…Turk, Turk, Turk, make it work, work work…hang on, something's happening here. Baby, get me a pencil and paper.-Oh, finally with the champagne, we're dying of thirst in this desert. Put that shit right between my legs. Y'know what, the hell with glasses, let's pass the bottle. Ninety-nine goddamn Turks on the wall, ninety-nine goddamn Turks…if one of those Turks, should happen to fall…"

The door opened. A moment later, the jazz band fell silent.

"Hey," said Rufus, blinking drowsily. "Did I tell you guys you could stop playing? Huh?"

The chatter of the other patrons quickly faded away. It was replaced by the clicking of a large number of boots. Tseng looked around. In an instant, he had drawn his gun under the table, and a glance at rude confirmed he had done the same.

Rufus yelled after the band, who had begun to pack up their instruments: "Do you know who I am? I'll buy all your families and pimp out your sisters!"

At least twenty armed men had entered the room, and taken up positions around the red satin curtains. Tseng reached around the frightened girl and prodded Rufus in the ribs.

"Wha?"

The girl clung to him, whispering: "Ruffie-baby…what's going on?"

A man in a cream-colored suit walked in, fastidiously, brushing at his suit whenever it touched one of the tables. A large man followed him.

Tseng sipped at his drink.

"Fisk," he said.

Dyne's shotgun came up. "What did you call the King?"

"Dyne. I was going to send my condolences to the hospital. I didn't realize you were back on your feet so soon."

"No," said the Rat King, in his slightly nasal, pedantic voice, and pushed the barrel down. "It's alright. Why should I care what a dead man thinks of me?"

"Did you come here to start something, Fisk? It's a bit early in the morning for this shit."

"Hand over the materia, and I'll be on my way."

"I don't think so."

The Rat King adjusted his glasses. "I didn't expect that you would."

Rufus looked at Tseng, seeming on the verge of nervous laughter. "Hey, Turk-man, who the hell is this guy? Some kind of gangster?"

"Be quiet," said the Rat King.

"What did you say to me? Don't you know who I am?"

There was a loud crack, and several girls screamed. In an instantaneous motion, the Rat King had drawn his gun and fired into the table directly in front of Rufus, and it left a smoking hole. The boy squirmed back, eyes bulging.

"I said, be quiet."

"E-easy there! Any further and you'd hit the family jewels!"

"Rufus, do what the man says.-Fisk. We don't have the stone. A girl took it."

Idly, the Rat King spun the revolver around his finger. He considered. Then he looked at Dyne.

"Do we believe him?"

"Yeah," said Dyne, snarling, "I think I do. I can just about believe the big, bad Turks lost the stone to some little girl. That's not something he'd make up. Plus, that case aint on his arm no more."

"If you find her before we do," said Tseng, "you're welcome to hang onto it for the thirty seconds before I send you to hell. Me? I'd prefer to spend my last days doing something a bit more constructive, like tutoring a needy child. But, to each his own, I suppose."

One of the girls, unable to control herself a moment longer, burst out: "Please, mister, don't shoot that thing! I don't deserve…!"

The Rat King aimed the gun at her face. "What did I say about being quiet? You people aren't very good listeners. Honestly, this could all have been so simple…"

Tseng brought his gun from under the table; Rude did the same. Every rifle in the room trained on them, and the girl sobbed.

"We're finished here," said Tseng. "Do you really want to shoot that girl in front of President Shinra's son?"

"Those glasses aren't doing you any favors, Fisk," added Rude.

Cooperatively, the Rat King nudged at them. He leaned forward, peering at Rufus' face through the haze of cigar smoke; then nodded several times.

"Ah…yes. I see the resemblance."

Dyne's arm was twitching, and his face was dark with impatient violence; but the Rat King pushed him gently back.

"Just let me do it. Both these guys have it coming."

"Now, now, Dyne. Let's not overplay our hand. It isn't best practices. Tseng, I trust we'll both forget what happened tonight. When we meet again…it will be under less pacific circumstances."

"You should have stayed in your Kingdom," said Tseng, staring at him from behind his motionless hand and the gun it held. "This is the real world. Here, you're at the bottom of the food chain. Now scurry on home."

"You either have what it takes, or you don't. You don't. You're content to serve…and a man like this, no less," with a trace of humor in his eyes, the Rat King glanced at Rufus. "I climbed one ladder. I will climb another."

Still looking him in the eyes, Tseng lightly moved his left arm. It nudged his champagne glass, and upended it; the golden liquid arced over the table, and onto the floor. It formed a snake that quickly made its way to the tip of the Rat King's shoe, and he flinched back as if bitten, and scraped the toe on the instep of his other shoe.

"Oops," said Tseng.

Chapter eighteen of the Kagesho, the ancient ninja training manual, was entitled Hiding in Plain Sight. In the Sea Breeze, Junon's premier hotel, there was nothing especially odd about the sight of a well-dressed, if petite woman in a sleek overcoat, and the large sunglasses were not uncommon among those looking to disguise a night (or morning) of heavy drinking. The woman clicked her way on heels through the marble and crystal lobby, gave her name at the desk ("Contessa Pelozzi"), pocketed her key, and made for the elevator. While she waited, she touched up her makeup in the reflective brass doors. After a minute they slid open.

"Goin' up," said the blue-uniformed lift boy. "Which floor, miss?"

"The fifteenth, if you please."

"Roger that."

The doors closed, and the elevator began to move with a pleasing hum. She began to study the lift boy. He was studying her.

He threw the lever again, and the lift shuddered to a halt between floors.

"H-hey, what gives!" squeaked the Contessa Pelozzi, in a voice very unlike the one she'd used a moment before.

He plucked the sunglasses off her face, revealing two large, scared, girl's eyes. Then he removed his cap, and dark red hair fell over his forehead.

Reno's eyes were narrowed with purpose, and his hands were tight. He was prepared for anything; except, perhaps, what happened.

Yuffie threw herself at him, and gripped him in a desperate, rib-squeezing hug. He gasped.

"Stay back, sister! I don't know what you think you're…"

"Red," she said, her small face buried in his suit's breast. "You came back."

"Came…back! I chased your bony, traitorous ass all the way here from Midgar, what do you mean I came back! And what's up with this Red shit, aint you supposed to call me scum-nuts or sleazoid or something!"

"It's not like that!" Yuffie insisted, still holding him. "I went back to the hideout, but you weren't there! I-I was scared! I mean, my dad's after me now, and he's even scarier than the Turks!"

"Oh, like I'm gonna fall for that. You're a liar, little sister. They always told me a woman's trouble. I guess that even applies to a girl like you."

Now Yuffie hit him, a more familiar attitude.

"Shut up and listen, you stupid loser! Listen…you messed me up, Red. I was fine on my own before I met you. Now I'm just scared all the time. I double-dog swear it's true. I…missed you, okay? I did."

"Well…" Reno softened, but gently extricated himself from Yuffie's embrace. "I aint saying I trust you. Just tell me how you got away."

"My dad and Tseng got into a fight. The case came off, and…I kind of grabbed it."

"How do you kind of grab the most valuable materia on the planet? What are you gonna do with it, anyway?"

"That's just it! I don't know what I'm gonna do with it! I don't know how to put it back together…and if I bring it back to Wu-Tai, my dad'll just take it. He'll probably give it back. He keeps talking about how he hates the Shinra and everything…but I know it, he's yellow. He gave up a long time ago."

"Huh. I'm not exactly congenial to the idea of summoning whatever fucking monster that thing summons. But I guess you're not about to sell it on the black market."

"No way."

"The King would pay a mint for it. Shinra, too. All that money would do Wu-Tai a lot more good than some rock, and you'd have enough left over to put a pool in the yard."

"I…" She shook her head back and forth, like an infant refusing food. "I just don't know anymore! Dad was never supposed to find out. I told him I was going on a pilgrimage to some shrine. Now it's all a big, fat mess. You gotta help me, Red."

"Um…well. Hypothetically speaking. What would you want me to do?"

"Just get my back. We're partners, right? I'll…I'll think of something."

"And maybe after this, we could pull another job?"

"Yeah! We totally could. We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"Old-school bandits, huh…robbing from the rich, giving to the poor. Well, by the poor I mean ourselves, but we'll be pretty poor, so no worries." Then Reno leaned on the wall of the lift, put one arm over his face, and laughed. It was somewhere between ironic and sincere, between relieved and exasperated. "You really are something, sister," he said. "I thought I'd met every kind of lousy human being there was, before I met you."

"Does that mean you'll help me?" Yuffie's eyes were wide, eager.

"When you walked into this elevator," said Reno, shaking his head, "I thought you were a stone-cold cheat. Now I wonder if you aint trusting me a bit too easy."

"Oh, come on." Yuffie rolled her eyes. "You're the most honest sucker I ever met. If you could lie worth anything, you'd be a lot better off than you are now."

"Okay, enough chit-chat. Where you headed?"

"Costa Del Sol. The Turks are here. I bet they think I'm taking the ferry, but I got a smuggler to sneak me…I mean us, on a cargo ship. It's slower, and it arrives the day after the ferry. Those saps won't know what to think. It'll totally blow their minds!"

"The Turks? Still?" Reno frowned, but then shrugged. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. They're persistent. Well, we beat em once, we can beat em again. Maybe…maybe we can use the stone to blackmail them. Say we'll use it, unless they do what we want."

Yuffie jumped. "That's great! See? That's, like, what you're here for."

"Woah, hey, it's a whole lot easier said than done. Cool your jets, princess. Anyway…you really staying here?"

"I switch hotels and looks every night. I still got money from…the mako gun. I pawned it. Sorry."

"That's okay, I figured. With this stone, we got a bargaining chip worth a hundred guns." He pulled the lever once more, and the lift began moving. "Fifteenth floor, miss, fifteenth floor. Linens, ladies' things, and priceless materia. Stand clear of the opening doors."

Yuffie donned the sunglasses again.

"Thank you, my boy," she drawled, and pressed a gil tip into his hand.

AN: Yeah, Reno's sister is meant to have a light Irish accent. He lost his.

Chapter Text

AN: Remember, I warned you.

Salvador Baraza sat on the back porch with his nephew, Julio, smoking cigarettes. They were both big, solid men; Salvador was going bald and wore a mustache, while Julio sported a shaved head, a popular look with young men in Costa Del Sol, and was clean-shaven. In the big, sandy yard, the little girls played with their dolls, while the boys lashed at each other with palm switches. The sun sat high overhead, and had not seemed to move for hours, as if it had made itself lazy.

"I'm thirsty," said Salvador.

"So do something about it, tio."

Salvador got to his feet with a huff, adjusted his belt, then walked with wide, sauntering steps down the stairs, past the children, to the stand of palm trees dividing the yard from the neighbor's. He dealt one a kick with his sharp-toed boot, and caught the ripe fruit that fell down. He took the machete from his belt, lopped the top off the coconut, and slurped up a little of its rich, gooey innards. Then he took out his silver drinking flask and filled it back to the rim with tequila. He returned to the porch.

"You drink too much, tio."

"Shut your mouth. You drink too little, and you own the bar. Besides, what else is there to do."

"The children seem to find plenty to do," observed Julio, rolling another cigarette.

Salvador smiled, then began on his improvised drink. It stained the ends of his mustache white.

"This is true. But when you are a child, you are innocent. Everything, you do for the first time. Only when you get older, you realize it's all been done before. You're still young, Julio. Probably you don't know what I mean."

"I'm thirty-four, tio."

"So, what? The first ten years, they are like nothing. The next ten, you spend making foolish mistakes. You have only been a man for the last ten years. That's not so old."

"Whatever you say, tio."

One of the boys bust into angry tears, threw his palm-sword on the ground, and turned to them.

"Abuelo! Hector, he threw sand in my eyes!"

"What for did you stand still, so he could hit you?"

"He said he gave up, then when I came close, he threw sand in my eyes!"

Salvador sighed. "Hector, give your brother a free hit. But you, Benito, be more careful next time. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead."

"Tio!" said Julio. "Don't talk to the boys like that."

"What? So things aren't like they are when I was young. That's not to say they'll never be like that again. Peace doesn't last forever, Julio."

Julio was eyeing Salvador's coconut.

"Give me some of that."

"Go make your own, you lazy boy."

The swinging doors creaked, and a formidable-looking woman in an apron, her gray hair like steel, leaned outside.

"Salvador," she said, businesslike, "I see a couple of men coming up the path. I can't tell what they look like through this heat, but they are all wearing suits."

Salvador shared a meaningful look with Julio. "Could be trouble," he said. "Nobody does anything at this time of day. Carla, get two shotguns from the cabinet. Julio, with me."

"Really, tio, it's probably just some salesmen."

"Or those crooks who got off the boat yesterday. You're too soft, Julio, and it will bring you misfortune."

They went through the dusty hallway, lit only by the brilliant daylight through curtains, past the old wood walls and the family photographs, and Carla handed them their shotguns in the hallway. Salvador cracked the breech and nodded at the sight of the two shells nestled there. Julio looked bemused, but not entirely at ease.

Salvador put his eye to the peephole. He blinked rapidly, muttered an oath, then opened the door and put his head out.

"Mother Gaia," he exclaimed, in a thick voice, "do my eyes play tricks on me? Julio, come here! Carla, it is your boy! Your boy, he has come back!"

"Devils take your soul if you lie to me, old man!" said Carla, shoving past him. Then her face lit up with joy and she tripped down the front steps, exclaiming: "Rudo! Rudo, you come straight to your mama! Why are you standing there like some shy schoolboy!"

All at once, they were surrounded by a stampede of children. Julio's three sons and four daughter rushed around them, crying out: "Rudo, tio Rudo, has come back to Costa Del Sol! Hooray, hooray! Tio Rudo comes back to stay!"

Rude stood at the center of the group in front of the house, looking exactly like a shy schoolboy. On his right, Tseng was trying to hide a smile on the pretext of checking his watch. Behind them Elena, wilting under the force of the heat, stood beside a smart, clean-cut young man with bristly, prematurely gray hair.

The children climbed over Rude, but Carla knocked them impatiently aside and wrapped her arms around him. The bun of her hair rose to his armpits.

"Mama," he muttered, "not in front of my boss."

"Your boss, your boss! Always the work, the boss, never a moment to see your poor dying mama and your dear brother, now that your father, he is gone. Tear out my heart, why don't you, and throw it here in the dirt, and stamp all over it!"

"Please, mama, you know I swore an oath when I joined the Turks…they're my family now."

"You do not speak to me like that, Rudo! You are not yet so big I cannot put you over my knee!"

"Your mama," said Salvador, grinning, "she makes a big joke. She is so proud of you, the Shinra soldier, you should hear her brag in the town.-It's good to see you again, little man." He gently pulled Carla away from Rude, and the two men embraced; then Julio stepped forward, and did the same.

"Sal," said Rude, blushing faintly, and looking down, "this is my supervisor, Tseng, and my colleagues Elena and Hunter. Tseng, this is my mother Carla, my brother Julio, and my uncle Salvador. Salvador is the constable here…Costa Del Sol is technically under his jurisdiction, not Shinra's. Julio owns the best bar in town…"

"El Corazon," Julio finished, proudly. "You will have to come by, I have many drinks for you to sample." This reminded him of something, and he turned suddenly and yelled up at the second story: "Hey! You!"

A window hissed open, and a pretty young woman stuck her head out.

"What the hell do you want, Julio?"

"Get six bottles of tequila, the good kind, and mix up a fucking cauldron of sangria for my friends here, thick like the blood of the gods!"

"Okay, I make you the cauldron, so I can drown you in it!"

"Just do as I say, woman!"

The window slammed shut; she vanished. Julio turned back to them, smiling rapturously.

"My wife," he said to Tseng. "We are married nine years. I am so much in love with that girl."

As the sun went down, all ten members of the Baraza clan sat down at their enormous table, joined by four Turks. Silver pots were filled with fragrant meat stew, liquid cheese, and hot peppers, and Julio's wife served them each with a smile, except her husband, for whom she reserved a scowl. When she was done, he pulled her onto his knee, and they kissed briefly before she took her seat.

The tang of pepper made Elena's nose run, and she dabbed with her handkerchief as discreetly as possible.

Julio slapped the hand of his eldest son, which had begun to reach for his fork.

"Ungrateful boy! You see the good food, and you want to eat, but you are forgetting whose thanks it is we have this food. Now, we say grace."

Glancing around, the Turks followed the lead of the Barazas as they shut their eyes and linked hands with their neighbors.

"Merciful spirits," said Julio, solemnly, "we give thanks to you who are of the air, and of the earth, and of the sea; who make corn grow in the earth, and fish in the sea. We are thankful also for the good people of Shinra, who bring peace and prosperity to our town, and to the whole world. May the reign of President Shinra last for ten thousand years. Gracious spirits, please watch over this family, and also our guests, who fight for Shinra to keep the world safe from troublemakers and terrorists. In your sacred names we ask these things, amen. Now! You can stuff your greedy face, Hector."

Tseng was surprised. While specious opinion polls placed President Shinra's approval ratings in the high nineties, and at least on the plate, he was not without supporters, it had been a long time since he heard heartfelt admiration expressed for the man. And he thought it was heartfelt.

After all, he reflected, President Shinra was no figurehead. He had done remarkable things; whatever else one thought of them, they were remarkable. He remembered visiting Junon as a young man, and choking on the smoke from the old coal power plant.

Rude was seated between two boys, and as he tried to eat, they bombarded him with questions.

"How many bad guys have you killed this year, tio Rude?"

"Is it true that President Shinra is so strong, he kills a kalm fang and eats it for breakfast?"

"You are so pretty, hermana," one of the girls said to Elena. "How do you make your hair so yellow? Did you paint it?"

"Um, I was just born this way I guess…ha-choo!"

"Let me touch it, please!" She did, and reported to her sister: "The paint, it does not come off!"

No mention was made of business.

When most of the food was gone, Julio dismissed the children, and returned with the promised bottles of tequila, while his wife carried in a big chalice full of fragrant sangria.

Elena sat on the porch, her face bright red, her handkerchief plastered to her forehead. Laughter, and the sound of pouring liquid, filtered from inside. Insects purred in the cool night air, and somewhere a dog barked.

The door opened. Someone pressed a glass of cold water into her hand.

"Oh! Thank you."

She looked up, and saw Hunter's face, grinning sardonically.

"You okay, Blondilocks? This Costa Del Sol stuff goes straight to your head."

"Fine, thanks," she said, and sighed. "You know what…I think I'm being tested. Tseng said half of this job was holding your liquor. I'm starting to think he wasn't joking."

Hunter laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised. It's a big honor to be taken on an international field mission, y'know. I'll bet he is scoping you out. As a matter of fact…" He leaned closer, with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. "Word is, Tseng's finally going to tap a new senior man. After this? I think my odds look good. Knock on wood."

"Really?" said Elena, sincerely. "I'm so happy for you."

"Hey, this department is nothing but shell-shocked vets, and limp-wristed suits.-No offense. Whereas I got six years as a crime squad detective, I'm clean as a whistle, plus I butter up ol' Long Dong Wong every chance I get…"

Elena snorted into her handkerchief. "Don't call him that! He'll hear you!"

"All I'm saying is, the word from the men's locker room is, shall we say, unambiguous. Speaking of which…" Hunter wiggled his eyebrows. "Should my number come up, and with a little ah, shall we say, incentive, your own career could benefit. If you catch my drift."

"Thanks," said Elena, smirking, "but no thanks."

"Oh hell, you can't blame a guy for trying. Unless you've got bigger fish to fry? They say Wu-Tai men like the blondes."

"They also say blondes are dumb enough to fall for pick-up lines like yours, Hunter. But I am pretty dumb. Sometimes I don't know what I've gotten myself into. I sincerely doubt a man like Tseng would ever fall for someone like me."

The girl struck Rude on the arm with the tiny plastic horse, and it hurt.

"One more time, tio Rudo! And you do it right."

Rude sighed. "I'm doing my best, carino."

"You have to do them in different voices."

"So…which is this, again?" Rude held up one of his two horses, the one with the pink mane.

"That is Fluttershy. Do her in the quiet voice."

"…How quiet?"

"She is called Fluttershy, tio Rudo, how quiet do you think? You are not very smart for a man who works for Shinra. You make trouble for them, maybe."

"Fine. Let's try this again." Rude coughed, brandished Fluttershy, and said in a tiny voice: "Oh, Rarity, your mane and your gown are so pretty."

The girl beamed at him. "That is much better. Okay…naturally, I have to look my best for the Grand Galloping Gala in Canterlot! Now, do Pinkie Pie."

"What…sort of voice?"

"Imagine you are drunk, tio Rudo, but on sweet wine with a lot of sugar."

Rude lifted the other horse. "…What's that? I had no idea the Grand Galloping Gala was today! Can I come? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

The girl laughed so hard she rolled over. "Oh, that is very good! Okay, now I do Twilight Sparkle. Girls, you are all my friends! I have tickets for all of you."

"Yay!"

"Now do Fluttershy."

Rude held the pink-maned horse close to his mouth, and whispered: "Yay."

Tseng stepped through the open door. "Rude…"

"Sir!"

"Nevermind," said Tseng, mildly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's…not what it looks like."

"Senor Tseng," said the girl, "you come here and do Twilight Sparkle for me! I think you do her very well!"

But Tseng had already vanished.

It was a windy night, and the streets of Costa Del Sol were filled with dust. As Tseng and Salvador walked side-by-side, they encountered a tumbleweed. Tseng had seen tumbleweed in films, and in cartoons, and imagined they were cute, harmless things. In fact it was huge, and looked downright unsettling as it rolled past. He instinctively drew back.

"Here is my nephew's bar," said Salvador, taking out a big ring of keys. "We can talk here. It is always closed on this day of the week."

"I'll certainly come back when it's open."

"We can drink, too, he won't care."

Tseng's head was already light from the cup of sangria and four shots of tequila he'd consumed at the house, while Salvador seemed to feel no effects.

El Corazon was a large place, with the atmosphere of a barn, and sawdust on the floor. The bottles hung in an iron rack behind the bar, and the bar itself was a chunk of wood that looked like solid metal, like something that had been there since the dawn of time, and the structure was built around it. Tseng took a seat. Salvador poured out two glasses of tequila, and garnished each with a lime.

"So. I am grateful you come all this way to visit, but I do not believe it is simply for Rudo to see his mama.-Salud."

Their glasses clicked. "Salud. Nothing gets past you, constable."

Salvador leaned on the other side of the bar, and brought his old, jowly face close to Tseng's.

"Does this have anything to do with all the armed men who came off the ferry yesterday?"

"I'm afraid so. We're tracking down a valuable piece of Shinra property, and they're tracking us."

"And when one catches up with the other…?"

"I imagine some blood will be spilled."

Salvador drank, and shook his head slowly back and forth.

"Do not misunderstand, senor. I am not angry. Instead, I feel sorry for those men. Only a very big fool comes to Costa Del Sol to make trouble. Before you Shinra came, the city, she was a lawless place, a den of pirates and smugglers. Our boys, they learn from a very young age the way of the gun. We teach them to be warriors…like my nephew, Rudo."

"That would explain a lot," said Tseng, and sipped the tequila.

"Rudo, he means a lot to the people here. We have many traditions, we are proud; but you Shinra bring us so many good things. Rudo…he stands like a bridge, you see, between these two worlds."

"I can assure you, Rude…I mean, Rudo, is a man I trust with my life. You and Costa Del Sol have every reason to be proud of him."

Salvador beamed, and in a rush of genuine, if awkward feeling, he went on: "You must forgive the people here, senor Tseng. They are very backwards and superstitious. They believe in spirits in the rocks, in the trees. I tell them, there are no such spirits, only the spirit of the planet; the Shinra take it, and make it light our homes and clean our water. But they are…sentimental. They miss the spirits, I think."

Tseng stared at the ceiling, at an empty spider's web in the corner. He took another drink.

"Don't be so quick to part with your gods," he said, reflectively. "I don't believe in any gods myself…but, if it's a question of what you can't see…you can never be sure, can you? If your gods don't answer your prayers, well, that's fine. To hell with them. But as long as there's doubt…let people think whatever they want."

"Ah, I forget, you are a man of Wu-Tai! You must have traditions of your own. But you think the Shinra way is better, yes?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," said Tseng, and emptied his glass. "You heard what Rude said. I took an oath. The Turks are my family now, and my god, and the Turks serve Shinra."

"That is very wise, senor. I pour you another drink to celebrate your wisdom."

"Hang on," said Tseng. "I think we have company."

Salvador's eyes narrowed. "How can you tell a thing like that?"

"I can sense people…when that sense isn't muffled. Looks like they weren't smart enough to do that this time."

Reno and Yuffie stood across the street from El Corazon. Except for the dust and wind, they were alone, and the town looked eerily deserted.

"One more time. What do we want?" said Reno. "Cause if you trip over your tongue saying it, believe me, we aint gonna get it."

"Shinra troops out of Wu-Tai," said Yuffie, pouting with concentration, "a helicopter, and fifteen thousand gil."

"Alright. Let's move."

Yuffie shuffled her feet.

"Um, Red…you really think this crazy plan is gonna work?"

"What did I tell you? It's the last thing he'll be expecting. He's in search-and-destroy mode; he's not ready to bargain. So if we bring him to the table, he'll slip up."

"But why bring the pieces of the real stone along? Why not just hide em somewhere?"

"It's psychological," said Reno, confidently. "Last time he saw the stone, it was in that case. He sees the case, he's more likely to think what's in your hand, used to be in the case."

"I guess so…"

Reno placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eyes.

"Come on. You don't wanna be small-time forever. The big boys? They don't go by the playbook. They make up their own moves."

Yuffie's small face filled with resolve, and she nodded.

"Alright."

"Then let's do this like it aint no thang."

There was a knock on the swinging doors. Above them, an inch of reddish hair showed. Tseng turned, and freed his gun from his coat, but didn't draw it.

"Is it trouble?" asked Salvador, darkly.

"On the contrary. This should save us both a lot of trouble," Tseng replied. "Reno! Step inside."

Yuffie burst through the doors. Every muscle in her tiny frame was trembling with conviction, and a man less seasoned than Tseng might have flinched as the twelve-year-old girl bore down on him. In one hand, she held what appeared to be a blazing red Summon materia, and under her other arm, the briefcase and puzzle box.

"Oath-breaker! Hands in the air! You too, Mister Mustache!"

Tseng, in fact, looked startled; and it was Yuffie's turn to flinch when he did raise his hands.

She recovered, gulped in air, and raised the materia over her head.

"See this? The gods of Wu-Tai are in here, Black Tortoise, and they're pissed. So you'd better do just what I…"

Reno stepped inside.

"Shh," he said.

Yuffie looked back, baffled.

"Huh?"

Very gently, Reno placed his finger on her lips. He shook his head. Then he looked up.

"Tseng…right?" he said, in a somewhat weak voice. "I ah, heard it was your birthday."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Well, I brought you a present. Actually, two presents. A little thief…and four pieces of a stone."

Yuffie tried to run, and crashed straight into him. The prop materia bounced from her hand and shattered on the floor into countless shards. Reno braced himself in the doorway; Yuffie dashed left around the bar, but ran into Salvador, his gun drawn. She ran the other way, and was confronted by Tseng, who stood with his arms crossed, a strange expression of comprehension, surprise, and pity on his face.

She sank down on the floor, and, hesitantly, as if she might have misunderstood, whispered:

"Red…?"

"I'm sorry, little sister. This is what's best for you. Being a thief and a grifter's no kind of life for a little girl. It's no kind of life for me, either." He turned to Tseng, eyes bright. "Yo, brother Turk! I don't blame you for shooting me down the other day, when I never asked for the job. Well, I'm asking now. Put me on the team, coach. I'm ready."

Tseng regarded him with a dense, inscrutable look on his face. It went on for some time. They looked at each other, and neither moved. Then, just as Reno's gaze began to falter, Tseng looked away, and reached into his jacket.

"I believe I have something that belongs to you."

He took out the collapsible nightstick, flicked his wrist, and it extended. Electricity hummed dully along its length, and the green and yellow materia in its handle glowed. He tossed it to Reno, who caught it handily.

"Thanks."

"Red," said Yuffie. "No way."

"I promised I'd get your back, and I did. Now you won't end up dead."

She flew at him, and rained blows on his chest.

"You lousy, rotten, lying, cheating, stupid…I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

Then as she still hit him, he put his arms around her.

"I know," he said.

Tseng looked to Salvador.

"Got any rope, constable?"

"Si, senor."

"Then tie this girl up. You know how to tie a hog, don't you? I'm not taking any chances this time."

"Aw, c'mon," said Reno, "that aint necessary…"

"Reno." Tseng's sharp eyes fixed him. He stood up straight. "Do you have a problem with my orders?"

"To have a problem with your orders…I'd have to work for you. Wouldn't I?"

Tseng almost smiled.

Salvador returned from the back with a long spool of rope, but first, he stood in front of Reno, regarding him. Then he nodded once, approvingly.

"I don't know who the hell you are, compadre," he said, "but if you want to help keep this town safe, I, too, have something for you."

He reached into a pocket of his shirt, and took out a large silver star, similar to the gold star that adorned the right side of his leather vest.

AN: Fun fact: Rude's name, as revealed here, is (as you might have known) its literal transliteration from Japanese. I have no reason to suspect they didn't mean it to be Rude, but still.

Chapter Text

AN: You guys are lucky, this chapter only got finished cause I ran out of episodes of My Little #$%^ Pony to watch. Speaking of ponies, part of this chapter was inspired by this classic movie scene, which you really owe it to yourself to see (if you haven't): www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=v2ssbgThljU

The first song they sing here is traditional; the second is, fittingly enough, a minor rework of Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues.

After placing a call to the house, Tseng, Reno and Salvador spent the night on the floor or El Corazon. Salvador had enumerated the bar's security features: three sheets of mithril embedded in the bar itself ("enough to stop a Behemoth"), a hidden Barrier materia to reinforce the flimsy-looking batwing doors, and several shotguns secreted around the premises ("it's been a year and a half since the last good bar fight, sometimes I miss the old days"). At seven in the morning, just as the sun was coming up over the proud and desolate outskirts of Costa Del Sol, far from the tourist-infested harbor, Rude, Elena and Hunter arrived.

Reno met them at the door, in shirtsleeves and suspenders. He and Rude regarded each other, then shook hands.

"I heard the news," said Rude.

"Is that all?"

"Hmm?"

"What. No congratulations?"

"It's nothing to be proud of," said Rude, with the hint of a smile. "This is how things were meant to be."

Hunter walked eagerly up to Tseng.

"Mission accomplished, sir? That didn't take long. Though with your skills, I'm not surprised."

Tseng looked grim. "Not by a long shot. Our mission is accomplished when that materia is on Heidegger's shiny new desk, and that desk is a long way from here."

Salvador was pouring coffee into tin cups.

"That's right, my friends," he said, "I think we got a long day ahead of us. Why don't you make yourselves comfortable."

Elena, bleary-eyed, gratefully accepted the coffee.

"Rude," said Tseng, cutting out Hunter, who tried to mask his disappointment, "come with me."

The bar, as it turned out, doubled as the town jail; which made sense, Tseng reflected, as most jailable offenses probably took place near the liquor supply. There were several iron-barred holding cells in the back, and he and Rude stopped in front of the first. Tseng held the puzzle box under his arm. He tapped on the bars with his coffee cup.

"Look alive, sleepyhead, the school bus leaves in five minutes."

"Go to hell," said Yuffie, but the fight was gone from her voice.

She lay on the cot, feet bound together, and hands bound behind her back. Her eyes were dark-ringed, and she didn't appear to have slept at all. It was an oddly shocking sight, even for Rude.

"So, what," she said, without looking up. "You gonna torture me?"

"Torture a little girl? Don't be ridiculous."

"I bet you've done worse."

"Come on, Yuffie," said Tseng. "Cut the shit. Don't play soldier girl. We'll do what we have to. But you don't want it, and neither do we. Pagoda's sake, look at you. You just want to go home, don't you?"

Yuffie's eyes pinched, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying.

"Bring it on."

"Just open this case, and we'll let you go. You could be asleep on your own soft, cozy bedroll by tonight."

"Shyeah, in Wu-Tai, while you Shinra summon the four Guardians to finish the job and come burn it to the ground. If I believed you in the first place."

"You know that's nonsense. If Shinra wanted Wu-Tai completely destroyed, they could have done it a long time ago. That stone? It means nothing to me. It shouldn't mean anything to you. The only person it means anything to is my fat boss, and once he's happy, the rest of us can get on with our lives."

"Listen to him," said Rude, gently.

"You shut up, Mister I Saw My Best Friends Die, Boo Hoo. Like you would have given up shit if you got caught in the war."

"That was the war. This isn't."

A long, silent minute passed. Then Tseng looked at Rude, shrugged helplessly, and unlocked the door.

Yuffie shot upright, scooting back against the wall.

"S-stay back! Don't you dare touch me!"

"I'm afraid you leave us no choice."

"Help!" screamed Yuffie, and at that moment there was a blast of acrid smoke in the hallway behind the Turks, and they whirled around, guns drawn. A man appeared in the smoke, even as Tseng called out: "Everyone back here now!" In a moment, Hunter and Reno appeared in the doorway; Hunter with his gun, Reno brandishing the nightstick.

The smoke cleared.

"Oh, who the fuck is this guy?" Hunter gasped.

"Nice dress," said Reno.

"Godo," said Tseng.

"Tseng."

"Daddy!"

"Silence, girl."

"You want me to cap him, sir?"

Tseng held up his hand. "Everyone shut up!"

There was silence. Godo stood, the last traces of smoke curling off his robes, arms crossed in front of him. Hunter's aim wavered. Rude's held steady. Tseng holstered his gun.

"What do you want?"

"To speak with my daughter."

"Be my guest," said Tseng, and stepped back.

As Godo approached the bars, Yuffie flung herself at them, pressed against them, and was unable to control herself any longer. Tears streamed down her face, and her fragile body was racked with sobs.

"I-I'm sorry! I never should've…help, daddy, please! They're gonna pull off my fingernails a-and, shove hot nails under my eyelids and…"

"Don't flatter yourself," said Rude, a bit touchily. "I was going to bend your arm. You wouldn't have lasted ten seconds."

"Yuffie," said Godo, in a deep, patient voice. "Listen."

She closed her lip, although it trembled, and waited.

"There is something…you must know," he went on. Now Tseng, too, watched him with interest. "You never showed me a hired servant's respect from the day you were born. But, little did you know how I deserved it."

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"Little girl…peach blossom. Do you know whom it was, who gave away the location of the Second Fleet in Junon harbor?"

"Um, like, duh?" She cut her eyes at Tseng. "How was it not this guy?"

Godo shook his head. There was a pained look in his aged, deep-set eyes. "It was I, Yuffie."

"Dad! Don't mess with me, that is…that is so not cool."

"When I failed to kill General Weaver," he said, "I was captured by Shinra. They took me before that woman…Scarlet. She told me that if the war dragged on any longer, when Wu-Tai was taken, the first-born of every noble would be put to death. To this day, I don't know if she spoke the truth. Certainly…if General Weaver himself, an honorable man, had told me so, I would not have believed him. But when I looked into that woman's eyes…I believed her. Then she showed me a photograph of a girl. That girl was you."

Yuffie's tears had stopped, and she could only stare at him.

"I don't know how they found out about you," he went on, each word escaping his mouth with increasing difficulty, "when I had kept you a secret, even from my closest friends. But I was a coward. I chose your safety, and that of my friends' children, over the lives of hundreds of sailors…and the future of Wu-Tai. Now, because of this…foolishness, I have almost lost you a second time. If you want to hate this Oath-breaker, by all means, do so. It's true he was the first to fall, and I hate him no less than I hate myself. But if you love Wu-Tai, don't love me, or any of the foolish men of my generation, or the Emperor. Love yourself…you are Wu-Tai."

He turned to Tseng, who looked pale and withdrawn, and said nothing.

"Black Tortoise. Answer me truthfully. What will be done with the Heaven Stone once it falls into Shinra's hands?"

"It…will be reconstituted in a reactor. But after that, nothing. I've learned something of Shinra's ways. I can surround it with so much red tape, it will never see the light of day again. I promise you that, Godo."

"Then…" Godo's head fell, and his eyes dimmed. "Then that will have to be sufficient. Yuffie? Open the box."

The power of speech might have deserted the girl forever. Obediently, she accepted the box from Tseng, turned her back to them, and a moment later there was a low click. When she turned back, she held the final, blood-red shard of the Heaven Stone in one hand.

"Now may I and my daughter leave?"

"Yes. Go your way," said Tseng, "and peace be with you."

An hour after Godo and Yuffie had departed, a stunned atmosphere remained in the bar, as if a bomb had recently gone off. Although some looked relieved, no one appeared really triumphant. Tseng was gone for some time; then he reappeared, a bulky black radio under one arm.

"General Heidegger should be taking his morning lard right about now," he said to Rude. "I put in a call through the military transceiver. We should have his response by the end of the day."

"I know the General is a busy man," said Elena, "but, surely…"

"In case no one informed you, Heidegger isn't exactly the sharpest bayonet on the parade ground. Anyway, there are a number of considerations. If he wants us to repair the materia ourselves…if so, where. And if he wants to risk drawing Scarlet's attention by calling in MP's, or even Soldier, to help against the Rat King."

"Do we need the help, sir?" asked Hunter.

"Against forty-some men? You tell me. I'd certainly like to have all the help I can get. Besides, I've seen their guns. Those are Z-190's. Full automatic, nine hundred rounds per minute, fifteen per second."

"Per…second?"

Tseng chuckled. "That's right, I forget you were a street detective, used to playing with shivs and six-shooters. You never went up against the Rat King, did you?"

"No, sir. With all due respect, everyone on the force knows better."

Reno and Rude sat together in one corner, mixing the last of the coffee with whiskey. They said very little, but seemed, strangely enough, as if they were used to each other's company.

"Cards?" Rude offered.

"No thanks. I only play cash games, and you look like you got one hell of a poker face.-You got a point, though, we got to kill time somehow. What's up with Blondie over there, what's her deal?"

"That's Elena, our Public Relations officer."

"So? You think I got a chance with her?"

Rude sighed. "You can take the scumbag off the trash heap, but you can't take the trash heap out of the scumbag."

"Oh, c'mon, like you never thought about it." Reno bobbed his eyebrows. "Unless my earlier surmise was correct?"

When Rude, as usual, failed to rise to the bait, Reno turned his head.

"Yo, constable! For your mother's sake, would you knock off that creepy, slow-ass music!"

Salvador, sitting on the bar, with his feet on a stool, had been strumming a guitar so quietly and rhythmically Reno hadn't realized, until the moment he complained, he'd been hearing it at all. Rude also looked up, surprised.

Salvador grinned, showing nicotine-blacked teeth.

"You do not like it, little deputy? It is called the Deguello, the Executioner's Song. It is an old pirate song. When they played it from their ship, it meant they would not show their enemies any quarter. It is our enemies who should be scared, not us."

"Well…I don't care, I still think it's creepy as hell. Pass that thing over here and give me a go."

"Oh, can you play the guitar, Reno?" asked Elena, polite and solicitous of their new acquaintance.

"Sure, I'm a pro! I used to tour with all the big acts, like Izzy Thumbs and Black Fang."

"Really? That's incredible."

"He's putting you on, Elena," murmured Tseng, but said out loud: "Alright, let's have it. We could all use a laugh."

The mako lamps in the bar had not been turned on, and while sunlight poured in slats through the rafters, the room still had a melancholy, early-morning feeling, like an enlarged version of the prison cells in the back. Reno cradled the guitar, and studied the light as it fell, and the trapped particles of dust, and suddenly let out a big sigh.

"Well…I dunno, this is one my sister used to sing me. So sorry if my voice gets all girly," and, strumming idly, he began:

The water is wide...

I cannot cross o'er,

And neither have I wings to fly,

Give me a boat,

That can carry two,

And both shall ride, my love and I.

Elena looked delighted, and began to applaud. Tseng shushed her. Reno considered for a moment, before starting in on the second verse.

My love she's merry,

And my love she's bonny,

She's like good whiskey, when it is new

But love grows old, and waxes cold

And fades away, like the morning dew.

Hunter scratched his head. "Well, that sure ended on a downer."

"I thought it was great," said Elena.

"Si," Salvador agreed, "he plays well. You have been poor in your life, haven't you, my friend? All poor men know how to sing."

Reno gave a regretful smirk. "Yeah…something like that."

"Hey, I got one," said Hunter. "Reno, you know them Folsom Prison Blues?"

"Aw, I said enough sad, creepy music. How about Mideel Girls?"

"Come on, Reno, I bet you love that song. It's written all over your face."

Reno gave another deep sigh, and began to play. Hunter threw both arms behind his head in exaggerated gesture of hopelessness, leaned back, and began to sing:

I hear that train a'comin'

It's comin round the bend

And I aint seen the sunshine since, I don't know when

I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin on

But that train keeps rollin

On to Sector One.

Then Reno shut his eyes and, with a hitch in his voice, joined in for the next verse:

When I was just a baby, my mother told me, Son

Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns

But I shot a man in Junon, just to watch him die

When I hear that whistle blowin, I hang my head and cry.

Elena dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"That's…that's really beautiful."

"Aw, hell, Tseng," said Reno, "can we get this broad out of here? She's screwing with the vibe."

"At the moment, she outranks you," said Rude, "and we don't call ladies broads."

"Well excu-use me, Sir Rude of the Fucking Round Table."

Hunter laughed, and lit a cigarette. "Eh, you're okay in my book. I look forward to working with you. Okay, we'll do Mideel Girls. Mideel Girls they sing this song, doo-dah, doo-dah…I'm sorry, Rude, Mideel Ladies…"

Then amid the laughter, Tseng sat up, and a moment later there came a pounding on the door.

"Who goes there!" bellowed Salvador.

"Con amistad, con amistad!" came a panicked voice. "It's me, tio, Julio!"

Salvador touched the materia underneath the bar, the air in the doorway flickered, and Julio stumbled in, covered in dust.

"They come!" he gasped. "All forty of them! The town's safe; everyone knows it's trouble, they locked their doors."

"How long have we got?"

"I don't know, maybe three minutes…"

Around the room, chairs scraped back, guns clicked. Tseng stood with his pistol drawn, and shouted: "Behind the bar!"

No one had to be told twice. In a stroke of luck, the long bar barely accommodated all of them from one end to the other, and they crouched there in its shadow, breathing heavily.

"Hunter," whispered Elena, "get your hand off my knee."

"Sorry."

"Hey Rude," said Reno, "get your hand off my knee."

"It wasn't anywhere near…!"

"Shh."

Silence, inside and outside. Someone coughed.

Footsteps outside, slow and measured. A knock on the door.

"Let me handle this," Tseng muttered to Salvador. He called in a booming voice: "Who's there!"

The voice from the other side of the door sounded faint and wheedling, not unlike, reflecting Julio's prediction the day before, that of a traveling salesman.

"We know you're in there, Turk. Slide the stone under the door, please."

"And then we just waltz out?"

No answer.

Salvador cradled a shotgun against his chest. "Boys!" he called. "I am sure you all got mamas and poppas at home, waiting for you. Do not make your mamas cry when your hot blood is spilled on the sand of Costa Del Sol."

"We know there are seven of you," said the voice, implacable. "We have you outnumbered more than four to one. We are the deathless soldiers of the Rat King, and we will fight to the last man. Even if some of us die, not one of you will survive."

"You're pretty willing to die for another man's treasure," said Tseng. "I'll tell you what. Whichever of you is standing closest to that door? You'll be the first to die. Then the man behind you. Then the man behind him. Then the man behind him. You understand? There are no odds for you guys."

"Good one," Reno whispered.

"The King isn't with you, is he? I wonder why. Is he afraid to get his suit dirty? Or does he know that if he were standing in front of that door, he'd have no chance, no matter how many men were behind him?"

There was a pause, before a different, deeper voice announced: "All of you who are not Turks, come out with your hands up. You won't be hurt. Do you really want to die for these Shinra lackeys? Shinra doesn't care about you. They put your lives on the line for a piece of rock."

Yet a third voice joined in: "Mr. Baraza, you die, and this town is defenseless. We'll burn it down, kill every last man, woman and child. Is that what you want?"

Tseng looked at Salvador with real concern, and his gun was ready for immediate use. But after the briefest of pauses, Salvador answered: "Go fuck the devil in hell,cabron! My name is Salvador Baraza, son of Ferdinand, and I stand with Shinra and the Turks."

"Very well," said the first voice. "You have until the count of ten. Nine. Eight…"

Tseng pressed the cold metal gun barrel to his cheek. He looked left and right.

"Everyone?" They all nodded. "There's one way out. But I can't promise we all get out alive. Now in a second, I'm going over that bar. If anyone here is afraid to die…if you have any unfinished business…if you hesitate for even one second…don't follow. Those who do, we go in the order you call out."

"Si," said Salvador.

"Sir," said Rude.

"Yes, sir," said Hunter.

"Fucking right," Reno.

"I go," said Julio.

Elena hesitated.

"Four…three…"

"Now," said Tseng.

"Sir! Wait! I want to…"

But Tseng had already vaulted onto the bar, gun raised, and with a loud whoop, Salvador followed him.

Chapter Text

Warning: This is as graphic as the story will get, but if you've read this far, I doubt it will bother you.

Elena only heard the first three seconds of gunfire. After that, it was drowned out by the ringing in her ears and the thud of her own heart. She felt the smooth wood of the bar on her back, and the rough sawdust under her buttocks. She held her service weapon, cold as the day it was issued, and stared at it.

One by one, the liquor bottles in the metal rack over her head burst and exploded like ripe fruit. Rivers of dark liquid poured toward her feet and the smell was oddly pleasant. Then the room seemed to grow brighter, and she realized the front wall was becoming a sieve, projecting crazy spears of hard, blue light at all angles, bouncing off specks of glass from the smashed windows. The curtains hung in ribbons that kicked up with each new volley. But the bar against her back held firm.

There were other sounds. An electrical hiss. Grunts. Bodies falling. Bullets whining as they glanced off barrier spells, thudding as they struck the earth. Then, after what seemed like hours, the faint, bell-like tinkling of Cure magic.

She looked at the crenelations of broken bottles, the multi-colored waterfalls pouring down, and the light sparkling over it all, and wanted to cry because it was so beautiful.

One of the Rat King's men, a short, burly thug whose bloodied face had a curiously passive, resigned expression, was trying to get to his feet. The whole left side of body failed to respond. Breathing between each exertion, he managed to prop his torso up on his right arm, as if executing half a push-up. He got hold of his rifle and wedged it underneath him, then began to work his right leg around, but suddenly flipped over onto his back. He raised his head and looked with disgust at his failed body. Then Tseng's bullet passed through his right temple.

Tseng lay on his stomach, every nerve ending in his body sizzling with pain. He had sighted the gun over his left forearm, and it remained there.

One of the last tricks the Guardians had been taught was slowing their heartbeats. The idea was to feign death, but it came in handy with two bullets in your right leg and another in your gut. It kept him from moving, but it would keep him alive for another few minutes.

Then a hoarse voice said: "You're good, Shinra."

Against his better judgment, Tseng looked up.

A very tall man, his black shirt washed with blood, stood between him and the sun. He coughed several times, and, after inspecting the contents of his fist, dropped several of his teeth onto the ground.

"I've never seen anyone move like that," he went on, sounding dazed. Tseng recognized the second voice they'd heard from inside the bar. "You killed a lot of my friends today. Well…more credit for me."

He struggled to aim his rifle. Then there was a solitary gunshot, and all at once his bulk vanished from sight. Tseng looked around. Elena stood in the door, braced against it, holding her gun with both hands. A moment later Rude was kneeling over him, and the Cure materia on his brass knuckle glowed. Tseng sat up, coughed, wheezed, held his injured leg, and spit.

"Thanks," he said.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"I've had worse hangovers on a Monday morning. How bad is it?"

Rude's shades had fallen off, and his exposed face looked vulnerable. He blinked as he said: "I patched Reno and Julio back into…some kind of shape. Hunter's gone. Sal's…going."

"Well what are you fucking around with me for, go to your uncle."

Rude dashed off, and Tseng slowly got to his feet. He looked around. Men were strewn like toppled dominoes, and the bright yellow sand was speckled with blood. Most of the Rat King's soldiers had fallen in a cluster in front of the door, while others lay further off, or had even made it to cover behind barrels across the street. One had climbed halfway up the steps of a house, and been finished off by a shot from inside. One was still twitching. Tseng pulled the trigger, but the gun was empty; he shrugged and walked off.

Hunter was lying with remarkable composure at the bottom of the steps. He looked as if he'd settled down for a nap. His pale blue eyes were open, and seemed to regard Tseng, but there was a neat bullet hole over the left. Tseng knelt down and shut his eyelids. Elena was standing over them, and when she looked down, she moaned and threw her gun away, as if it had suddenly gone hot in her hand. Reno approached, holding his left arm.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," said Tseng.

"You kidding?" said Reno, his voice tremulous. "I been in bar fights before."

"I mean I'm sorry you had to see such sloppy work. I shouldn't have underestimated the King, or I'd have left Midgar with more people. I take full responsibility…for all of this."

Rude and Julio, both their superficial wounds healed, were sitting on either side of Salvador's body. Salvador's eyes were open, but he whispered:

"I can't see. What happened to the sun?"

"We're here, tio," said Rude.

"Did we get them?"

"Yes, tio," said Rude. "All of them."

"That is…sad. It is never a good thing when men die."

"We were only defending ourselves."

"Yes. That's right."

Rude uncapped another Phoenix Down and sprinkled it on Salvador's chest, already covered with the golden dust like an effigy at a festival. The first three had had little effect, and this one did nothing.

Salvador struggled to speak: "It was an honor…to see you fight…Rudo. You were always strong…but I did not imagine you had become such a great warrior."

"Shh. Save your strength, tio. The doctor will mend you."

His time in Costa Del Sol had already introduced the local accent back into Rude's speech, and he added a few words in their now defunct, half-forgotten language. Salvador laughed.

"Do not use those words. Shinra is your future…ours…the planet's. You must be like them."

"I don't care about that now."

"I care about nothing else."

"Tio," Julio pleaded, "you heard Rudo, you need to shut that big fat mouth of yours."

"Okay. I'll be quiet…for a little while."

Then he went so still Rude felt his pulse in a panic, but he was still breathing. Tseng and Reno approached.

"I'm sorry for your loss," said Tseng.

"What are you saying? He is not dead…not like those fucking deathless soldiers." Julio shot upright, cracked the breech of his shotgun, and replaced the shells from his belt. "Now let us go kill their boss. I will show that pincho cabron what it means to be a soldier."

"Julio, please go for a doctor, and look after my colleague Elena," said Tseng. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of my stupidity."

"You don't understand, senor Tseng. For a man of Costa Del Sol, there is no greater honor than to die protecting what he cares about."

Rude put his hand on his brother's arm. "Please, do what he says. Think of your children."

Julio grimaced, but, with another glance at Salvador, went back inside.

All up and down the street, windows were sliding open. Doors creaked. Thick muttering filled the air.

"We doing this?" Reno asked Tseng.

"We can't give him time to regroup. Let's tell the King he's being deposed. Rude? Get the stone from the strongbox inside."

"Are you sure?"

"How else will we draw him out?"

"Sir."

"What time is it?"

Rude consulted his watch. "Eight minutes to noon, sir."

"Perfect."

The bodies had been cleared away, and the houses had gone quiet again. Reno sat on the steps of El Corazon, smoking. Rude leaned against the wall nearby, rifle on his shoulder. Tseng stood in the middle of the street, gun holstered, and between his feet sat the black briefcase containing all four shards of the Heaven Stone. The sun shone down on the glossy black top of his head, and he cast almost no shadow.

Two figures approached from the direction of the harbor. Tseng watched them come on, shading his face with one hand, and smiled. Rude lowered the rifle, and Reno stamped out his cigarette.

The bodies of the Turks were covered with fresh scars, their clothing torn and burned; the Rat King wore a spotless checked vest under a white duster coat, and Dyne's injuries had healed. But Dyne looked somewhat reluctant. The pair stopped twenty paces away. The Rat King put his hands in his pockets. He looked at Tseng, as if expecting him to hand the case over. A lazy wind blew over him; he touched his hair. A dog barked behind a tall fence, and was quickly hushed by its owner. Then the Rat King began to laugh. It was a false, unnerving sound.

"Turk! I owe you my thanks."

Tseng squinted at him. "You're an odd man, Fisk."

"I thought those forty men were my best. Evidently, I was mistaken. Tsk. Reno? You, as well."

"Oh yeah?" said Reno, swinging his nightstick. "Why's that, chief?"

"You know…for a second there, I was really thinking I'd been too hard on you. Perhaps you never meant to betray me, after all. I was considering offering you a second chance. But it's good to know my initial judgment wasn't mistaken. It rarely is."

"Yeah, you should've killed me when you had the chance, blah," Reno tapped the nightstick against his leg, "blah," tap, "blah," tap, "blah. But you know what? I am an idiot. It took me this long to realize a guy like you doesn't deserve a rat's loyalty…much less a human being with a brain in his skull. E tu, Dyne?"

"I trust you can count, Dyne," said Tseng. "Your odds are two to three…and keep in mind that it took forty of you to take down two of us."

Dyne and the Rat King looked at each other. Characteristically, neither showed much emotion.

"Well?" said the Rat King.

Dyne tossed his head. "You know?" he said, sounding weary. "The fuck-up's right. I'm not dying for you, Fisk. I don't even like you."

The Rat King's forehead twitched, but he gave no other visible reaction as he watched Dyne walk slowly off. Finally, when the giant was nearly out of sight, he removed his glasses and began polishing them.

"Last chance, Fisk."

"Do you really think I would lay down my gun for a glorified policeman like you? Poor Turk. You have no idea what real power is." The Rat King's weak eyes, inflamed by the dust, studied his glasses as the cloth worked over them. "I'm sorry that trash didn't put up a better fight. But, what is it they always say? If you want the job done right…do it yourself."

Three things happened in the same instant. The Rat King put on his glasses, and as his arm came up, the red materia set in his bangle flashed. Calmly he intoned, like a spell: "Midnight Special." Tseng drew and fired, Rude fired; the bullets passed through the Rat King's suddenly ghost-like form, which vanished a moment later.

Reno jumped. "Yo, what the hell!"

Tseng, gun still raised, was listening intently, glancing around. A guttural, rhythmic thud and rattle could be heard, and was getting louder every second. It was familiar to any resident of Midgar. He glanced at Rude.

"There's no train here," he said. "Is there?"

Rude shook his head.

"Get down! Cover your mouth and eyes!"

"What is it?" yelled Reno.

"Doomtrain!"

"What the hell is…?"

"Cover your mouth and eyes!"

Spectral flames shot up either side of the street. The sky darkened, the acrid tang of oil and rust filled the air, and barreling down the street, screaming on its invisible track, came the phantom train. Its headlamp glowed hellish red and underneath, stamped in metal, was a ghoulish face contorted in agony, screaming forever.

It shot past, screeching, clanking, and shuddering. From underneath poured a greasy black smoke that rolled over them, swamping the whole street and brushing the windows and doors of houses; cries and groans echoed from inside, dogs barked their heads off, infants howled. For half a minute, Costa Del Sol was plunged into nightmare; then as quickly as it appeared, Doomtrain was gone, but the stench and the impenetrable smoke remained.

Tseng staggered upright, breathing through his shirt. He looked down; Rude lay incapacitated, his skin covered with a dark oily sheen. Reno was curled up, hacking and coughing.

The Rat King reappeared, spotless, and the foul wind of Doomtrain's wake kicked up the tails of his coat. The green materia on his bangle flashed. A blast of fire shot from his hand, and Tseng, still reeling from the smoke, was blown off his feet.

A pleased flush sat on the Rat King's face; then he cringed and pulled back when the smoke touched him.

Tseng rolled with the impact and sprang back up, face and clothes charred; he touched his Barrier materia, and the next blast struck an invisible shield in the air, roared, and flew back at the Rat King. He tried to dodge, but it enveloped half his body and left him rolling in the dirt, angrily thrashing his clothes, and screaming in pain.

Tseng approached him with six sure steps, raising his gun.

In whatever unit by which such blindingly fast actions can be measured, the Rat King beat Tseng by a fraction. Even as his head came into Tseng's sights, the Rat King fired blind between his legs. The bullet caught Tseng in the shoulder. He fell.

In a blind rage, the Rat King shot again, and again, but he was firing into the air now. Finally the gun clicked. He swore, spun out the cylinder, and reached in his pocket. His hands were shaking badly. Spittle curled from his mouth, and the right lens of his glasses had cracked. None of his phlegmatic composure remained. The bullet slipped from his fingers. He chased it, clawing at the sand. The smoke was settling over him. A trace of blood joined the spittle; he'd bitten his tongue in frustration.

"As funny as this is to watch, I think you've had enough time."

Reno stood over him. He was soot blacked from head to foot, but there was light in his eyes. He pretended to ring an invisible bell.

"Ding."

The Rat King stared at him. Nothing but mindless psychosis remained in his beady eyes.

"You know," said Reno, squatting down, "you're a real pain in the ass. Somewhere in Midgar? There's a girl expecting a trip to the Gold Saucer. Do you know how much that shit costs? Now, cause of you, I have to take it out of my paycheck, cause if there's one thing Reno never does, it's disappoint the ladies. Up yours, Fisk."

The Rat King's hand curled around the bullet. Reno stepped on it.

"Uh, uh, uh. See? I got two axioms I live my life by. Number one, don't screw with anybody I don't need to. Number two, anyone screws with me, or the people I care about, I fuck them up. Understand?"

"Do…it," wheezed the Rat King.

Reno placed Tseng's gun to his chest and pulled the trigger. His whole body jerked. Blood pooled out underneath him. His face contorted but, through his snarling lips, he forced his last words:

"You…can't…do…anything…right."

Reno put the gun to his head this time.

"Word of advice. A little something my sister used to tell me. Be in hell half an hour before the devil knows you're dead."

He pulled the trigger again.

Night was falling on Costa Del Sol. Tseng sat in the darkened bar, a half-empty bottle of Wu-Tai rice wine and an empty glass in front of him. A white bandage was wrapped around his shoulder.

Rude came in, moving quietly. He glanced at the ruined bottles, and the liqour pooled on the floor.

"Waste of good booze."

"Now you've said something. Pull up a chair."

Rude did, and poured himself a drink. After a pause, Tseng said:

"Well?"

"Sal…passed on. There was nothing they could do for him."

Tseng nodded, and poured more wine.

"You heard what Julio said," Rude went on, haltingly. "He was…probably glad to go that way."

"That man trusted Shinra to his last breath, whether he should have or not. I bet he would have made a good Turk. I'm starting to think the same was true of Hunter. Now we're stuck with Wonderboy the Read-Headed Stepchild, and some girl who pisses herself at the scent of gun oil."

"That girl saved your life."

Tseng sighed. "I know. I'll probably never forgive her that."

"Reno, too."

"That? It was a flesh wound. I would've got back up in a second and murdered that guy."

Rude chuckled. "You never give up, do you?"

"That's how I became the man I am today."

They drank for a while in silence.

"Any word from Heidegger?" Rude asked.

"Yes. He wants us to take the stone to the reactor in Gongaga. I was expecting as much. It'll be a safe trip, at least."

Rude nodded. "Good. The Gongaga plant is one of our newest; their safeguards are top-of-the-line."

"I got to finish this paperwork. Go pack your bag. Tell Reno if he expects a goddamn pat on the head, he picked the wrong career."

"There is one more thing…"

"Hmm?"

"We're burying Salvador at midnight. The padre says he can do the service over Hunter as well…as a hero of Costa Del Sol. If you want. Or, we could send him back to Midgar."

"Hunter had no family," said Tseng, "and he wasn't religious. He wouldn't give a shit either way. Let them bury him here."

"Yes, sir."

Tseng remained for some time after Rude had gone, until the bottle was empty, and two more had joined it. The room was pitch-black after the sun went down, but he was used to the darkness.

AN: Don't worry, it's not over.

Chapter Text

When Rude returned at daybreak, he found Tseng asleep at the table, still wearing yesterday's filthy, charred suit, and cradling the empty bottle against his cheek like a child's teddy bear. With some hesitation, he shook him gently awake. Tseng sat up and rubbed his face.

"'Morning, sir."

"Rude. I want you to explain in detail why you haven't got a giant pot of coffee in either hand."

"Sir…we have a situation."

Tseng pinched the bridge of his nose. "So help me, if you tell me Reno ripped us off in the night, I will roll over and die."

"It's worse."

"How could it possibly be worse than that?"

"I think you'd better come outside."

Tseng sighed, coughed, and pushed back his chair. When his face came near Rude's, he squinted.

"What's that on your nose?"

"Oh…" Rude brushed at it. "Gold dust, sir. They use it…in the funerary ritual."

"Ah. Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I'm sure you didn't need my heathen ass standing there with my arms crossed, anyway."

Rude said nothing, looked embarrassed, and turned away.

Tseng crossed to the door and, since Rude's tone suggested no immediate danger, pushed it casually open without bothering to keep a hand on his gun.

In the street, under the pale lavender morning light, stood a full platoon of MPs in their facemasks and bright cobalt uniforms, guns on their shoulders, in perfect formation. At their head stood a muscular black man, wearing the red uniform of a Soldier, first class, his eyes emitting a dull, eerie glow. Among them stood Reno and Elena, the one looking hungover, the other alert and nervous.

Tseng slapped his forehead. "Now the cavalry shows up. Perfect. Captain…Kolani, isn't it? Tell General Heidegger it's appreciated, but he could have taken the trouble to inform me of his decision yesterday, on the phone, I could have planned accordingly, and two valuable men might still be alive. Now unless you're going to fetch me a cup of strong Mideel coffee with a shot of Dio's Reserve single malt, two cubes of brown sugar, and a little silver spoon to stir it with, kindly fuck off."

Kolani was impassive. "I'm afraid we didn't come to reinforce you, sir."

"So you were in town and wanted to pay your respects?"

"Sir," said Kolani, stepping forward, "by the authority vested in me by Shinra, Incorporated, I am placing you under arrest."

Rude had never seen Tseng look genuinely surprised. It was a reaction so extreme, it was almost funny. His mouth puckered, his eyebrows rose like venetian blinds, and his hand gripped the doorframe so hard it creaked. In a voice of controlled fury he said:

"Under what charge?"

"Treason."

Then both Rude and Tseng noticed that Reno and Elena were standing in rigid attitudes, suggestive of being handcuffed.

"You're the real deal, asshole," said Reno, loudly. "What am I supposed to tell my sister? My big break, turning over a new leaf, and I get…this shit? Are you fucking serious?"

"Reno, shut up.-Elena," said Tseng. "Don't worry. It's going to be alright."

"Y-yes, sir," she said, but looked far from sure.

"The General's probably throwing a fit because I asked if I was interrupting Second Breakfast yesterday."

Then another, far more sinister possibility occurred to Tseng, and his face hardened.

The ragtag group of Turks, preceded by ten MPs and followed by another twenty, went down the rock path to the beach. It was quiet in early morning, and crisp, edible-looking surf lapped the white sand, which glittered with hidden particles of quartz and mica. Palm trees stood against an overcast sky, but the sun was beginning to climb, dying the fat cumulous clouds cotton-candy pink. A solitary visitor enjoyed the scenery. Stretched out on a deck chair at the edge of the sand, she let the sea spray tease her mostly-naked body. Her face was concealed under a molded plastic, camouflaged hat, that nonetheless had a wide brim and a small, dainty peak. She lifted it as she heard them approach.

"Reno," hissed Tseng.

"Yeah?"

"Keep your mouth shut from this instant, until you can no longer see that woman."

"Is that an order?"

"Take it however you like."

The woman lifted one arm and gave a slow, languid wave.

"Yoo-hoo!"

The MPs led the Turks to the side of the chair, and one prodded Elena with his bayonet when she hesitated. Reno shot him a glare.

The woman was tall, had plentiful, dirty-blonde hair, and wore a pair of ruby red sunglasses. They matched her bikini, or what there was of it. The fabric clung futilely to the curves of her body, like shading on a sketch, tinting it the red of an overripe tomato begging to be plucked. Reno started to whistle, but without looking at him, Tseng ground his right heel into Reno's left instep, and he winced instead.

"Ma'am," said Tseng.

The sunglasses made Scarlet's eyes look dead, and it was difficult to tell where she was looking.

"It's about time you showed up. After all, what's a trip to the beach without a few handsome guys trying to pick me up?"

"That's some ensemble."

"Oh, thanks! But it's nothing, of course, simply nothing, without the perfect accessory." She reached underneath the chair, and came up with a small revolver. The handle was a block of pure gold, set with a big, blood-dark ruby, and the gleaming barrel and cylinder looked like platinum. "The latest masterpiece from the workshop of Proud and Son, Midgar's finest. Be honest now. It's not too gauche, is it?"

"In all candor, I might say that it suits you a tee, ma'am."

Then Scarlet looked up. "Oh, dear. The sun will be out any minute. Be a darling, would you, Tseng?" Again she reached under the chair, and thrust something at Tseng that turned out to be a bottle of sunscreen. Unshy, she reached back and undid her suit ties, but rolled onto her stomach before her ordnances were fully exposed to view. Tseng held the bottle with both hands helplessly half-clenched, staring down at her naked back.

"Come along, cutie-pie."

"You can always delegate, sir."

"Reno, what did I tell you?"

"Just sayin'!"

"Who is that street rat?" drawled Scarlet. "Don't I recall seeing that face on a wanted poster after the bank job last year in Sector Three?"

"He's an independent contractor," Tseng said curtly. "More to the point…if you'll pardon my Wu-Tai, why the hell am I under arrest?"

"Care to explain what you're doing in Costa Del Sol, sonny boy? From your reluctance to lather that thick, oily sunscreen all over a beautiful woman," she writhed a bit, peering at Tseng over her shoulder, "I doubt you've come for the usual reasons. This doesn't strike me as your climate, anyway. No, you belong in some sort of…cave."

Tseng looked down. "I'm afraid I can't divulge that information."

"I didn't think so. Kolani? Would you be an absolute peach and fetch that…item from my bag? I'd do it myself, but honestly, it's just out of reach."

Expressionless, Kolani rooted through Scarlet's large handbag until he found a palm-sized, silver digital recorder. At a nod from Scarlet, he pressed play.

Tseng's own voice sounded out with remarkable clarity: "…I've learned something of Shinra's ways. I can surround it with so much red tape, it will never see the light of day again. I promise you that, Godo…"

For the second time that day, Tseng looked surprised, although not as badly this time. He clenched one fist, but was silent.

"Thank you, that will do.-I don't suppose you knew I had a man in your department? With a live feed, no less. I've heard every fart in your offices for the past eight weeks. Oh, please, do keep making that adorable expression."

In a voice like flint Tseng asked: "Who?" Rude glanced at Elena, but immediately looked ashamed.

"Not her," said Scarlet, idly.

"Hunter."

"Kya, ha, ha! How gallant, you won't even suspect that catamite of yours. But I'm afraid you're correct. He put up a fight, but after a touch of, ah, incentive from me, he realized the dividends it could pay a man such as himself. Sadly, it worked out charmingly for me; not so much for him. I really am sorry he's dead; he was an amusing thing."

"Hunter may have betrayed me," said Tseng, looking at her evenly, "but he died on his feet. I'm not sorry to have known him. The same can't be said for you, generalissima."

"Now who needs to keep his mouth shut!" whispered Reno. "This bitch will throw us in the slammer for eight million years!-You, anyway. Hey, uh, honeybunch, I'm kind of new to the job, see, I had no idea…"

"Shut him up," said Scarlet.

Kolani slammed his rifle butt into Reno's stomach, and he bent over wheezing.

"Miss Scarlet," said Tseng, "is quite familiar with my feelings regarding her."

Scarlet gave a dramatic sigh, and traced her lower lip with the barrel of her pistol. "Ah, if only the reverse were true! I've been pining after this oriental jewel for years, but he's oblivious. Now it's too late. So sad. I'll put in a word for a quick and painless execution. I suppose Heidegger will be sacked for trusting you…and the reformed Turks, naturally, would fall under my jurisdiction. Which reminds me, you three? You're out of a job. What do you say?"

"With all due respect, ma'am," said Rude, "go to hell."

"I-I think you're disgusting!" Elena blurted out. "President Shinra would never sanction behavior like this if he…!" She clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Hey, ignore these idiots," said Reno. "When can I start?"

Ignoring him, Scarlet seemed to be thinking. She let the gun swing by its trigger guard on her extended finger. "Say, Tseng, baby. It's not often a grandmaster gets to address her own chess piece."

Tseng was silent.

"Imagine," she went on, "if all the pieces in a chess set could talk. Do you suppose they'd complain? Chatter all they want, it wouldn't change anything."

"This is no game," said Tseng, "and the stakes are much higher than you know."

"Isn't it, though? War is a game. When it's over, what do the warriors do? Clear off the board and start over. It's all in good fun. Sadly…the pieces don't know that." Then she gave a short, delighted laugh and added: "Do you know what I think? I don't think this precious stone of yours does anything. If it were so powerful, why didn't Wu-Tai use it as soon and as often as possible? No…I think it was a weapon, a psychological one. So you poor idiots kept on believing, to the last, there was some hope left. Human beings need hope like that…no matter how pathetic it is.-Kolani, take them. You're in luck, sugar cube; it's too much trouble to ship you back to Midgar, so you have the honor of being present at the re-forging of the Heaven Stone. It will make a lovely paperweight, and it's just my color. Do be good sports, and Kolani won't have to be too hard on you. Ta!"

As the veteran Soldier marched them away, Tseng caught his eye. In a low voice, too quiet for Scarlet to hear, he said:

"Don't worry. I don't hold you responsible for this."

"Thanks," Kolani whispered back. "I'll see you're billeted in a proper house, sir. And you know what? I'll throw some board games in there. And…I'm sorry about Hunter."

"I'm not. He was simply living out his nature."

It was a ten-hour flight, in the belly of a cargo helicopter, to the remote village of Gongaga. Nestled in the woods, and seen from high in the air, it looked like something in a fairy tale; dark thatched roofs, and smoke curling up from the odd chimney, in spite of the giant mako reactor standing less than a mile away.

The convoy touched down on a makeshift airstrip outside town. The streets were deserted, the quaint cottages shuttered. Shinra was less popular in Gongaga than in Cost Del Sol, largely because, while Costa Del Sol reaped the benefits of the Gongaga reactor, they ran none of its risks. There were old hold-outs in the village who treated skeptically Shinra's claims that mako energy was as safe as it was inexpensive.

While Scarlet and her bodyguards went to pay a call on the local Shinra representative, Kolani escorted Tseng-or rather Tseng escorted Kolani, knowing the way-to a house of his recommendation. He went up a neat garden path and knocked on the door. A tired-looking woman answered, then went pale when she saw them.

"Mrs. Fair," said Tseng. "I've been meaning to pay a call for some time…but business never took me through here."

"Mr. Tseng! But look at the state of you, what's happened?"

"Don't worry about me. I wanted to pay my condolences. Your son Zack was a fine young man."

Tears of shock sparked in the woman's eyes. From behind her, a man's gruff voice demanded: "Who's there? Oh…Mr. Tseng. My apologies." Mr. Fair removed his battered hat. Tseng shook his hand. "Really…no need…that's the life of a Soldier…risks…couldn't be more proud."

He cast an apprehensive glance at Kolani, who averted his mako-tinged eyes.

"Sir, ma'am," he said, "I'm very sorry to impose on a veteran's family, but we request the use of your home for a few days. We're here on urgent company business."

"But of course," muttered Mr. Fair, "anything for Shinra. The…renumerance package we received was so generous."

"And the medal was so handsome," added Mrs. Fair, in an empty voice.

Tseng leaned out the upstairs window, smoking a cigarette. Outside, under the delicate rural sunset, four MPs patrolled the grounds. It was a ceremonial gesture; Scarlet's force was no match for the Turks, even if they wouldn't ultimately survive escape. Tseng regarded them a bit affectionately, like brave children. He waved to the guard coming around the house, who saluted.

For his own part, he remained unconcerned. His business was survival. He would become Scarlet's sex slave if it came to that. It would be a step down in the world, but then, he'd been taking nothing but such steps for a long time. About the others he worried somewhat; Elena especially, who had been coming along so well. But even the most stalwart servant couldn't survive a master's betrayal. If the oath of the Turk became null and void, it would remain to be seen what other attachments bound them to the world and its miseries.

There was a light step in the door, a woman's. Tseng turned, expecting to see Elena. Instead, a healthy-looking, bright-faced young girl stood there, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, wearing a pink frock, and smiling sweetly.

"Who the hell are you," Tseng asked abruptly, with less than his usual reserve, "the maid? The linen is fine, thank you."

The girl giggled, demurely covering her mouth.

"No, silly! I'm staying here, just like you."

"Is that so?" Tseng slanted one eyebrow. "I haven't seen a hair of you until now."

"Well…to be honest, I was kinda scared. But you guys don't seem like bad people. My mom and I are staying with Mr. and Mrs. Fair for a while. The thing is…I was kind of Zack's girlfriend?"

"You seem a bit young to be anyone's girlfriend."

She went red. "I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean. It was completely innocent!"

"Whatever you say."

Tseng returned to the window, and his cigarette; but she padded up to him.

"You look sad. What's wrong?"

He blew out smoke, then laughed silently. "You may ask. I suppose…I was set on fire yesterday, and I haven't had the chance to change my suit. A thing like that bothers a man. You take some punishment, fine, but the universe should at least have the decency to give you a change of clothes…"

"You should ask Mr. Fair for some clothes."

"I don't feel right if I'm not wearing a suit. Forgive me, but I don't think a man like Mr. Fair has anything in my cut.-Anyway, what are you talking to me for? A girl like you should be…apple-picking, or something, not talking to an old, washed-up drunk."

"I help people when they're in trouble," she said, intently.

"Well…unless you can overrule the most powerful woman on the planet, I'm not sure there's much you can do to help."

"Here." The girl reached into her generous brown hair. "There's something…this is a materia my mother gave me. The thing is, it's kind of a junk materia? I don't think it does anything. But when I hold it, I get this warm feeling inside. Here. You try."

Tseng stubbed out his cigarette, tossed it outside, sighed, and shrugged.

"I don't see why not. What harm could it do?"

She held out a tiny, glossy-white stone in both hands, proudly, and if her own glowing, mysteriously attractive face was any indication, perhaps there was some magic in the speck of rock after all. Tseng took it. He cupped his hands around it. The expression on his lined, hard face didn't change.

The girl frowned. "No good?"

"I feel something."

"You're just saying that!"

"Fine, I'm just saying that. Now take your magic charm and run along, miss…" As he handed it back, Tseng suddenly leaned in. The girl pulled back, blushing.

"H-hey, what gives?"

"It's nothing…" He blinked. "I thought I saw something in your eye."

While Elena sat listless, wringing her hands, Reno and Rude were playing chess. The game was drawn out by Reno's insistence on making clopping noises when he moved his knights, or hovering his queen menacingly over the board before she took a piece. Rude looked relieved when Tseng came down the stairs, dressed in shapeless, gray farmer's clothes from Mr. Fair's closet.

Elena sat up. "Sir!"

"Yeah, boss-man," said Reno, "aint it time we had a little heart-to-heart? About this situation?"

Tseng went calmly past him, and settled himself at a writing desk.

"What is there to say?"

"I dunno. But let me put it this way. From what I seen of you, you aint the kind to give up. Not when I shot you in the face, or some little girl stole your materia, or some other guy shot you in the ass, and you were lying on the ground bleeding your guts out. C'mon." He looked at Tseng urgently, as if wanting very badly, not to be saved, but not to be let down. "After all that shit, you're not gonna roll over for that lady. Are you?"

"I have little intention of doing so," said Tseng, crisply.

"Well thank the lifestream for that! So. What's the plan. Guns? Materia? Just kick 'em? Does this farmer dude have some kinda arsenal in the base…what the hell are you doing?"

"Writing a letter," said Tseng, applying Mr. Fair's fountain pen to the sheet of parchment in front of him. "To an old friend."

"Sir?" Rude looked puzzled.

"I, I don't believe Scarlet would allow correspondence out of here," said Elena.

"She's right, brother Turk. What are you gonna do, stick it in a whiskey bottle and toss it out the window?"

"I can do you one better than that."

After finishing the short missive, Tseng licked his finger, studied the sheet for a moment, then folded it over. Then again, then again.

"He's lost his goddamn mind," Reno whispered to Rude. "Let's get out of here."

Rude shook his head.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I've been wanting to see this trick."

Chapter Text

AN: Woof, long chapter.

"So let me see if I got this straight," said Reno, sitting backwards on his chair, his arms draped over the headrest. "I know a blockhead like me can't exactly grasp all the subtleties of a genius plan like yours, so I got to be absolutely sure. So phase one is the magic paper bird. And phase two is…this."

Tseng sat on the floor of Mr. Fair's living room, his legs crossed underneath him. At four points, forming a perfect square around him, four candles burned in brass holders; the room was otherwise dark. They showed his face in a gentle light, and he looked calm. His hands rested on his knees, and his eyes were shut.

"This isn't part of the plan," he said, quietly. "I just felt like it."

"Well, terrific."

Reno got up, and paced around Tseng, passing Rude where he stood by the window, and Elena, curled up on the sofa. He wrung his hands behind his back.

"Say this letter gets through. Scarlet's doing her thing tomorrow, I bet. What's to say help gets here in time?"

"Something tells me my friend isn't far away. Though he may pretend otherwise, he remains an interested party. He'll want to see this through to the end."

"So…what. He helps us bust out? I bet we could bust out anyway, but once old man Shinra sends half of Soldier after us…"

"Reno," said Tseng, his voice patient. "You talk too much."

"Well fucking excuse me! I don't exactly relish the thought of being executed. I'm only the greatest high-wire acrobat of my generation. Think of the loss to the arts."

"A wise man isn't deceived by appearances."

Reno stopped by the door, and cast a long, jagged shadow across it.

"Oh, is that right?"

"There's an old story in Wu-Tai…" Tseng clenched his eyes slightly, remembering. "The story of a poor farmer. His prized mare gives birth to a beautiful colt. It's a stroke of luck, a present from the gods. But the colt is so spirited, when his eldest son tries to ride, it throws him, and breaks his leg."

"Gee, how uplifting."

"Hang on. The story isn't finished. You see, that autumn, the Emperor declares a levy. All able-bodied young men are to report for military service. But when the Emperor's men come to the poor farmer's house, his son is laid up in bed."

Rude was listening, and smiled a little.

"The war is a terrible one. Half the young men who were called up for service are killed on foreign soil. By the time it's over, the farmer's son's legs have healed, the colt is broken in, and his farm becomes the most prosperous in the district. So, who's to say what was good, and what was bad?"

Elena giggled, in spite of herself.

"Stop laughing!" said Reno. "Listen to this guy. I think I like you better drunk. So you're old, you must be like forty; maybe you're not scared to die, and you trust the gods will pull something out of their ass at the last second. I aint exactly got that luxury."

"You were willing enough to follow me out of that bar."

"Yeah, well…that was different. At least then, we had a chance. When somebody's pointing a gun at you, and you got your own, there's a chance."

"And when a thousand guns are pointed at you, and you have one of your own, there's a chance."

There was a knock on the door. Rude answered. Two MPs stood outside, one much taller than the other.

"We're here to relieve this shift," said the tall one, in a deep voice. "Is the Lieutenant inside?"

A kindly-faced, middle-aged MP, his facemask up, came out of the kitchen.

"I'm Lieutenant Cramer. My men are on patrol."

The newcomer presented his identification, and Kramer, having looked it over, frowned.

"Keating, Veil. How come there are only two of you?"

The shorter MP spoke up, in a young woman's voice: "There's, like, this huge party? Scarlet found all this Gongagan wine the Shinra rep was hoarding, and she's totally opened every barrel. I mean, it's not every day you get the drop on the Turks…no offense, sir," she said to Tseng.

"None taken."

"Anyway, everyone's drunk like skunks. Respectfully, sir, I would get over there before it's all gone."

"You sure about that?" Cramer reached for his transceiver. "I'd better call Kolani…"

The taller MP, in an odd gesture, reached out and put his hand on one side of Cramer's face. In a low, intense voice he said: "There is no need."

Cramer shook his head. "I…guess there's no need, after all. A party. Heh. Alright, I'll head on over; my men could use a break. You two stay out of trouble. Sorry you have to miss out, eh, Tseng?"

"I'm having a fine time here. You enjoy yourself."

Chuckling, Cramer went out, shutting the door behind him. For a minute, as his footsteps receded, everyone in the room went completely still.

"If this shit is what I think it is," said Reno, finally, "you have got to be kidding me."

The shorter MP walked up to him. She peered intently into his face. Then she slapped him.

"Okay," he said, rubbing his cheek, "I guess I had that coming."

"You guess, huh! Well take that!" She slapped him with her other hand, then kicked his left shin. He stood like a tailor's dummy. She punched him several times, pulled on his tie, gave a grunt of frustration, and collapsed against him.

"I missed you, little sister," he said. "How you been keeping?"

Yuffie pulled back her facemask. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her face, red-cheeked, looked as if she instead had been slapped.

"C'mere," said Reno.

He pulled her into a reluctant embrace, and she stood, her head nestled against his chest.

"Argh. I can't stand you."

Tseng regarded them with a bemused smile.

"Godo," he said. "I'm sorry to put you to the trouble."

"No trouble." The taller MP put back his mask, revealing a powerful, bearded face, and deep-set eyes. "All you had to do was mention that devil-woman's name."

"You understand the risk to yourself…not to mention your daughter. I'm surprised you didn't deposit her back in Wu-Tai immediately."

"What sort of fool do you take me for? Of course I know the risk. It would be worth much more to get my revenge on that miserable harpy. I should almost thank you…Tseng."

"And I'm sure not letting my dad have all the fun! You mess with a Kisaragi, you mess with the whole clan! I-I can't wait to get my hands on her…I'll throttle her!"

Godo sighed. "I suppose…if I wanted to keep her out of trouble so badly, I never would have let her study ninjutsu. The old arts should be put to rest, for the sake of peace. But I couldn't bring myself not to…when she took to it so ably."

"Did you do the thing," asked Tseng, "where you put the child's ball and the shuriken…"

"Yes, yes, of course I did, as if I needed to. She had that gleam in her eye from the day she was born."

"Enough chit-chat," said Yuffie, and Rude nodded agreement. "Are we gonna do this or what?"

"Do what, exactly?" asked Elena, nervously.

Tseng got to his feet, and all eyes in the room fell on him.

"It's a matter of principle," he said. "I won't be arrested for treason I barely committed. Where's the fun in that? If I do the time…"

"…might as well do the crime," Reno finished, smirking.

"Correct. Now with his consent, Godo will take the Heaven Stone, and reforge it in the Gongaga reactor. That should make Scarlet a bit more amenable to negotiation. Hopefully we can come to a solution that pleases everyone…Scarlet, perhaps, least of all."

"What's to stop him from crossing us?" asked Reno, and wilted when Elena glared at him. "Wha-at! Just sayin'."

"No, the point is well-taken. But I trust Godo's word."

Godo nodded, his large jaw set. "You have it. You endangered yourself by giving your word to me. This is the least I can do to repay you."

"Then it's settled…"

But Yuffie sprang into their midst, holding out her arms. "Hang on a sec! Yours truly has a better idea, ladies and gents."

"Oh yeah?" said Reno. "Let's hear it, sprout."

"Dad?" she said, a bit sheepishly. "Sorry, but…you're kind of a war criminal. Sure, maybe Shinra let it slide til now, but they catch you inside that reactor, and they'll fry you for sure! I'm not gonna let that happen."

"Hmm. What do you propose instead?"

"Let me go…"

"Never."

"Hang on, lemme finish! There's two people here with the least to lose. Nobody knows who the heck I am, and I'd get tried as a minor…a thief knows the laws, okay?" she added, when Tseng raised an eyebrow. "Then there's Red here. He's not even a Turk. What's he got to lose? He couldn't possibly end up worse than he was before."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, jerkball, it's better than you deserve.-Anyway, then there's one of you, and one of us. It's safer. You totally saw him, like, completely and utterly betray me and break my maiden's heart and everything; there's no way we're still in cahoots. How is that not the perfect plan?"

Tseng was nodding slowly, rubbing his chin. "Quick thinking, young lady. However. One element of this plan gives me pause. Namely that if you two weren't such world-class fuck-ups, you'd still have the stone in the first place."

"Oh, that is so not fair!"

"She's right," said Reno, "we had the damn thing, and if I hadn't been dumb enough to trust you, this Scarlet bitch wouldn't have it now."

"The Rat King would have murdered both of you!"

"Like he almost murdered you before I saved your ass, brother?"

"Guys," Elena pleaded, "this is no time for a penis-measuring contest, we have to work together!" Then she blushed and covered her mouth. "I-I'm sorry, sir."

"Stay out of this, Blondie. Come on, Tseng, whip it out.-Metaphorically speaking. I want to see what you've got. You still don't trust me? Then say it to my face."

Yuffie put her hands over her ears. "Shut up! Shut up! Now if any of you sorry-ass, so-called grown-ups has a better plan than my awesome plan, spit it out already! Huh!" She glanced fiercely around. Rude dropped his eyes, while Elena looked discreetly elsewhere.

"Very well," said Tseng. "Godo?"

Godo put both hands on his daughter's shoulders.

"Yuffie," he said. "You are the last descendant of the shinobi. If anything should happen to you, it would be the end of the shinobi…but I suppose, if I held you back forever, it would be the end of the shinobi as well. To discharge that duty for which…"

"Oh for crying out loud," she said, "just say you love me!"

"I…I."

She gave an exasperated huff, threw her arms around him, and squeezed hard. Then she turned to Reno.

"Alright, traitor-boy, let's go."

"Before the Lieutenant gets back," Rude agreed.

"Oh," said Yuffie, "I wasn't making that up about the party. It's totes for real. I should know, we made sure Scarlet found that stuff ourselves. He won't back for a lo-ong time."

In a way, Reno reflected, not much had changed. Now, as so often in his life, he found himself standing behind a building, smoking, and waiting. Conveniently, there was a drain pipe situated at shoulder-level into which he blew the smoke. Rude had taught him a useful trick as well: field-stripping his cigarettes, removing the filter from the butt to render them less conspicuous. The risk was moderate; drunken soldiers wandered the streets, unpredictable, but less than alert. Several times he had to duck behind a rain barrel.

The window behind him stood slightly ajar, and a perfect hole had been cut in the glass. After he had been waiting for some twenty minutes, three soft taps sounded against the pane, and he stepped back. Yuffie shimmed out, sleek and quick as a weasel; he helped her down. When she got to her feet, he saw she was clutching a familiar-looking briefcase to her chest, and grinning like a maniac.

They dashed across the street, then on into the cover of the dense forest.

"Any trouble?" whispered Reno.

"Zilch. Ol' Meanie McHo-bag was sleepin' like an evil baby. Cripes, I'm surprised you couldn't smell her wine-breath from outside."

"I'm guessing you didn't throttle her?"

"Well…nah. Unnecessary risks, right?"

"Y'know, you're really bad at following through on your promises to kill people."

"Shyeah, well, you oughta be glad for that…!"

They were both giddy, smiling, on the verge of breaking out in laughter. Reno ushered her further into the trees. They came into a clearing, and when the moon fell suddenly on Yuffie's face, he stopped, and squinted at it.

"Shiva's tits. Did you put on lipstick while you were in there?"

She twisted her head. "S-so what if I did? She had like fifty tubes of the stuff, all, like, the exact same color. I…got curious."

"Yeesh, I'm starting to think Tseng was right about you. Screwy as a barnyard rabbit. Come on, it's a hike to that reactor…"

But as he walked off, Yuffie remained stationary, cradling the case. He looked at her turned back.

"What gives?"

"Hey, Red," she said softly. "You know…you really hurt me."

Reno scratched the back of his neck. "I think we established that. Like I said. I thought…"

"It was best for me, yeah, yeah. But y'know what? I believe you. That's what sucks."

"What d'you mean?"

"Because my special guy still thinks I'm just a kid."

"Whoah!" Reno threw up his hands. "Slow down, sister! You'd better be joking, cause that sure came the hell out of nowhere!"

"Did it?" Her voice was very small now. "I feel safe…when I'm with you. And like I'm always having fun. I guess I was pretty dumb to think you felt the same way."

"Well…ah…hell, I'm…flattered and all, I guess, but…after you calling me sleazebag eight billion times, need I state I'm really not into kids? No offense, little sister, but to you, the term jailbait does not even apply."

Yuffie sniffed. He darted back to her.

"I-I'm sorry! That came out wrong. Still…whatever you think you feel, it's the heat of the moment, alright? I assure you. Hell, I wouldn't wish falling for a guy like me on my worst enemy…"

"I was even thinking about marrying you. Like, do you know how rich I'll be when I hit twenty-one? You'd have to be a pretty big sap to turn that down."

"It's not about that…"

"Red," said Yuffie, turning. "Hold still for a sec, okay?"

He had no chance. She rose on tiptoes, planted the fingertips of one hand on his chest, kissed him delicately, and darted her tongue into his mouth.

Reno staggered back, putting the back of his hand to his lips.

She grinned at him. "Well? How was that?"

"I must be a pedo. I do feel something. What the hell is this?"

"I have that effect on guys."

"My…head feels light. Now there's two of you."

"Why don't you lie down," said Yuffie, solicitously, "and have a little rest."

Comprehension dawned in Reno's eyes, and he lunged at her, but she ducked easily out of the way and he fell full-out, facedown in the dirt. Scrabbling upright he mumbled:

"Why you little…!"

But his voice was slurred. Yuffie reached out one toe, and pushed him gently back. Then she got out a white handkerchief, dabbed at her lips, and tossed it away.

"Sleep tight, loverboy," she whispered, smiling sweetly down at him. "I guess you're right. I'm a little young to be thinking 'bout getting married. 'Sides…I can't be tied down. I still got work to do. Nyuk, nyuk."

Two guards blocked the path to the Shinra Number Fourteen Reactor, its silver towers rising above the treetops, a fairy tale castle to match the village of Gongaga. Tseng, Godo, Rude and Reno, the last looking groggy and much the worse for wear, ran full tilt up the path, and the guards instinctively leveled their guns.

"Sir!" yelped one, in surprise and confusion.

"Stand down," yelled Tseng, "we're in a state of emergency!"

"Y-you can't enter. We're at yellow alert, there's a suspected intruder…"

"That's why you need to let us in!"

"I apologize, but…"

Tseng looked into his eyes. "Soldier. Listen to me. I understand. With orders flying around, it can be hard to know whom to trust. But allow me to put it this way. Do you, on this night of your life, in this situation, want to fuck with me? Do you honestly want to?"

The guard trembled and looked down. "No, sir, I don't want that."

"Then get out of my way."

They stepped aside, and the Turks ran past.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot," Godo was muttering to himself.

"I'll say!" Tseng called back. "Twenty minutes inside the reactor core, and it's irreversible mako poisoning!"

"Gods damn you, Tseng, don't tell me my daughter is dead!"

"That's our best case scenario! If she isn't, the rest of us will be! She can't control those monsters. She'll wipe Gongaga off the face of the earth."

The inner chamber of the Gongaga reactor resembled the sanctum of a church. It was a tall, slender, silver-coated shaft, tubes and wires gracefully climbing its walls like celestial vines. Above, it shot up to the starry night sky, ringing it in a perfect halo. From beneath, the warm, vital glow of pure mako rose, the lifeblood of the planet. In the middle of that tableaux, on a circular platform of metal latticework tinted silver and green, a girl knelt as if in prayer.

Yuffie hugged the briefcase. She was knocked senseless at her own stupidity. She had carried it all this way, and only now, at the threshold of her dreams, remembered she had no idea how to open it.

Pressing her face against it, she whispered: "Wake up. Please."

There was no answer.

"'takku," she went on, plaintively, rubbing her warm cheek on the cold plastic. "Oi, kimira. Sono osoroshii kamigami nante na. Kikoenee janeeka. Atashi no you na yamato nadeshiko na no ni."

The case trembled, and she dropped it in shock. A little smoke curled from its seam. It was beginning to glow red.

Tseng hurtled into the chamber, tripped, and fell painfully on both knees. Rude ran past him, putting up his rifle. Reno made it a step further, caught himself, and fell backwards.

"Yuffie!" Tseng yelled. "Stop!"

The tiny girl stood at the edge of the platform, her back to them. The brilliant pool of mako seethed underneath her, spitting, licking the walls. She was enveloped in a scarlet blaze, crackling energy that moved over her body like dozens of fireballs.

"Sorry, gramps," she said, calm, soft, and deliberate. "Nothing doing."

"Please…" Tseng crawled forward, a look of horrible intensity on his face. "I, Black Tseng, never begged a man for anything in my life. But I'm begging you now, Yuffie. On my knees. Don't do what you're about to do. You'll kill us all…Shinra will move on Wu-Tai…the war will start over again. Everything we've worked for…"

"Yuffie!" called Godo. "Put that thing down this instant, and cease this foolishness! You are not the girl I raised! By all that's sacred…"

"Put a sock in it, daddy." Now she turned, and even Rude drew back. Her face, behind its mask of blood-red light, had an intensity of purpose that outmatched Tseng's. Her skin looked completely white, like a statue's; her eyes were dark pits. "I'm doing this for us. Even you, Oath-breaker. I'm doing what none of you had the guts to do!"

"Little sister, for the planet's sake! I'll marry you seven times over, I swear! You heard the man, you'll blow us all to hell!"

"They won't hurt me. They won't hurt you, either, if you're good. Don't worry, Red. Everything's gonna be okay."

She lifted the shimmering jewel, now complete, above her head. Its glow was as powerful as that of the mako beneath them.

Then there was a great clatter of footsteps behind Tseng, and he twisted around.

Scarlet entered, wrapped in a white bathrobe, her hair hanging crazily loose, and her unmade-up eyes staring. Groggily she yelled:

"Kolani, arrest…re-arrest these traitors!"

MPs surrounded her, and Kolani, alert but steady, appeared at her side.

"What's that in her hand," said an MP, aiming his gun, "a bomb?"

"Don't be an idiot, it's the stone we're after."

"Drop it, girlie! We'll blow you the fuck away!"

"Nobody provoke her," barked Kolani.

"That's right," said Yuffie, luxuriating in the energy that now seemed to be pouring down from her hand. "Stay back. I drop this, and boom, the whole reactor goes up. Scarlet? I'm glad you came. I want you to see this. Hear me, gods of Wu-Tai! Blue Dragon! White Tiger! Red Bird! Black Tortoise. I, Yuffie Kisaragi, daughter of Godo, invoke your names! Dete ko-i!"

"Let me take the shot," Rude whispered. "It's better we should die."

Tseng shook his head.

Then the stone blazed, if possible, brighter still.

"Hear me, gods of Wu-Tai! I invoke your…h-hey! Hey, what gives!"

The Heaven Stone rose slowly up into the air, even as she snatched at it. The glow left her body, coalescing around the stone. It hung in the air above them.

"No fair!" she screamed. "What, I'm not good enough? Huh?"

Tseng, as if remembering some long-forgotten instinct, very gradually reached out both hands.

Scarlet shook Kolani. "Get him! Now!"

"Ma'am…"

The stone fell. Tseng's hands closed around it.

Rude moved to protect him, brandishing the rifle. Scarlet tore at her hair. Reno shut his eyes. Kolani took one step back.

There was an expression of innocent wonder on Tseng's face. He might have aged backwards twenty years. He peered into the stone, at the intricate patterns of light and smoke inside, and something began to appear.

Godo moved and knelt across from him. Then Yuffie joined them. Together, they waited.

"What's coming to them is coming to you and your whole family," Scarlet hissed at Kolani.

"Ma'am, if something is coming out of that rock, I suggest every person in this room take the opportunity to make peace with their gods."

Then a voice filled the room. It echoed from below, from above, bouncing off the sensitive walls.

"Little children, if you can hear me, the war has been lost."

A face had appeared within the Heaven Stone. It was an old man, bald, with bushy white eyebrows, and an expression of pained compassion.

"Master Qan," whispered Godo.

Tseng's mouth hung open.

The voice drew breath, before continuing:

"Little children, forgive me. I have deceived you. I told you this stone was a weapon, one mighty enough to sunder the ranks of the Shinra, slay their commanders, and blow their fleets back to foreign shores. But how could such a weapon exist? No power exists in this world unused. The greed and hatred of men forbid it. No. This stone is my gift to you. It contains my words, that I could not speak while I lived, for I would have been put to death for sedition. And a true word is more powerful than any weapon, the tongue that speaks it, sharper than any sword."

Godo began to cry. The tears rolled down his motionless face, caught in his beard, and dripped onto the metal grate; but he made no sound. Tseng's face, as usual, was expressionless.

"Little children, recall to your minds the words of the sage: Weapons are the tools of bloodshed; all decent men detest them. Weapons are the tools of fear; a decent man will avoid them except in the direst necessity, and, if compelled, will use them only with the utmost restraint. He enters a battle gravely, and with sorrow, as if he were attending a funeral. I did not train you to be weapons. I trained you to be at peace with yourselves. You were the strength and mainstay of Wu-Tai, and your spirits sustained us all. But times grew dark. The god of war ransacked the land, and scattered men and women like grass. Please heed my words. Do not fight any longer. Surrender to the Shinra. The Emperor says that his soldiers will never die, but he lies. Only a man of pure and true spirit will never taste death, and such a man will not throw away his life, or the lives of others, needlessly. Little children, it was the crowning jewel of my long life to know you, and to have taught you, and I love you more than language has the power to express. Little children, I beg you…live."

The face vanished. The stone went dim.

Godo collapsed forward, throwing his arms over his head. Yuffie clung to him. Tseng got up, and handed the stone to Rude.

"Let's get out of here. I feel ill. It may already be too late."

Scarlet screamed incoherently and threw herself at them. Tseng reached for her, but Kolani, spasming with confused loyalties, held him back. She grappled Rude; the stone bounced out of his hand, and off Godo's prostrate back. Yuffie reached out; it slipped through her small fingers and struck the grate. Tseng and Kolani tripped over each other. Godo, Yuffie, Scarlet and Rude all crawled after the rolling stone; Rude's fingertips brushed it, but Scarlet clawed at his face. Yuffie scrambled over him, and reached with all her might, but her arms were too short. The stone vanished with a faint scraping noise over the edge of the grate.

Everyone present froze stiff, in their ridiculous attitudes. They appeared to be playing some schoolyard game. A second later there came a quiet splash.

"Run," said Tseng.

The MPs were first out the door. Then klaxons sounded, unbearably loud, red light strobed from the hallway, and a grating, mechanical voice blared:

"Warning. Warning. Energy levels exceeding parameters. Full meltdown immanent. All personnel evacuate immediately. Repeat, all personnel evacuate immediately. Warning. Energy levels exceeding parameters. Full meltdown immanent. All personnel evacuate immediately…"

Rude scooped Yuffie up in his arms and ran, Reno and Godo followed. Scarlet stumbled, and Tseng, in an unconscious gesture he would later have many occasions to regret, caught her arm. Kolani brought up the rear, and for once, finally, no one was chasing anyone, but all were running together, as fast as their legs would carry them.

AN: For references' sake, the words of the sage in chapter one are from Zhuangzi, while those in this chapter are from the Tao Te Ching.

Message me if you want a translation of what Yuffie says; I wanted that line, but I don't know, it's so short, it seemed kind of pretentious to include the translation.

Chapter Text

Scarlet lay in bed, her hair disarranged, her perfect body rendered shapeless under the light green hospital sheets. She was the ward's sole occupant; there were five other beds, but the staff knew better than to disturb the presence of Shinra's Director of Weapons Development. She clenched and unclenched one fist, and breathed through set teeth.

The doctor, a bald man in his late fifties, entered timidly, holding a paper bag to his chest.

"Hey sawbones," hissed Scarlet. "Can I get out of here or what?"

"It's my opinion…" He adjusted his glasses. "You were exposed to a severe dose of mako, ma'am, and your constitution is…pardon me, less robust than the other victims. I recommend another night's rest, and we'll run tests in the morning."

"Fine, nevermind. Did you bring what I asked for?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He opened the bag, extracted two fresh slices of cucumber, and placed them carefully on Scarlet's eyes.

She sighed with bitter relief. "That's better."

The doctor, too, looked relieved, now that her eyes were hidden from view. He ventured: "You know, at controlled levels, mako radiation is quite beneficial to the complexion. I'm…told it's the latest rage."

"Yeah, thanks, sweetie-pie, I'll look into it. Those levels baked me like a goddamned potato. I'm going to peel. Ick. At least tell me somebody died."

He laughed nervously. "Oh, dear me, no. Everyone is recovering splendidly, even that poor little girl, who had the worst of it. As a matter of fact, that healthy-looking Wu-Tai gentleman left here this morning. But I take it he's not unused to such…extreme situations. We found fragments of eighteen bullets in his body."

"I'm so glad," drawled Scarlet. "I can't wait to deliver my congratulations in person."

"Oh!" The doctor touched his forehead. "I nearly forgot! The gentleman had something that he said belongs to you. He wanted you to have it."

Scarlet shot upright. "I'll say he does!" She pried one cucumber slice off her eye, which gleamed greedily. "Where is it? Give it here."

He reached into his pocket, and took out something that fit completely into his closed fist. Scarlet looked baffled; still more so when he opened his fingers, revealing something that looked like a bullet.

"A memento of some sort?" the doctor guessed. "There seem to be letters scratched into it. Mar…lene? Is that perhaps your middle name? I don't mean to pry…"

"Get out of here."

"Terribly sorry…"

"Out! Out!"

The doctor fled, shoes squeaking on the tile floor.

Scarlet clenched the bullet in her fist, until her red nails began to draw blood. Then she gave a shriek of rage and hurled it against the wall.

In a darkened room, Reno sat on a chair, a single lamp covering him in a pool of white light. A black blindfold was lashed tight around his face, and his hands, resting on his knees, trembled slightly.

A voice came out of the darkness on his left:

"What is your name?"

He hesitated, and licked his lips before replying, in a firm voice:

"I have no name."

The voice asked:

"What are you?"

"A thief," he said, "a liar, a cheat, and a murderer."

"Where do you come from?"

"A bitch dog dropped me in the alley behind a brothel."

"Who was your father?"

"I had no father."

"Who are your brothers and sisters?"

"I have no brothers or sisters."

"Who is to be your mother, and your father, and your brother and sister?"

He hesitated slightly longer. A bead of sweat hung underneath the blindfold, and worked its way slowly down his cheek, along his neck, into the crevice of his open collar.

The voice repeated: "Who is to be your mother, and your father, and your brother and sister?"

"The Turks," he answered. "The Turks are my mother, and my father, and my brothers and sisters."

"Rise."

Reno stood up, steadied himself against the chair.

"Approach the table."

He walked forward, step by step, holding out one hand. Another perfect pool of light shone on a long wooden table ahead of him, and when his hand brushed it, he stopped. Three objects sat on the table: a hand mirror, a shallow silver plate, and a long, curved dagger.

"Take the object on your right."

Reno's fingers found the dagger, closed around the hilt, and lifted it.

"Hold your hands out in front of you."

He did so, and they were over the plate.

"Take a drop of blood from your small finger."

Wincing, he did so. The red pearl fell straight down and plinked on the silver.

"Well done, Reno. Now remove the veil, and place it over your wound."

Slowly, his hands trembling less now, he did so, winding the blindfold carefully around the bleeding finger. He looked up into the darkness.

"Now take the object on your left."

He lifted the mirror.

"Look at yourself."

He did.

"What do you see?"

"A dead man."

The lights switched on, revealing Conference Room 2-B on the thirteenth floor of Shinra Headquarters. There was a loud pop. Rude, holding the uncorked, frothing bottle of champagne, crept up behind Reno and poured it over his head. He coughed and sputtered.

"Congratulations!" yelled the some twenty assembled members of the Department of Administrative Research, breaking out in applause. More corks popped, and the room was full of the sound of fizzing champagne, whoops, and more cheers.

"Aw, fug! Right up my dose!" Reno moaned.

Rude pounded him on the back, threw an arm around him, and guzzled down what was left in the bottle.

"Come on. There's a cake."

"Well it better not be chocolate, I'm allergic."

"You should have said so before."

"I didn't know there was gonna be cake!"

The other staff were singing: "For he's a jolly good fe-llow, for he's a jolly good fe-llow…" Then an argument broke out over whether the second line went, and so say all of we, or which nobody can deny.

"Alright, alright," said Rude, pouring a glass, "it's so say all of we, cause we know it, and that's what matters.-Here."

He pressed the glass into Reno's hand. They looked at each other. Reno wiped his face with his tie.

"How do I look?"

"You look ready."

They lifted their glasses.

"Here's to us," said Rude.

"Aw, yeah. That's the good stuff."

"Congratulations!" Elena walked up, holding a glass. Her cheeks were already pink.

"Elena," said Rude. "I heard you were putting in for a transfer."

"Aw, say it aint so! Somebody needs to break up this sausage-fest."

"I'm…not sure," she said, brushing hair from her eyes. "I have a lot to think about."

"Well, think hard."

"Yeah. Someday you could be standing where I am now."

"That's the part I'm not sure about," she said, slyly eyeing his sopping-wet hair. "How do you feel?"

Reno considered. He took another sip of champagne.

"Like a Turk," he said. "Like a motherfucking Turk."

"Hmm. Hmm. Hmm." Heidegger shuffled the papers in front of him. He seemed to think, with sufficient effort, he might reassemble them into something that told a different story. Tseng sat across from him, arms at his sides, waiting patiently. At last, Heidegger looked up. His eyes looked especially beady behind his horn-framed reading glasses.

"You will have to remind me, Tseng, of your mission objective."

Crisply, Tseng answered: "To recover all four shards of the Heaven Stone, repair it, and return with it to Shinra Headquarters."

"And the stone is…?"

"Destroyed. As per my original recommendation. Purely coincidental…I assure you."

"And forty men were killed?"

"Forty-one, to be precise, sir. All known violent criminals."

"Also one innocent civilian, and one of your own department…"

"Unfortunate causalities, but within acceptable parameters."

"A charge has been laid against you for conspiring with enemies of Shinra…"

"Wholly unsubstantiated, the which I will prove before a commission, if necessary."

"Then there's the matter of the complete destruction of our Gongaga reactor, the flagship of our new design, and the source of power for over three thousand homes…five people dead of mako poisoning in Gongaga, many more sick, the whole town evacuated…may be uninhabitable for months…the damage to the local ecosystem…incalculable…"

Tseng nodded.

Heidegger shook his head back and forth, clicking his tongue.

"Tseng, my boy. Tseng, Tseng, Tseng. This is a disaster of unmitigated proportions…" he paused, then his cheeks blew out and he shrieked: "For which Scarlet was responsible! Gya, hah, hah! Ha-haa, ha, ha, ha! Horselaugh on Scarlet! Gya-ha!"

Leaning over the desk, he patted Tseng's shoulder and added gleefully: "I got a peek at the numbers. Her funding is down twenty percent next quarter, and ours is up twelve! I don't know how many handjobs she'll have to give out just to keep her job, but I want to be in line! Gya-ha-ha! Hoo, heh. Now I'm putting you all up for the Combat Cross, the highest honor Shinra can bestow, and your annual bonus is doubled. Personally, you understand. You know what? Take a month's vacation. Take the boys down to Mideel. I hear you got a new man, too? This just couldn't get any better!"

Tseng's face was even harder to read than usual. It showed traces of caution, relief, surprise, and disgust. But no emotion was strong enough to form those features into any definite expression.

"Come on, Tseng, laugh with me! Those poor souls in Gongaga might be dead, but we're still alive. Laugh and grow fat! Gyah, hah, hah!"

Tseng smiled. Then, dredging very deep, managed one chuckle, like a bubble of crude oil breaking the surface. Another followed. Then he was laughing too, loud but hollow, and Heidegger laughed louder, until the trophies and various gilded knick-knacks on his shelves trembled. Finally breathless, the general brushed at his eyes.

"Woo, hoo. Cigar, Tseng?"

"Certainly. Thank you, sir."

He accepted his, and lit the general's first.

"Shrimp cocktail?"

"Why not."

"I just can't get enough of that stuff. It's the sauce. It's so tangy. I wonder how they do it."

As Heidegger lifted the phone to dial the cafeteria, Tseng leaned back in a cloud of smoke. The cigar filled his body with a rush of pleasure, artificial, but no less powerful for that. When was the last time he had felt real pleasure? Could he tell the difference? When was the last time he had felt anything at all? How would he know if he did? There had been a time, so long ago he hardly remembered, when feelings had been more important than anything; a pretty girl's face, the sun rising in the morning. Now feelings seemed like vaguely unpleasant byproducts of events. But he could, when he really thought about it, remember what they were. He recognized them when he saw them. Like the light in that young girl's face when she honestly believed she could resurrect the gods of her homeland. He would probably never feel like that again. But he knew it when he saw it, and the small ache it caused him reminded him he was still alive. I am still alive. Red Bird had been wrong, Godo had been wrong. His soul wasn't dead, not yet. But almost. Almost.

Chapter Text

AN: I highly recommend listening to this music while reading: www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=Ez_J9Vf1tYU

WARNING! This author's note contains SPOILERS for this brief epilogue. It's silly, I know, but I didn't like how the note looked at the bottom of the page. So if something below makes you go "huh? but I thought…," come back and take a look at the note. In any case, thanks so much for reading! This story went from "I guess I'll write about the Turks or whatever," to something I'm genuinely proud of, and it was great to have you along for the ride. Love & Peace, Incanto, 2011. So…yeah. Not only did I go with this ending, which I think is what 80% of us originally assumed happened in the game, I'm claiming it used to be canon. Why? Two reasons: a) I know some people claim that when Elena says Cloud "did in her boss," it's a mistranslation; but I speak Japanese, and I'm withholding judgment until I see the original line. b) If Tseng isn't dead, where is he for the rest of the game? But, I understand. If there were anything I might be tempted to retcon, it's this; but I think this made more sense in the game, and makes sense here. Goodnight, sweet prince.

"There's a bluebird in my heart, that wants to get out / but I'm too tough for him / I say, stay in there, I'm not gonna let anybody see you / There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out / but I pour whiskey on him, and inhale cigarette smoke / and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know he's in there…I only let him out at night, sometimes, when everybody's asleep / I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad / and I put him back, and he's singing a little in there / I haven't quite let him die / and we sleep together like that with our secret pact / it's nice enough to make a man weep / but I don't weep / do you?"

-Charles Bukowski

Reno was trying to light a cigarette. He struck one match, then another, but the howling wind lashing the cliff face kept extinguishing them. Finally he sighed deeply and turned.

"Hey, Cloud. Little help here?"

Still cautious, the blonde mercenary reached out one hand and cupped it around Reno's. This time the flame held, the cigarette lit, and Reno took a few deep, satisfied draws, the smoke whisked away into the clear sky over Da Chao.

"Thanks. That's better. Now where were we? Oh, yeah." Casually, he reached out one toe and pressed it on the fat, sweat-greased knuckles of the man dangling from the gigantic stone hand, his bulk swaying in the wind like an overripe, rotten fruit, staring up at Reno with pleading eyes. "All right, Corneo. This'll be over quick, so listen up. Why do you think we went to the trouble of teaming up with those guys to get you? One. Because we're ready to die? Two. Because we're sure to win? Three. Because we're clueless?"

The Don's flabby cheeks rippled in the wind; his mouth worked like a fish's. He gasped out:

"Two…number two?"

"All wrong."

"No, wait, sto…!"

Kneeling down, Reno applied the cigarette to the Don's knuckles.

Barrett grimaced. Tifa couldn't keep a little smile of satisfaction off her face. Cloud, like Reno, remained expressionless. They didn't hear anything for a long time. Then, like an echo of the awful thud far below, Reno muttered:

"The correct answer was…"

On the ledge above them, standing with his rifle up, Rude finished the sentence:

"…because it's our job."

It was an idyllic spring day in the Wu-Tai capitol. On either side of the Sacred Plaza, the cherry trees were in full flower. But although they had only bloomed the week before, they were already beginning to shed their petals, which blew in a white cloud over Reno as he walked, and he grimaced as he pulled one out of his eye. Then as he blinked, he saw a figure on the path ahead, looking spectral in the bright light and the riot of swirling blossoms.

"Hey, you," said a little voice.

Reno stopped, opened his mouth, scuffed one shoe on the other, gave a half-shrug, then smiled.

"Hey."

"You weren't really gonna leave without saying goodbye…were you?"

"Look, little sister," he said, "we got a week's vacay. I got a lot of drinking to pack in."

"You're such a jerk."

"It pays the bills. Anyway, give ol' spike-head back his lousy materia. He needs them more than you."

"Y-yeah. I know."

He passed her, and she reached out, but stopped her hand before the fingertips touched his dark suit.

"Wait."

He stopped again. "Yeah?"

"Y'know," she said, and brushed at one eye. "You never even sent me a letter. I know you're busy being a big, important Turk. I guess…I'm still small-time, huh?"

"Ah…" He scratched his neck. "Don't say that. I'm the one who's small-time. Punching a clock. Wearing a tie. I aint much to look at."

"I still think you're pretty cool."

"Thanks. Right back at you, sister."

"And I wish you wouldn't leave. If you stayed here…I'd cook you super-delicious food, and make you tea. And maybe…" Stepping in front of him, she framed his face in her hands, larger now but still slender, and craned upwards-not so far now-and brushed her lips against his. Reno shut his eyes.

"Gross," she muttered. "You taste like cigarettes."

He took her in his arms, feeling her tremulous heartbeat, and ran his fingers through the short, pert strands of her hair.

"Come on," said Yuffie. "Ask me. Ask me that question every girl wants to hear."

Reno put his lips to the delicate seashell-shape of her ear, and whispered:

"So you're legal now, right?"

She kicked him.

Half-smiling, he said: "Listen. The problems of two little people aint worth a broken materia in this world. But, hey…we'll always have Gongaga."

He released her, and stepped back.

"Don't go."

"Maybe someday, sister. When the war's over."

"War? What war?"

"The war with Cloud. Or Sephiroth. There's always someone. But keep your flat ass safe, and I'll see you on the other side."

Yuffie stood as Reno walked off, his nightstick on his shoulder, the spring air brushing the tips of his hair. He started down the stone steps towards town.

"Hey, scumbag!" she called after him. "Don't take too long! Prime real estate like this aint gonna be on the market forever!"

And he waved slowly, without looking back. Then, when he had reached the gate, she called out again.

"One more thing!"

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Where's…Tseng? He's not with you."

Reno glanced back. His blue eyes looked, she only now noticed, much older than the mere four years that had passed since the day they met, the circles around them much darker. He brushed back a lock of hair.

"What," he said. "Didn't you hear?"

Godo, dressed in his gold and silver-inlaid formal robes, sat in the small garden behind his estate, putting the finishing touches-sprigs of moss and lichen-on a flower arrangement in a tiny, elegant clay pot. Bees hummed around his head. His powerful face, now clean-shaven, was tensed in innocent concentration.

There were soft footsteps on the path behind him. Without looking up, he said:

"I was wondering if you would come by. Where's the other one?"

"Probably getting a head start at the pub," said Rude.

"Hmm," purred Godo, and deftly attached a small gray patch of lichen. "Well. Tell him if he hurts my daughter, I'll rip his head off."

"Respectfully, sir, I believe she's capable of handling him herself."

"That's probably true, when it comes to it.-There. Finished. What do you think?"

"It's…very beautiful."

"What does it make you think of?"

"I'm probably not the one you should ask."

Then Godo looked up, and saw a large porcelain urn, died blue and painted with elaborate characters of Wu-Tai calligraphy, under Rude's arm.

"What's in that jar?"

"Tseng," said Rude.

Godo blinked. He nodded several times, then lowered his head.

"I see."

"I was wondering…"

"We can't inter him in the Imperial Vault," Godo said quickly, overly businesslike. "You'll need to take it to his hometown. The family must accept the remains, no matter what the child has done…this is traditional. I will draw you a map. Come back in ten minutes or so."

Rude nodded. Then Godo asked, without looking at him:

"How did it happen?"

"There was a man called Sephiroth…the most powerful fighter on the planet."

"I see. Good…I would not have wished him anything less."

Rude turned to go. Godo, stopping once again to admire his arrangement, remarked:

"Don't step on the flowers."

Rude had been walking all afternoon. The Wu-Tai countryside was dusty, and the high road was trafficked by mule carts that constantly forced him aside, into an empty drainage ditch. The white dust clung to his suit, but he made no effort to brush it off; only from time to time he flicked sweat from underneath his chin.

When he passed a stationary peddler's cart, he stopped. Cuts of dried, fragrant meet hung on a wire, over stunted persimmons, and a row of dark green bottles caught the fading light. The old peddler shrank back, regarding him with an obsequious smile.

"Ah hello, Shinra-san. What you want?"

"What's in those bottles? Beer?"

"Yes, is best beer in all Wu-Tai. I sell to you, twenty gil. Special Shinra price."

"Fine, give me one bottle and two glasses."

"What you want two glasses for? There only one of you."

"I want the other one to piss in, alright? What's it to you."

Then a gleam came into the peddler's eyes. "Ah, I see. You want to meet my sister? She very pretty girl."

"Oh, shut it."

Rude paid, collected the bottle and two dirty tea cups, and went on.

A wide, shallow canal ran parallel to the road, and beyond it, rice paddies stretched off toward distant farmsteads. Rude kicked through the tall grass toward the water, and, finding a large, flat stone, sat down, and placed the urn beside him. He filled one cup with beer, and set it carefully on top of the urn. He filled the other, drank, filled it again, and sat there, regarding the scenery. A black bird, perhaps a crow, winged by overhead.

Rude picked up a stone and tossed it over the water. It skipped twice before sinking. He tried again, and managed four skips.

A yellow dog, some hopeless mutt of indeterminable heritage, ran up to him. It barked several times, high and shrill. He shrugged, then took a rice cake out of his pocket, picked off a crumb, and tossed it to the dog. It sniffed the morsel, but left it alone.

"Suit yourself," said Rude.

He filled his cup again.

The dog, seeming to forget his presence, began to chase its own tail. It ran in frantic circles, kicking up dirt, the ragged tuft of hair always just out of reach of its eager black nose. Rude drank two more cups, but the dog didn't tire in its pursuit, or seem to realize it would never succeed. Oh well, he reflected. At least it seemed to be having a good time.

The End