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Chapter 1: Rusty
The man in the suit called him “Rusty”. Honestly, he liked that better than his own name. And it was more fitting, both for his russet colored hair and the fact that 90% of the time he was covered in various shades of rust - one of the many hazards that came along with scavenging the scrap heaps for metal and parts that could be reused or machined into something new. It wasn’t the safest job, but for a slum kid trying to survive it was one of the best; very few of the other scrappers were as nimble or fast as he was, and even fewer were as adept at scaling fences or walls to get into places that were otherwise inaccessible.
“You know, they have those gates up to keep people out .”
He grinned and shrugged, folding his hands behind his head. “Guess they better get taller ones!”
Chuckling, the suited man shook his head. “How do you keep managing to avoid the surveillance cameras?”
“Me? Who said it was me? ” Rusty feigned innocence, placing long fingers to his chest in a mannerism of shock. “You just asked if I knew if anyone was gettin’ in there, an I said yeah! Never said who it was!”
The man eyed him for a second and laughed again, quietly. “I suppose I’ll have to report that the perpetrator is still at large.”
“The heck does Shinra need all that junk for, anyway?” He was taking a shot in the dark - the man had never said he worked for Shinra, but the cries and whispers around the rumor mill were that the people they’d been seeing in the sharp suits were from some sort of Shinra investigation unit.
“Company property is still company property, even if it’s junk.” The man hmmed, glancing over his shoulder towards the fence. “... have you ever had a Tetanus shot?”
He scrunched his nose up. “A wha?”
“A Tetanus shot. Needle in the arm? Prevents cuts from rusted metal making you seriously ill?”
“...they got a shot for that?”
“Yes they do, and if you’re handling scrap metal you should have one.”
Hopping down from his perch on top of a drainage pipe, Rusty dusted some dirt from his arms and then gestured around them. “Man, I’unno what part of the plate you’re from, but - does it look like we got medics down here? You see any doctors or hospitals? That’s plate-side shit. We got a healer or two that’ll give you a Cure if you’re hurt, maybe someone’ll take pity and toss you a Potion, but otherwise we got fuck-all.”
“Well. It’s still something you should get. Maybe I can see to it next time I’m here.”
“Why you gotta fuss over me? Plenty of other people could use it.”
“Because plenty of other people have families looking out for them, and plenty of other people haven’t been as helpful to me as you’ve always been.” The man gave him a friendly nod. “I’ll see what I can do. You keep yourself out of trouble in the meantime.” Then, before he could retort - “Did you eat anything today?”
“I...” He tilted his head and gave the man a confused aquamarine-eyed stare. “... what’re you, my dad now?!”
“That’s not an answer.”
“ Yes, I ate half a sandwich this morning!”
“And it’s almost dinner time now, do you-“
“ Yeah, I’m gonna hit up one’a the food carts with the money I made today!”
“Good.” Smiling at him, the suited man reached out and ruffled his hair. “Keep up the good work, sport.”
“A’ight, get outta here with the dad act, sheez!” He grumbled and smoothed his hair back down as best as it could be tamed. “See you in a few days, old man.”
******
“Kid.”
It had been a week since his acquaintance in the suit had been below plate digging for info, and a business deal the day before had gone sour. He didn’t bother looking up from the pile of scrap he was pawing through, snorting as he wiped one rust-covered thumb at an itch on his face. “Yeah?”
“What happened to your eye?”
“Tch...” Forcing a grin through sharp teeth, he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Rusty. Look at me.”
Breathing heavily through his nose, he sat back and glanced over at the man. His eye was still swollen, a deep gash cut across the height of his cheekbone where it had forcibly met the sharp edge of a table, but it wasn’t anything he cared to address.
“Gaia - did you get that looked at-“
“By who? Already told ya we ain’t exactly got medical care down here.”
The suited man sighed in exasperation. “That isn’t the type of injury that’s going to heal on its own, not without getting infected.” He lifted a Shinra-branded PHS from his pocket and dialed a number into it. “... it’s Veld. Have the staff medic meet me at my coordinates. ...no, I’m fine. Make it quick.”
“So you are Shinra, huh?”
The man dusted off a piece of sheet metal next to him before casually sitting down on it. “I figured you’d have guessed by now.”
“Ain’t hard to - nobody around here dresses like that unless they got business with Shinra.” Rusty flopped down onto a patch of dirt and gazed hard at the older man, the angry red of his injury a stark contrast to the blue-green of his eyes. “...but you ain’t stuffy like the rest of them.”
“Don’t get to be stuffy in my line of work.”
“So whaddaya do?”
“That’s classified.”
Harrumphing, he leaned back and raised an eyebrow cockily. “Veld the Classified Man, huh? Must be a good paycheck with a nice suit like that.”
Veld shrugged, looking up towards the distinct sound of an approaching helicopter. “Company issued.”
“...izzat a chopper?” He leapt to his feet in a panic - choppers were never good news below plate, especially not the black gunships that occasionally flew through.
“Relax, it’s just the medic I sent for. Look.”
The helicopter was smaller than the usual ones, painted in the blaring red and white scheme of most medical vehicles; Rusty had only ever seen those above plate, save for the decommissioned ones he’d come across in the scrap heaps. (Never any medical supplies to salvage, but plenty of motor parts to keep his buyers happy. Shinra loved to scrap perfectly good machinery.)
The chopper touched down and a medic hopped out, jogging over to Veld while calling, “Is everything all right, sir?”
“I’m fine. My associate here needs the medical attention.”
Rusty scrunched his nose up at the term ‘associate’, and shied back from the medic as they approached. “Hey, don’t-“
“It’s all right kid, nobody’s going to hurt you. Hold still and let him work.”
He took a breath and steeled himself, holding in a yelp as gentle fingers pressed into the bone around his eye.
“Well, nothing seems broken but that’s definitely going to leave a scar - you said he’s with the company?”
“He works for me, which makes him Shinra by proxy.”
“Sir, you know we’re not supposed to-“
Veld got to his feet, gaze darkened and voice lowered dangerously: “You’re being given an order by a Turk - treat his injuries and do whatever you need to do with the paperwork. Understood?”
“Y-Yes sir, of course.”
The procedure was quick, a wave of the hand and touch to his face as the green aura of Cure surrounded him. He’d had it done once or twice before but this time it hurt, and he held in the whimper as the swelling reversed and the deep wound of his face started to mend.
“There, sir.”
“That will be all then, thank you.” Veld dismissed the medic with a wave of his hand, turning towards Rusty. “Feel any better?”
“...I can see better now.” He reached up and ran fingertips along the raised line on his cheekbone that was forming a fresh scar. “...can’t do anything about this, huh.”
“Afraid not, kid. It’s magic, not a miracle.” Gazing at the nearby street, he nodded his head towards a distant food cart. “C’mon, it’s lunch time. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
“Pfft - with what, that fat Shinra paycheck you’re gonna cut me since I apparently work for you?”
Chuckling, Veld shook his head. “Lunch is on me.” Then, as the younger feel into step alongside him, “And you’re my main source of reliable information down here, if you require a stipend I could certainly set that up.”
He wanted to say a number of things, like the fact that the man had always looked the other way when he was scavenging from old Shinra equipment was more than enough. Or that he was happy to help someone who treated him with just a little bit of dignity. Or maybe could he get him a job at Shinra as a mechanic - he had enough experience breaking machines down, surely he could put them back together.
What left his mouth instead was, “That’s the fucking guy!”, as his wandering gaze fell on the man who’d assaulted him the night before.
Veld apparently had business with him too, reaching into his jacket to produce a gun as he yelled, “You! Stop right there!”
The man took one look at the two of them and started to run, darting through the crowd to try and lose them - but Rusty moved lightning fast, sprinting after him before his companion even had a chance to blink. “You ain’t getting away this time, asshole!”
He had to be using Haste or some other kind of materia to be moving as fast as he was, but Rusty knew he was faster - a life in the slums running from trouble, physically and mentally, had prepared him for events like this. One mis-step and the man stumbled, and Rusty was on top of him before he had a chance to regain footing.
“Shithead!” he yowled, sweeping a kick that landed the man flat on his back. “Thought you could ditch me without paying, huh?!” He grabbed a metal pipe that lay on the ground and swung it twice, each time landing it with precision on the dirt at either side of the man’s head. “Cough up my fuckin’ money an I might let ya’ live!”
“Easy, Rusty!” Veld had finally caught up to them, gun still in hand and pointed towards the assailant. “This the guy who did that to your face?”
“Oh yeah - owes me 500 Gil, too!”
“Hmm.” A small smile crept across his lips and Veld reached into his jacket, producing a telescoping rod. “Hand me the pipe.” As Rusty did, he snapped the rod to full extension and gave that to him instead. “Seems I’ll be apprehending Mr. Silas with a few broken bones. Shame he fell down that drainage ditch.”
Rusty took the cue immediately and swung, landing a hit on the man’s rib cage that shattered at least two bones. Another few fast swings for good measure, just enough to leave tissue damage, and then a hard one to the face as repayment for the scar alongside his eye.
“Did I mention that carries a charge? Press the switch, Rusty.”
He did as he was told and laughed as the rod crackled to life with electricity, bringing the tip down to the man’s throat. “One more chance - you got that money?”
The man spat once into the dirt next to him but remained silent otherwise, glaring at the two of them.
“Gross - well, gave ya your chance!” With the charge ignited, Rusty cracked the rod across his head and watched as the man went stiff with the shock and then limp, unconsciousness probably a blessing compared to the beating he would have continued to receive.
“You’re a natural with that, huh?”
“Used to play a lotta stickball.” Rusty swung the rod through the air a few times, grinning at the scent of ozone that followed it. “An’ I got a mean backhand swing with a piece of rebar, too. Ask the last guy who tried to rip me off!”
“Remind me to stay on your good side, kid!” Veld took the mag-rod back from him, tossing the piece of pipe aside on the ground with a loud clang. “Well, it appears I’ll have to cancel our lunch date. But-“ Pulling out a wallet, he thumbed out 5,000 Gil and handed it to him. “Here, you earned this today.”
“Huh?” He eyeballed the money with both suspicion and awe, not sure if this were some kind of weird test. “...I can just - keep this?”
“This is the guy we’ve been trying to find for the past month, and you just ran him down like it was a game of Tag.” Veld nodded towards the hand he clutched the money in. “You earned that.”
His heart skipped a beat - this was going to keep him fed for a month at least! “Shoot, you got any more jobs you need done?!”
“I know who to ask when I do, that’s for sure.” Veld considered him for a moment. “How old are you now?”
“Fifteen, gonna be sixteen real soon.”
“Noted.” He nodded and pulled the Shinra PHS out of his pocket again. “Maybe when you’re old enough we can set you up with steady work.”
“How bout an internship now?”
Veld was quiet for a minute, looking at his PHS, then glanced back up to Rusty. “I need you here for now. But keep your eyes and ears open for me and I’ll keep the money coming in for you.”
“You got a deal, old man!”
“Atta boy.” He nodded back towards the entrance of the alleyway they’d come down. “You run off and get your lunch, I have to take care of our friend here. You don’t want to be here when the chopper comes.”
Taking the hint, Rusty nodded and backed up a few steps. Then, his voice lowered, “Heh... take real good care of him for me.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have heard the sound of a gun’s silenced bullet pierce the air as he turned the corner back towards the food carts.
******
A few more months passed as usual, with Veld stopping by once a week - sometimes he had questions about the local goings on or the slum rumor mill, and other times the conversation seemed to be just that: conversation. What had he been up to, was he eating, was he warm, how was the scrap business going, etc.
Then a month passed with no contact. Rusty shrugged it off as work being slow for the company man, until he’d actually shown up at the little shanty house Rusty called home (along with a rotating cast of out-of-towner mercs or other scrappers that needed a dry place to stay in exchange for some goods or Gil.) “Ain’t much,” he’d grinned, flopping down onto a couch with barely-functional springs he’d salvaged from the local trash heap, “but it’s good enough!”
Veld seemed impressed that the teenager had managed to put this much together for himself. “You built this place?”
“Aw - Nah, it was kind of... it was a shell of an old shack when I found it, yanno? Started collecting as many shingles an stuff from the scrap piles as I could, looked at the other houses and figured out how they go together and just went from there.” He waved towards the mismatched tiles of the wall and roof. “Don’t gotta look pretty, just gotta keep me dry. And the neighbors are great!”
The shack was a bit off the beaten path, in an area where some low level monsters lurked - arguably they were better neighbors than some people might have been.
“So where you been, old man? Missed gettin my weekly Shinra paycheck!”
“Funny you should mention that.” Veld sat down on the rickety couch next to him, then dropped the case he’d been carrying onto Rusty’s lap.
“...what’s this?”
“Open it up.”
The image of a suitcase full of money flashed through Rusty’s mind and he greedily tore it open - only to be confused when he produced a black garment bag from inside. “...you brought me clothes? What, mine lookin worse than usual?”
Veld laughed through his nose, shaking his head. “How’d you like to actually earn a Shinra paycheck every week?”
“...what?”
The man stood and turned to face him, gesturing towards the zippered bag. “You said you liked the suit, so I brought you your own. Put it on, come with me, and you can leave the slums and the scrap heaps and this life behind. For good.”
“...you offering me a job?”
“My office has a new opening. After everything I’ve learned about you, Reno - I think you’d be a perfect fit.”
Did the old man just - “Where’d you get my name from?!”
“Put the suit on, and you’ll find out.”
Rusty - Reno - stared at him for a long moment, then down to the garment bag in his lap. “...look, I know it seems like I ain’t got much to lose, an I really don’t, but... you’re making it sound like I won’t be comin’ back here. This place is all I know, yanno? So what kinda job we talkin’ about?”
“The most I can tell you is that the nature of our work is classified.” Veld perched on the edge of the couch next to him again. “We provide housing, training, medical care, and a good salary. One of the better ones in the company.”
“All that for sittin behind a desk somewhere?”
“Oh, there’s lots more to it than sitting behind a desk. But I can’t say much more than that.”
Reno took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then exhaled sharply through his nose. “If I say no..?”
A shrug and Veld stood again. “Then you stay here and keep living your life as you know it. I’ll still come by for intel when I need it, and you can keep scrapping and collecting scars from people who don’t want to pay up.”
He winced internally; the scar on his face had been a constant reminder of the downside of this lifestyle. “Can ya - just, let me have the night to think it over, ok?”
“Fair enough.” Veld reached one hand out to him. “I’ll come back in the morning; if you want the job, we’ll leave then. If not, I take the suit back and will see you in a week like usual. Deal?”
He nodded his head, shaking Veld’s hand. “Deal.”
“Now - before I go, did you-“
“Yeah, I had dinner!” He rolled his eyes and pointed towards the door. “Outta here, Dad - you’ll get my decision in the morning!”
The next morning, Reno stood outside the door of his mismatched abode as a black chopper circled overhead and moved to touch down to the ground. He didn’t run this time - he knew who it was, and why they were here.
“Reno!” called Veld’s voice over the whipping of the blades as the older man climbed out. “Made your decision, kid?”
“Sure did! How do I look?”
The black suit was just a little baggy on him, but left room for him to grow into it over the next year or two. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone and the black tie slung over his shoulder haphazardly; “Didn’t leave me instructions on how to tie a tie, old man.”
“Didn’t realize you’d need them.” Veld nodded at him once, smiling. “You look good, Reno. Ready for an adventure?”
He didn’t bother responding past a grin before walking towards the helicopter. “Can’t wait to see what life’s like up on the plate when you ain’t begging for handouts! They got good food up there?”
“Best yakisoba around!”
“Gonna hold ya to that!” Clambering into one of the seats, he fumbled with a lap belt before getting it buckled and then glanced back towards Veld. “...am I gonna regret this?”
“Not at all.” Veld muscled the door shut behind them both, then sat across from him and secured his own belt. “If you thought scrapping was good, then you’re about to start the most exciting journey of your life.”