Disclaimer! I make no profit, and I do not own the characters. Except the obvious ones, like Reno's parents. Duh. *rolls eyes*

Summary! "The story of how I was misunderstood and the resulting repercussions which increased the death toll in Midgar by 18%."

Warnings! RATED M FOR psychopathic Reno, later gore, other violence, death, sex, possibly drugs, sexy smiles and alcohol.

I'm lazy, so the chapters will be short. I have no beta, so if you see a mistake and can be bothered, please let me know!

R & R - enjoy! (hopefully)

I didn't start out being poor. In all honesty, I started out my life as the son of a successful business man- I wanted for nothing. I wasn't abandoned by my parents when I was five, or six, or whatever you've heard. They weren't killed, leaving me with nothing. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed by their ridiculous refusal to die though, in fact it irritated me to no end.

Now, because I'm not brain-dead, I'm aware of what you must be thinking. Oh, you're imagining the worst of the worst situations; I'm already painted in your minds as the victim of this story. The things that must be running through your minds- Reno, hated by both his parents. Reno, raped by his father. Reno, beaten by his father, and/or mother. Reno, starved. Reno, stunningly gifted yet held back by jealous adult-figures. Reno, helpless, defenseless, weak and pathetic.

I almost feel sorry for myself.

But you're all wrong- each and every one of you. I'll be straight with you- and this is somewhat of an accomplishment on my behalf. I've woven many a story to the people around me, and it's not often that they will find they share the same version of my oh-so-mysterious life story, although most of them agree I probably came from the slums (which is not entirely wrong) and that I probably had to either become a thug or sell my body on the streets to survive (both of which, I will admit, are entirely plausible, and yet both are mostly wrong. But we'll get to that later).

I don't deliberately hide my past though. Doesn't everyone want their background to sound more or less impressive? Reno the street-rat, the thug who has been murdering since he was old enough to walk. Rude might not have believed that version, but hey, it sounds impressive, right? On the streets it kept me safe most nights. But then there's Reno, the poor abandoned orphan who was forced to work in a brothel in Don Corneo's sector, physically weak and somewhat vertically challenged, intelligent but downtrodden. This card has often earned me the upper-hand in a fight- you don't need to tell someone your history, you just need to wear it around you like an extra coat.

The opposition take one look at me and instantly relax, because I'm small, I make no eye-contact, I keep my limbs close to my body and I flinch at every loud noise.I'm not a threat, how could I be? (or so they think until I carve up their throats with a piece of stone I found lying on the ground- they'll never think that way about me again. Or about anything for that matter).

But I suppose there comes a time and a place (that being here and now) that one realizes (myself being alone and therefore being one) that they finally have no reason not to tell the truth anymore (because what's the point in lying to yourself this late in the game?).

And so, as cliched as it sounds, tonight I find myself alone, caught in the sort of situation which is both utterly boring but at the same time mentally exhausting. I won't tell you what's going on- I would hate to spoil the surprise, but suffice to say, at this stage, I literally have absolutely nothing better to do than explain to you how everybody got me so wrong, and still managed to think they had me

all

worked

out.