Fatal Crossover From Hell
Chapter One: Meet Reno
A/N: This is a parody. This is totally OOC of Vicious, OOC of Reno most likely. The soul purpose of this fiction is to amuse a reader. Nothing else. Dedicated to Summer, without whom the beating of Fatal Frame would not have been possible.
Reno hated backwoods places. He really hated them. People were always hard to deal with, had uppity moral values and far too much time on their hands. Time that they used, for no other means then snooping and gossiping about people brave enough to be "scandalous". Jealousy made far worse rumors then truth.
Yet, here he was, driving a ShinRa Tamen onto another dirt road, looking for some damn correspondence of Hojo's. He turned up the radio as the thunder broke, rain spilling into the cracked window and soaking his arm. Reno tossed out his half smoked cigarette with a curse, rolling the window up.
"'No regrets at all', my ass." Reno snorted in response to some lyrics. He certainly regretted punching that exec now that he was on this stupid mission in the middle of nowhere. All he wanted were the notes on some damned "Ritual Revivals" and a camera. Then he could get back to the city, where most people had all their teeth.
The rain was really coming down, Reno slowed to the speed limit, growing more aggravated. Hojo was creepy enough; he didn't want to meet someone that man actually considered his FRIEND. Reaching down to find his map, the red head took his eyes off the road.
When he looked up again, there was someone coming in contact with his hood. String-like hair glowed in the headlights and the rain; two flat palms struck the truck at the same time. His eyes met black ones for a split second before the person tumbled over the truck, rolling along the roof while he skidded sideways. There was no squealing of tires, the muck of the road ate the noise and made the whole scene seem surreal. When the SUV at last impacted with a tight grouping of trees it made enough sound to drown out the thunder. Both airbags deployed, taking the wind from Reno's lungs, but saving him- for the most part- from the glass that exploded into the cab.
Air burned the moment he breathed in again. Reaching around, Reno managed to remove a knife from his boot and stab the airbags. He fell forward, resting his head on the broken steering wheel. He could feel the burns from the airbags all over his chest and side. He would be stiff from this in the morning. The rain took less then a minute to totally soak him and then Reno remembered that he had hit someone. He sighed again, this mission was supposed to have minimal casualties, and here he had one before he even got to town. He crawled out through the broken windshield, knowing the doors were lost causes. Sitting on the hood, he looked around for the body. No one was there.
The rain continued, but it was the last thing on his mind. Killing someone wasn't exactly the most important thing either; it wouldn't be the first time. No, the first thing on his mind was how much the Tamen was going to cost to replace. The second, getting to the backwater town and getting OUT of said backwater town. He looked down at the hood of the car, blinking when he saw that the front had no real dent in it. In fact, the only damage to the vehicle at all was his impact with the local foliage.
"What. The. Fuck?" He slid to the ground on shaky legs, there was no blood, no handprints, no hair, nothing. Had he not been who he was, he could have chalked it up to an overactive imagination. However, Reno was a Turk; Turks did not imagine things like that. He bent over, running a finger along the wet grill, literally nothing. He looked up at the driver's seat, figuring whoever he hit was about his height. Meaning, that the truck would have stuck them in the chest and hips, meaning that there was no way in holy hell they would scamper away. He started walking back to the rear of the SUV when something grey moved quickly in his peripheral vision. The red head whirled, gun drawn to the figure.
Finally, he saw someone, a man, about Reno's slender build and height. He had long hair of some discernable color. At first glance, Reno couldn't tell if it was the person he hit or not. The young man looked over his shoulder; the details of his form were lost in the growing fog and rain. "Who are you?" Reno snapped, cocking back the chamber of his weapon. The man turned to walk away, Reno fired, and then...
...he was gone.
Limping at a half run Reno ran to stare down the hill. "No, just... fuck this." Reno pulled out his cell phone and frantically dialed. Putting the phone to his ear he was rewarded with a low static. Cursing yet again, Reno put the phone away and continued looking down the muddy road. Gleaming in a puddle was a stone; he picked it up, turning it over in his hand. There was a piece of paper attached to it. Pocketing the stone, Reno looked over a news article.
Dr Carthwin Helms, Noted Psychoanalyst and Paranormal Pathologist, Missing.
On October 14th, Dr Carthwin Helms disappeared in the middle of his research of haunted locations. He was on his way to Ville Villa, a small town deep in the Beubauxton woods. He checked into the Alburn Motel, but never checked out. Last reports said he was looking for the "Missing House".
Dr Helms was working on ways to contact the deceased via radios, stones, and typical cell radiations biased on "psychic" patients at a local hospital. It was Dr Helms' personal belief that mental illnesses could be cured with understanding of the spirits of the paranormal.
Therapy for the Dead: How to help your loved ones is his most noted best seller.
"What the-" From the woods, a rustle caught his attention. Reno slid the article into his pants with the stone. There were too many questions right now; however, the moment he got to the damned motel, the Turk was cracking skulls.
Reno Squarenix; Vicious Cowboy Beebop; Fatal Frame Tecmo