Introduction
He grew up in the slums. By thirteen he was alone, a skinny waif who was too pretty for his own good. He had scars, everyone down there had scars, but he pushed them away, learned to fight, learned to steal, to survive. Survival of the fittest and all that crap.
He hated living there, only because he knew that elsewhere people were living nice and fancy, up on their high horse, spitting on people like him. Spitting on poor kids who lived in the slums.
Of course he'd heard of the Turks. On the streets, you hear all kinds of stuff, and what he knew was that the Turks were the ones to avoid. There were whispers about their assassinations, about how they would kill at the drop of a hat, that they were merciless and cruel. If you knew they were coming, you got the hell outta Dodge.
So, when he heard a gunshot one night at age fifteen, two blocks down, he hesitated. Natural curiosity made him want to find out what was going on, but he'd heard the stories of the Turks. However, for all he knew if could just be some asshole shooting some other asshole. There could be no danger at all.
However, he had not lived for so long by giving in to his curiosity. Turning in the opposite direction of the gunshot, he walked quickly, bare feet scraping roughly against the cold pavement.
A whisper of clothing warned him of his attacker's presence and before the attacker had a chance to move, the red headed boy had leaned down to the ground, hurled a rock at the figure and dashed across the street.
His attacker was too fast though. Within seconds, a large hand clamped down onto the boys shoulder and he felt metal digging into his side. Dammit, he internally cursed.
Oddly though, he wasn't scared. He didn't cry and he wasn't terrified. He felt…cold. Unatatched. Like it wasn't really him in the situation. Unemotionally, he took note of the gun jammed into his side and of the gloved hands that were wrapped around his neck.
"Can I at least see the man who's going to send me to the Lifestream?" he asked flippiantly.
There was a moment of silence and then he was turned slowly until a face came into view. The man had long black hair and was obviously Wutainese. He had dark pools for eyes that the boy felt could swallow him up and he would never be able to get out again. The man was wearing a dark blue suit that was still neat and a red tie.
The boy laughed, a harsh cacophonous sound that seemed strange coming from such a young boy. "Well fuck, I really am screwed. You're a Turk."
The dark man raised an eyebrow questioningly. The boy laughed. "It's obvious. You're well trained, you have a very nice gun, expensive by the looks of it and you're wearing a blue suit. Neatly. In the slums. Those suits make a lotta people scared around here and the only reason that you'd wear one is if you were a Turk."
"That's quite observant," the man said. His voice was soft, and articulated. "Aren't you scared? I'm going to kill you."
The boy thought for a moment. "I don't think so. I mean, shit, I'm a kid and I'm gonna die. That sucks. But what have I got here? A box and a cat that just comes around so that I'll feed it some scraps? Fuck that. I've got nothing here, I figure the Lifestream might be a little better than here anyway."
The Turk looked down at the boy for a moment. He seemed to be thinking, and the boy stared back almost defiantly. "How would you like to get out of here?"
"What the fuck are you talking about, old man?"
The Turk stiffened at the boy's insolent words. "What is your name?"
The boy sized him up for a moment, felt the cold metal of the gun against his ribs and decided that it would be in his best interest to answer honestly. "Reno."
"Reno," the Turk tried the name out. "Hmm. How would you like to get out of the slums, Reno?"
"What's the catch?" the fiery headed boy snapped.
"That you work for Shinra."
His sea green eyes widened. "You're giving me a job?"
"In a sense. You won't have the job until you're twenty, because the youngest age at which one can become a Turk, but you will be taken care of until then."
"You want me to be a Turk?" Reno asked softly, quiet for the first time in his life.
"If you can make it," the dark haired man challeneged.
Reno glowered at the older man. "I'll be a better Turk than you'll ever be, old man. Bring it on."
He didn't have any second thought. He knew what the Turks did. He knew that they killed, stole and were generally cruel people. But he also knew that if he didn't take this, now, then he would never get out of the slums.
The Turk smiled, pulled the gun from Reno's ribs and replaced it in his holster. "Alright. Let's go then."
"Wait!" The older man stopped and turned to look at the young boy. "What's your name, old man?" Reno asked.
The tall man smirked. "I'm Tseng, leader of the Turks. Now lets go."
And so they left.