Notice: All (well, most) characters are owned by Squaresoft…blah, blah, blah…
This fic is set in the Final Fantasy 7 universe in the 1970s. All inconsistencies and plot holes are intentional, as they go with the theme. Remember, this is a spoof of many different 70's action flicks, so please don't take everything too seriously.
CHAPTER 1
Rain poured in drenching sheets over tranquil little Kalm. It was a typical night for most of the villagers, as they moved to and fro among the streets, returning home from their jobs to the open arms of their families.
Zack watched a man run from the Kalm Shopping Center to a covered bus stop where other people waited for their transit to arrive, the bus that departed for Midgar at precisely 7:06 PM. The man made it under the small structure in time to avoid a passing car. He sat down on the bench next to a pregnant woman. She couldn't have been older than 18, thought Zack as he watched the activity from his window at the Kalm Inn and Café. All this was intriguing when you were bored as hell…
Across from him sat his partner, Cloud Strife. The kid was as green as a forest looked from the air. He had never been assigned to a case this big before, and as all the rookies did, he accepted the mission as a surefire way to get a promotion.
Cloud sipped his mocha and watched the bus arrive at the bus stop, looked into the faces of the jovial villagers who would soon be on their way home. I wish I could look forward to going home, he thought. Then I might not take assignments like this.
From their window was a prime view of the alley between the Kalm Dispatch and a hardware store. At any time, their suspect would meet up with the local hoods that pushed drugs to middle-schoolers and give them the "goods".
"What time is it?" asked Cloud, looking at his more experienced partner.
"For the love of Christ, kid… its 7:08." He said, looking at his watch. "Being undercover requires a lot more patience than you have, my friend."
Cloud was curious about his mission. "Why are we trailing this guy, anyway?"
Zack sipped his tea calmly and glanced out the window. "Well, it's kind of a long story. Last Spring, in Rocket Town, he set up a drug deal in a park with some local thugs. As you might know, Rocket Town's got a competent police department…at least, they DID."
"I get it." Said Cloud.
"The scumbag was in the middle of counting his money when a plainclothes cop walking down the street tackled him- that was part of the plan, mind you."
"Uh huh…"
"Anyway, our suspect sees him coming and pulls out his sword just in time to run the poor bastard through. As he pulls out the sword, he sees the police cars pull up to surround him… so he runs away with his money in a briefcase and hops in a black sedan. That's the last we've seen of him. The cops couldn't catch up with them…
"Later on, we get an anonymous tip that he's setting up a deal tonight. We've got two cops on the corner down there…" -Zack pointed at a car down the street- "…and they're supposed to tell us when our man comes to get the goods. We'll sneak up and bag the bastard before he can do anything about it. In order to do that, we need to be staked out in this sorry-ass joint."
"Stakeouts are so…boring." The rookie said, glancing out the window. "I thought I'd see more action than this." Little did he realize how wrong that statement would turn out to be.
"I hate people like you." Said Zack, setting down his cup of Mako Tea. "You think that police work is all about action and glory. You're dead wrong, kid. I haven't killed anyone in months. I never get all the chicks I want, I never make the bad guys quake in their boots."
"Just because you haven't doesn't mean that I won't, someday…" said Cloud, staring out the window again. There was still nobody in their alley.
"I hate to burst your pathetic little bubble, but Sergeant Cid's gonna retire in about two years. He only worked his scrawny little ass up to that rank because he kissed ass. He kissed it until it got a big ol' hickey. I was in the same training class as he was back at the Academy. He couldn't shoot the blunt side of a barn, much less chase one down. However, he was a bureaucrat who did enough desk work for a promotion. Just remember that the next time he gives you a lecture on how tough it was being a cop 10 years ago."
Cloud was in awe. He always revered Zack with an air of respect. He had no idea, however, that he was in the same class as Cid was. "And you're still a street cop, right?"
"Don't even put me in the same league as you…" said Zack. "I gotta take a leak. Knock on the door and tell me if there's anything going on in our alley, okay?" The senior officer stood up and strode to the other side of the café, almost bumping into a tall man with long, flowing silver hair that walked into the restaurant. The character wore a black raincoat and had on sunglasses that covered half his face. Rain dripped from his raincoat as he looked around the café quickly, to see if there was someone he knew. He stopped looking around and seemed to stare in Cloud's direction.
Cloud looked back at this man, who seemed awfully suspicious at first glance. He had no idea who the suspect was that they were trying to catch, just that he had silver hair….
His eyes locked onto the flowing, silver hair that just reached the man's shoulder blades. If their suspect had made it inside without them knowing, then their contacts at the Kalm Police Department were being sloppy. Too sloppy.
The man walked past Cloud and sat down in a booth in the other aisle. The smell of this man lingered in the air… it smelled like…Cloud couldn't place the right word, but he was positive that he had smelled it at the department store before…in the cologne section. At JC Penney… that was it. "Intoxication" by Calvin Klein. It smelled like stale whiskey, saliva, and perfume all mixed together.
Zack needs to get back…right now.
Cloud stole a backwards glance at this stranger. He was taking off his sunglasses. He seemed awfully sure that he was safe in here. Strife found himself staring into the man's impossibly green eyes. They glowed, as if they had been exposed to too much Mako. If only they had a clue what the suspect looked like…
"Pass me another donut, Joe." Said the man in the driver's seat of the Ford LTD police cruiser. It was the only car that the Kalm police department was able to afford, and since the two officers inside were assigned to a "very important case", it was in their care for the evening.
"Sure thing, Trevor." Said the cop in the passenger's seat. Fortunately for the two of them, the Kalm Bakery was open until midnight. They could stay in the car and eat as much as they wanted! Joe passed a doughnut over to Trevor.
Officer Trevor Gardoli eyed the chocolate doughnut before him. Everything that came from the Kalm Bakery was a work of art, and this perfectly round pastry was no exception. Opening his mouth, he stuffed it all in. Chewing, the police officer savored the chocolaty taste flowing over his taste buds. Life was sweet- literally!
He let out a loud belch as he wiped the residue from his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform. At 290 pounds, the officer had had his share of sweets. When he joined the police force 6 years earlier, he was at 210 pounds and could bench-press 350. Looking at his arms, he realized that they had grown large and flabby from the excess fat. He'd be lucky if he could catch a 20-pound medicine ball at the gym where he worked out about once a month.
Joe Carbone was far more out-of-shape than his obese friend. Boasting a double chin that was larger than his regular chin, a bushy handlebar mustache, and a massive potbelly, he looked like he could crush a man under him. The last time he had weighed himself, the scale couldn't register. Joe averaged about a box of a dozen of Kalm Bakery's bear claws a day.
But it was all justified, because they could both use their sidearm whenever they wanted to. Such was life on the police force.
The two of them listened to the rain hammer the roof of their car.
"Damn, I wish we could eat outside. I like to feed the birds." Lamented Joe. He always had a fondness for pigeons.
"What birds? That Mako shit from Midgar's factories is coming over here and killin' all the wildlife! There ain't no more birds here, man. I want to move to Wutai some day. Wouldn't that be the life?"
"Amen, brother." Said Joe, wolfing down another doughnut.
Trevor's hand moved towards the doughnut box. Suddenly, he realized the box was empty. "Damn!" he screamed. "We gotta get some more."
"That's all we do on these stakeout missions. Eat doughnuts. Every time we run out, I gotta get them. Why the hell don't you get them for once?"
"Oh, so you're getting tired of doughnuts?"
"No, I'm not saying that, pal…"
"Good. Get some more."
Grumbling, Joe opened the car door and stumbled outside. He struggled to stand up, and then closed the door. The rain was pouring ever harder. Joe half-heartedly raised an arm to shield himself from the water while the other hand gripped the doughnut box. Seeing the trashcan, he waddled over and dumped the box in.
Wiping his hands of the doughnut crumbs, he took a look down the street. Their out-of-town friends were in the Kalm Inn and Café about half a block away on the other side of the street.
Trevor and Joe's job was to see if anyone entered the alley that was under surveillance. Then they would radio Inspector Zack at the Café and they would arrest the scum who would fall into the trap. In other words, it required a lot of doughnut eating to keep concentrating on their boring and menial task.
Turning around, Joe walked down the sidewalk. Around the corner was the Kalm Bakery. Maybe I should get two boxes, he thought.
Suddenly, down the sidewalk, he could make out a shadowy figure duck behind a mailbox. I'm just dreaming. Joe told himself. He kept walking until he passed the mailbox. On instinct, he looked behind it. Nothing there, of course.
He reached the bakery without incident and bought two loaded boxes of chocolate-covered doughnuts. Enough to feed a small army, or him and Trevor for a couple hours…
Joe found it awkward to walk with two boxes being held at once. Of course, Carbone wasn't the most athletic officer in the Kalm police force. Rounding the corner, he could see the waiting police car. The boxes were getting soaked, though, and the water tended to bleed through cardboard. Trevor's gonna have my head if the doughnuts get wet… he thought.
Officer Carbone quickened his pace, but his shoe caught on a crack in the sidewalk. "UUGNH!" he uttered as he fell. The boxes flew from his grasp and opened on the soaked sidewalk, doughnuts spilling like a child's building blocks. His face hit the pavement. He never looked up again.
The figure emerged from the shadows and pointed a pistol at the back of the prostrate officer's head. "What a waste." The man uttered with a Russian accent.
"Who's there?" groaned Joe, attempting to pick himself up.
"Too late, Officer Carbone," was the last thing Joe heard. The suppressed shot went off in the darkness, burying a 9-millimeter bullet in the back of his head.
In the police cruiser, Trevor was attempting to find a decent radio station.
"Man!" he muttered to himself. "All we get here are Midgar stations…all those bastards like to listen to Rock music. I need come Country, dammit!"
His search ended at a suitable station. "Out in the West Texas town of El Paso…I fell in love with a Mexican girl…"
"I love you, Marty Robbins!" shouted Trevor to the radio. "Damn…if only Joe was here. This is his favorite song."
Trevor's hand moved to the knob on the side of the seat. "Does this have power seats?" he asked himself, expecting an answer.
He saw a switch and instinctively flipped it. To his surprise, the seat tilted back. Trevor let it tilt back all the way, until it was almost touching the back seat. He leaned back and listened to Marty Robbins strum on his guitar.
Unbeknownst to him, three men emerged from the hardware store across the street and slipped into the alley.
TAP-TAP-TAP.
Trevor looked up to see an unexpected face at the window. His left hand touched the power window button. The passenger-side window rolled down, seemingly from its own volition. God, how he loved this car.
"Excuse me, but how do I perambulate to the Kalm Bakery?" said the man, who had a definite Russian accent. His face was shrouded in shadow. His hand was getting something out from behind his back…
"Uhh…you go down the street to your right and then turn the corner. You can't miss it. By the way, what's in your pants?"
"Thank you, officer." Said the unknown man. All at once, he produced a silenced Makarov from his trousers. Trevor found himself staring down the barrel of the weapon.
He had no time to think before a bullet exited the gun and blasted through his head, which suddenly jerked back against the window in a splash of blood. His body jerked up and slumped down on the seat again, arms dangling by his sides. Trevor's eyes were still open in fright and shock and his mouth hung open.
The Russian man admired the perfect bullet hole he made in the officer's forehead. Sephiroski will be most pleased. He told himself. The man nonchalantly stuck the pistol back in his pants and walked away from the police cruiser as if nothing had happened. Now he needed to give the signal.
Walking in front of the alley where the drug deal was going to take place, past the three hoods that were carrying on a conversation. He instead walked into the hardware store and approached the clerk. The store appeared empty except for the bored-looking teenager before him.
"Can I help you?" asked the clerk.
"Let me see the power switch for your electric sign." Said the Russian.
"What the hell? Why do you need to…"
"Don't act like an ass. I am your customer. As you Americans say, `the customer is always right'. Do as I say. Your yak seems like it needs a haircut, wouldn't you agree?"
"Huh? My yak…?"
The Russian flinched. His English skills needed work. Not one to prolong a conversation such as this, he produced his Makarov for the third time that night.
"A gun!" screamed the clerk.
The Russian squeezed the trigger again, firing into the wall behind the teenager. A power drill fell off its mount and clattered on the floor. "Now will you do as I say?" He received furious nodding from the clerk, who was obviously untrained in a situation such as this.
"Good. I want you to flip your light on and off twice. Got it?"
More nodding. The clerk was cooperative. He approached a switch on the wall and flicked it four times. Off twice, on twice.
"Thank you." Said the Russian man. He put his sidearm back and strode out the door. "I feel like cardboard." The clerk tried not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation as the door closed.
Zack peeked out from behind a rack of circular saws. "Is he gone?"
The clerk grunted reply. "Uh-huh."
"Did you catch what he looked like, by any chance?" asked the officer. He came out from his hiding spot and walked out in front of the counter where the Russian was seconds before. The clerk could see his entire body now. There was a massive sword strapped to his back, almost as long as the man was tall. He wore purple, too. Either the guy's colorblind or he's a homosexual…the teenager rationalized.
"Who are you?" asked the clerk, cowering against the wall. He had had one hell of a night so far…being held at gunpoint, and then being confronted by a mysterious-looking man with a six-foot sword. My, how crazy the world was.
"That's not important now. Did you see what the bastard looked like?"
"Black hair…kind of like yours…a ponytail…glasses…trench coat…he looked like a real bad-ass to me…can you leave now?" said the clerk. His boss was already going to kill him about the power drill.
"Thanks, son." Zack ran out the door.
Cloud looked at the clock on the wall at the café. It was 7:16. Zack had been gone for about 5 minutes. That was far too long to be "taking a leak". He drained the remaining liquid in his cup and glanced out the window again-
There were three guys there. They appeared to be having a conversation…
What happened next was even more out-of-place. The "Kalm Hardware" sign flashed on and off twice. Cloud's head snapped back to look at the green-eyed man. He stood up as soon as Cloud's glance turned towards him. He slid the sunglasses back on his face and walked towards the exit.
For the love of God, Zack…Get the hell out of the bathroom already! Cloud's glance went out to the street again. A man walked out of the hardware store and trotted over to the alley next door. Seeing the three hoodlums, he strode into the alley and started talking to them. From his body language, it looked like he was telling them something that they didn't take too well…
The green-eyed man's head momentarily blocked Cloud's view. He was walking down the other side of the street from their alley. He disappeared from view shortly afterwards.
This is too weird to pass up, thought Cloud. Screw Zack. I'm hot-dogging this one. Under the table, Cloud discreetly took out his service revolver and loaded the chamber with six police-issue rounds. Once it was full, he snapped it back into place. Cloud tucked the gun into the hip flask and stretched his shirt over it.
Tossing a $5 bill on the table to cover the Mako Tea and his coffee, he stood up and left the restaurant.
"Thank you." Said a waitress as he opened the door. Cloud grunted back.
Cloud pushed open the glass door and walked outside into the rain. To his right, the man from the café walked down the sidewalk and suddenly ran across the street to the other side, right next to the police cruiser that was surveying the alley along with them…
The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. That man with the green eyes was his suspect. He was going to kill the Kalm police officers! That was the only conclusion that made sense to Cloud as he ran down the sidewalk after the green-eyed man.
"Whaddaya mean, the deal's off?" said a bearded, scruffy-looking hoodlum. The Russian man with the glasses and ponytail was in front of him with the tragic news that their drug deal was to be postponed.
"I kind of need that shit, like, TODAY." Said another hood, who wore a Starter jacket and a baseball cap. "I get most of my sales at sports events…and the Kalm Clams are facing the Junon Jaguars tonight at 8, which is really goddamned soon."
"Yeah. We need to eat and stuff…" said the third hoodlum, who was chewing a soggy cigarette that had burned out long ago.
"Look, we couldn't get in touch with our supplier yesterday, and he ships your cocaine from Columbia on Thursday mornings by airplane. They come in to our warehouse and we sell them to you at night. That's how it works." Said the bespectacled Russian.
"But we need them NOW! I have your 10 grand, take it or leave it." Said the man with the Starter jacket. He was carrying a briefcase in his right hand.
"I would wish to see this `10 grand' that you speak of." Said he Russian.
"No drugs, no cash." Said the man chewing a cigarette.
The men glared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Rain from the skies above pelted them mercilessly. The sound of the raindrops hitting the metal roofs was all that was heard during those lingering moments. Then the scruffy man spoke up.
"If we give you the dough in advance, will we have our shit tomorrow?"
"Shit? I don't tend to think of it that way, my charred friend." Said the Russian, flinching again at what he just said.
"Charred, eh?" spat the cigarette chewer. His unibrow furrowed up. He looked to his right. "Perhaps we should go into that newspaper building and…settle our differences."
A car hissed by on the road. The Russian couldn't believe what this man was implying. If he were unarmed, he would be dead by now… but the only people who would die were these lowlives before him. That was how Fate worked. And if Fate saw his signal, he would arrive very soon. He smirked at the irony of it all.
Zack picked the lock on the door to the Kalm Dispatch relatively easily. The old, rusted-out door swung open smoothly. The officer slinked into the building and shut the door as quietly as he could.
CLICK. The door closed and Zack locked the deadbolt from the inside. He was glad that there was a back exit to the café, as it allowed him to get away from that green kid he was paired with. Zack had managed to escape to that hardware store with ease. Taking a hiding spot there, he waited until all the customers were out, including some bozo that wanted to mess with the light switch who had a Russian accent.
His excuse about him "taking a leak" was not really sturdy enough to allay the suspicions of a brown-noser like that Strife guy, but that was life, wasn't it? If everything went according to plan, he'd nail their suspect and his accomplices and drag their asses back to HQ before dinner.
Looking around, he saw that there was a desk at the very front of the building, and there were small offices all around the building. He walked down the hallway and saw what he was looking for- a staircase.
Going up, Zack looked for a door that would overlook his alley. Finding one, he inserted his lock picking wire into the keyhole. There was a soft click and the knob turned. He tiptoed into the office and shut the door without making any noise.
The office must have belonged to a guy with kids. On the desk was a sign- "ERNEST FROST- ACCOUNTANT" On the walls were various diplomas and some drawings hung up; they looked like small children drew them. Walking behind the desk, Zack noticed a lot of family pictures with a balding, middle-aged man in them, along with a fairly attractive blonde woman and two young kids- a boy and a girl, around the same age. There was a myriad of pictures: the family at the barbecue, at Shinra World, at a birthday party.
Taking it out of his mind, Zack concentrated on the task at hand. There was a fairly large window with a set of Venetian Blinds in front. Zack pulled the hanging cord downwards. The blinds slid upwards.
SSSCHIK. Zack peeked through the window, down on the men talking. They were oblivious to the fact that someone was watching them. It was the feeling that Zack lived for. Raindrops hammered the window, and Zack's vision was obscured.
Since he needed to listen in, he unlocked the window and opened it fractionally.
CREAK! The stiff, waterlogged window frame let out a noise that could have awoken a corpse. Zack was petrified with horror. Suddenly, there was a clamor in the alley below.
"What the hell was that?"
"I saw the window open!"
"There's a guy there!"
Zack hit the floor and prepared for the worst. Now he needed the snot-nosed rookie to help him. Everything was easier with someone else there…
The green-eyed man crossed the street and walked up to the squad car that was parked at the corner, by the Kalm Bakery. He had eaten there at lunchtime when he was scouting out the area for tonight. His plan appeared to be coming off without a hitch so far… now he would know if his associate was reliable.
He approached the car. So far, he could see nobody in there moving…
There was a bright red sunburst of blood on the driver's side window. Stepping up next to the car, he could see the slumped figure of a fat police officer lying unmoving in its seat. Looks like he dispatched one of them in the car… now where's the other cop?
He walked around to the other side of the police cruiser. Looking down the sidewalk, he saw a pile of…something. It was about 100 feet away.
Walking up to it, he realized it was the second police officer. He, too, was killed execution-style, with a hole in the back of his head. A dark, wet puddle was forming under the head and running down the sidewalk, spread by the rain. Opened boxes and chocolate doughnuts were scattered about.
The man crouched down and felt the officer's neck. It was still warm. That meant that he had been killed recently. His fingers moved to the open head wound and probed the outside a bit. He got some blood on his right index finger and slowly moved it into his mouth. His tongue licked the wet fingertip. He missed the taste of blood from time to time. The man stood up and viewed the corpse before him again.
He is competent, the man reflected. Just like last time when he showed off his driving skills…now there will be no more police interference.
The man was about to walk over to the alley where the `deal' was supposed to occur when a woman rounded the corner past the Kalm Bakery to see the gruesome sight.
"AAAAIEEEE!"
Cloud noticed the man observing the police car with a little too much interest, which piqued his curiosity beyond its limits… but then Strife saw him approach a dark heap on the ground and poke at it a bit.
How odd, thought Cloud. I wonder what that is…?
The man's back was turned to him. Cloud reached behind him and felt for the handcuffs. They were still there. They were there when he left Police HQ that afternoon. He liked to reassure himself of things… He felt for the revolver in the hip flask. Taking it out discreetly, he held it low, as not to draw suspicion. He pulled the hammer back.
With his other hand, Cloud Strife crossed himself and uttered a word of prayer. May God help him bag this bastard. He stepped out into the street.
From that first action, God was not entirely with him. A garbage truck headed for the Corel Landfill was on the road at the same time. It screamed down the road right in front of Cloud as he stepped out, missing him by about 6 inches. Water sprayed up onto him…a small price to pay for his life.
Cloud watched the tail lights fade into the darkness. Looking forward again, he saw the man stand up. His back was still turned. Strife ran towards the man, his hand gripping his revolver tightly.
Suddenly, when Cloud was in the middle of the road, a woman was walking out of the Kalm Bakery and was headed down the sidewalk when she stopped and screamed.
"AAAAIEEEE!"
Cloud froze in the middle of the street. The man suddenly ran towards the woman and drew a sword out of his coat. It was then that he realized it was too late. Time seemed to freeze at that instant as he looked towards the cop car to see that the driver's side window was red with blood.
Both the officers are dead, Cloud realized. He stood in the street. He didn't want to move…he felt sick. He wanted to lie down and die, right here in the road.
He watched the man run forwards with the sword out, cocking his arm out to the side. The woman was paralyzed with shock and terror. She did nothing but scream when the sword's blade slashed her throat wide open. Her body flailed a bit before it fell to the pavement. The man didn't need to follow through with his cut. It was clean and efficient.
Cloud suddenly realized what had occurred before his eyes. Without thinking, he ran up to the man with his revolver out. He would have made it to him if it wasn't for the speeding car that roared down the street in Cloud's direction.
The headlights shined on Strife as his head snapped to the side, suddenly aware of his present situation. However, there was nothing he could do to get out of the car's path.
HOOONK!
The man watched the woman fall, her throat spitting out blood. She hit the ground with a twitch and lied still. Lives such as hers were merely as valuable as those of insects. You could take them without feeling remorse or a feeling of having squandered someone's chances of living life to its fullest. He felt no feelings towards the still corpse on the wet sidewalk. Rain spattered the body, letting the blood from her throat run cleanly out onto the ground.
He was about to sheath his prized Masamune Blade when he heard footsteps behind him, making pat-pat-pat sounds in the rain. Turning around, he could see a young man run towards him with a .38 in hand. There was no way he would be able to live.
It was soon revealed that his work was cut out for him. A car suddenly screamed down the road, illuminating the person for a split-second before slamming into his right leg, the body hitting the windshield with a crunch. The brakes slid on the asphalt as the driver attempted to stop safely.
The man took this as a sign that the Gods were with him tonight. Sword in hand, he ran down the sidewalk towards the alley where his associate was to be waiting.
"I saw someone in the window!" shouted the hood wearing the Starter jacket. He pulled a mean-looking .44 magnum out of his back pocket. His friends pulled out weapons of their own. The scruffy one had a sawed-off shotgun strapped to his back, which he readied with ease. The cig chewer produced a .38, much like the ones that the police used in this town.
"Where did you acquire that?" asked the Russian, who had taken his Makarov out for the…fourth time tonight, he counted.
"I got this here gun off a copper I capped last week!" he proudly announced. He stepped back to get a better view of the window.
"I'm gonna get `im out…watch me!" said the scruffy man, who cocked his weapon and aimed it at the window.
The others had their weapons aimed and ready. Scruffy fired at the window. The sound was deafening in the narrow space.
Zack was about to peek out the window when the unmistakable noise of a shotgun blast was heard from below. The window completely shattered, blowing glass inwards. Shards rained down on the veteran police officer. He covered the back of his neck as the stinging needles shot down at him.
Sometimes I wish I had a gun…he pondered. His eyes opened and he looked around the room. Glass was everywhere. He looked for his sword. It was where he had left it, leaning against the desk, handle-up.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of a car honking its horn. At the time, he thought absolutely nothing of it. His hand gripped the handle of his sword, pulling it towards him across the floor.
Risking his life, he peeked over the window frame.
"There he is!" shouted the man with the Starter jacket. He tugged the trigger of the .44.
The bullet hit the concrete wall of the building and fragmented, creating a large hole. The other hoodlums opened fire on the window upon seeing Zack's head pop up.
Maybe I could grab the briefcase while they're shooting, thought the Russian, who moved towards the back of the group, eyes on the potential booty. I might not want to risk tempting Fate… he thought.
The men stopped firing. "Little bastard!! WHY WON'T YOU SHOW YOURSELF?" screamed Scruffy, who cocked the shotgun menacingly.
"Guys," said the Starter jacket man. "We've got ourselves a traitor."
The three men looked behind them at the diminutive Russian. "You set us up, didn't you?" asked the cigarette chewer. He pulled the hammer back. The Russian man could see the chamber rotate slowly. There were two visible bullets left. If Fate wasn't going to arrive soon, he'd undoubtedly be dead.
Starter sneered. "You lied to us…there's a high price to pay for that." He aimed the .44 at the Russian's forehead.
"Look…look…we have…a-a-a new ship-shipment coming in tomorrow…" All the Russian could do was buy time. He was sweating like he was in the middle of the desert in summer. He still had the Makarov in his hand, which Scruffy noticed.
"Put `er down, Russkie." He motioned to drop the pistol.
"I'll blow your head off and mail your body back to Mother Russia. How'd you like that? That's what liars get. Now I can't sell my shit to the sports fans. That makes me pretty damned mad, son. When I'm mad, NOBODY MESSES WITH…" said Starter before the figure of a man entered the alley.
The Russian grinned. Fate was here.
SCREEECH! Cloud's back was forcefully smashed into the car's windshield. His body burned in agonizing pain. All he could do was keep his eyes closed as the car came to an abrupt halt. Carried forward by the momentum, he rolled off the hood of the car and fell onto the asphalt.
He landed face-first, apparently so his entire body could feel the pain. Still trying to recover from the shock of what happened, he laid on the street for a moment.
A car door opened. "Look what you did! Why did you step out in front of me like that?" Cloud felt a hand grab him by his shirt collar and lift his head up. The offended man was strong, all right…
Cloud's back ached now, but didn't hurt all that much. A mean-looking face appeared in front of his, only about 6 inches away. "You just fucked up the windshield, man! Look at you! You're not even cut anywhere!" Spittle flew in front of Cloud's face, and the man's breath smelled of beer and potato chips.
His hand, limp by his side, was still grasping the service revolver. "Let go of me…" he grunted. His used his left hand to push himself up, while his right hand shoved the .38 in front of the man's face.
"Where the fuck did you get a heater? You crazy, man?"
Cloud managed to stand up, and the owner of the car stood up with him. He was about as tall as Cloud was, but he was more muscular. Despite this, Cloud held his ground. "I'm Cloud Strife, member of the Midgar Police Department. I can place you under arrest if I so feel like it. Got it, punk?"
The car's motor was still idling, and the lights illuminated the two men. Rain clung to the angry man's long, brown, ratty hair and dripped on his shirt. "Show me your badge. For all I know, you could be some…gangster…" he muttered.
The flurry of gunfire coming from the alley could not have accented the situation better. "Shit! Must be some hillbillies having another fight again." He said, looking at the alley. With every gunshot, the walls lit up for a split second.
Zack…I know you're there. I'm not a rookie, I'll show you. Cloud dashed off towards the alley, revolver at the ready.
"Shit…" groaned the once-irate man as he looked at his car. The windshield was totally shattered- it'd cost at least $500 at any decent body shop. That asshole just HAD to run out in front of him like that…
"Well…it looks like our Russian fellow's got `imself a friend." Said Scruffy, pointing the shotgun at the unknown man's chest.
The man took off the sunglasses that obscured his features. His eyes were bright green- almost glowing. Taking down his hood, a mop of radiantly silver hair was exposed. "Look into my eyes," he spoke, also with a heavy Russian accent, "They will be the last things you see."
"And my eyes will be the last YOU see!" shouted a voice from above. The five men swung their glances up to the shattered window. It was the purple guy that was eavesdropping on them!
"What?" stammered the cig chewer in utter surprise. The soggy filter wrapped in paper fell from his mouth. "You've got a serious-ass death wish, my friend." He aimed his .38 at Zack, whose face was clearly visible in the window frame.
Suddenly he felt something cold and hard press against the back of his head. The Russian wearing glasses had the silenced pistol trained on him. "I'd advise against that, you pathetic dishrag. Drop your gun." The cig chewer did as he was told and held his hands up in the air.
"It's `dirtbag', not `dishrag'." Sighed the green-eyed Russian, who had taught his associate English. His hand moved under his coat for his sword.
Scruffy looked back at him, keeping his aim steady. "Don't get anything out or else I'll send you back to Allah or whatever the hell you believe in up there."
Starter Jacket switched his views back and forth between the second Russian and the purple snitch. "Get the hell down if you want to see your friends with their heads on!"
Zack had a nice laugh at that. "Friends? Not really…" he had his sword hidden from view under the windowsill. My Buster Sword will be wet tonight. With blood.
"What the hell?" said Starter Jacket. "Who is he?" he asked the Russian with the glasses and ponytail. His .44 pointed at the man he was inquiring.
There were no guns pointed in Zack's direction. Now was his chance. Breathing in deeply, he leapt through the window, Buster Sword in hand. He landed behind Starter Jacket, who was about to ask the Russian his question again.
"Hello." He said, causing Starter Jacket to turn around and stare.
Scruffy's gaze shifted also. NOW! The Russian screamed to himself. He opened the fold of his coat and produced his curved katana. The hoodlum's back was turned. A shame that a man that thinks so highly of his power could expose himself so stupidly!
The hood did not see the sword swing towards his exposed right arm. The blade hacked through skin, muscle and sinew, shooting out a brilliant spray of blood.
Time seemed to go in slow motion. Scruffy's head snapped to the side to stare at the fresh wound in his arm. His finger squeezed the trigger out of sheer reflex, the massive muzzle blast lighting up the alley but hitting nothing but air. The recoil flung the weapon out of his hand as he opened his mouth to scream.
Following through, the green-eyed Russian back slashed. This time the blade sliced across Scruffy's unarmored chest, exposing the ribcage. The hoodlum let out a guttural scream of death as he fell to his knees and then to the soaked pavement.
Starter Jacket watched his friend fall to the ground dead. First there was the guy turning up behind him, and then the Russian staring at him. With anticipation, it seemed… Fuck it. He thought. Fuck it. With that one thought remaining in his head, he aimed the .44 at Scruffy's killer.
The bespectacled Russian stared in horror at Scruffy's death. He had never seen someone die that way before. He had yet to get used to his employer's method of dispatching people. He preferred a shot to the back of the head, and that was what he would do now to this hostage.
Suddenly, Starter Jacket muttered something incomprehensible and pulled the trigger back twice in a row.
BLAM! The first bullet impact took the green-eyed man by surprise. The .44 caliber bullet exploded into his left shoulder, tearing away the skin and shattering the clavicle. In a burst of gore, the Russian fell.
BLAM! The second shot went past his head, missing only by a few inches.
The other hoodlum saw this as a means to escape. He elbowed his captor in the stomach and knelt to pick up his .38.
The Russian with the ponytail doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"Let's get the hell outta here! It's a fucking setup!" screamed the cig-chewer who didn't have a cigarette left to chew.
Zack watched his suspect go down. In his mind, it was all over at that moment. The hoodlum had helped him capture the drug kingpin. "Not so fast there…" he said in response to the cig chewer's statement. He started to approach the writhing body of his suspect. The man's hand was over the wound as if he was trying to take the bullet out…
Zack kneeled down and didn't let his voice rise above a whisper. "So, Mikhail Sephiroski… I finally catch up to you…after all these years…you're the reason why I stayed on the police force…looking day and night for you."
The suspect groaned. They thought he was captured. He wouldn't let himself off that easily, for he was much better than that…THERE! His fingers tightened around the bullet that lodged itself in his shoulder- really deeply. With one tug, he wrenched it out.
"It'll be the last day you set eyes on me, you slime." He growled.
Zack saw him take out the bullet with a mixture of shock and disgust. He knew everything about this man- he was a top-ranking Spetsnaz trooper, he trained with the best of the best of the Red Army. Zack bet that he was trained to resist extreme pain like Sephiroski was inflicting on himself.
Starter Jacket came up and watched with Zack. "Shit! That's gross!"
Sephiroski had their attention. Now was the ideal time to strike. In one swift movement, he picked up the sword from the ground and swung at the nearest opponent- the man wearing the jacket.
The blade cut through the air, but didn't hit anything. Starter Jacket still had one hand on the .44 and one on the briefcase with 10,000 big ones in it… That can be easily remedied! Thought the Russian.
It was then that Cloud Strife showed up in front of the alley. He could see one man dead, and the others in utter confusion. Zack stared him right in the eye with a look that Cloud would never forget. The glance seemed to be telling him everything that his partner was thinking… You bastard. You wanna get yourself killed, don't you? This is a great way to do it…
The Russian stood up, brandishing his sword. "Don't come near! Everyone, drop your weapons!" Then his green eyes looked at Cloud. They seemed to light up, like he was glad Cloud was there.
"Hello! I remember you from the restaurant down the street. So you're a cop, too… go figure. Why don't you honor my request like your friend Zack is doing?"
The other men there were oblivious to Cloud's presence. Zack tossed his sword on the ground, and Starter Jacket did the same, albeit reluctantly, with his .44. Cloud stayed where he was and threw down his weapon. His eyes were on Scruffy's shotgun, which was about 20 feet away…
"Good…now hand over the money and I'll be leaving you." Said Sephiroski.
The only person that didn't drop his weapon was the cigarette chewer. He watched with anxiety as Sephiroski's assistant struggled to get back up. He did not see the silenced pistol on the ground by the Russian's feet.
"Good… Now hand over the money and I'll be leaving you." He heard from the Russian. That Russkie prick's not gonna get any of OUR cash!! His thoughts screamed.
Running beside Starter Jacket, he cocked the .38. "Don't even think about it!" he announced. "That money's ours!" He jabbed with the pistol. "Go the hell away."
All the while, Zack had been "talking" to Cloud. He gestured to the shotgun on the ground with a jerk of his head. Cloud nodded as if he had been thinking it all along. Zack's lips mouthed, "When the suspect turns his back, grab the gun."
Cloud mouthed back, "I'll do that."
Sephiroski stared the cig chewer in the eye. "Why should I go away when that money belongs to me?" He moved the point of his sword closer to him.
"I'll shoot!" he said. His voice showed signs of desperation.
"Go ahead. I've been shot once tonight, why not a second time?" said the Russian, with an air of arrogance and sarcasm. To punctuate this, he glared at his bullet wound. "This hasn't been the most relaxing night of my life…"
Sephiroski's associate gained his wind and stood up, retrieving the Makarov from the ground. He was infuriated that he let his guard down so easily. He could see the men in front of his employer, and the cigarette-chewing man among them…who had a gun trained on Sephiroski! Nobody ever had the balls to do that to him…
He strode confidently behind the cigarette chewer and pressed the barrel of the pistol to the back of his head. Nobody noticed him. "You shoot Sephiroski, I shoot you." He whispered to his victim.
The trigger was pulled. The cigarette chewer's right eye was blown out along with a large chunk of his forehead. Blood and brains showered onto Sephiroski's face as the body simply fell over at his feet.
"…Thank you, Hojovko. You have proved your worth once again." He wiped gore off his otherwise flawless-looking face. There was movement in the corner of his eye. Whirling to the left, he saw Zack make a move for his sword.
"Infidel!" screamed the Russian, swinging his blade at Zack, who was barely able to parry the blow. The two swords clashed.
Starter Jacket was terrified. In his vain attempt to escape with his cash, he shoved himself against Hojovko and hit his head with the .44. The steel barrel slammed against the Russian man's skull, creating a deep gash in his scalp.
Hojovko reeled and clutched his wound. "BASTARD!" he screamed.
Starter Jacket ran past Hojovko and down the alley.
Seeing this, Cloud ran up to the shotgun and tossed in the air in one fell swoop. Catching it, he aimed at Sephiroski's back. He saw a move like that done in a Clint Eastwood movie before, and this was the first time his skill had come in handy. His foe was clashing with Zack, his back still turned.
I think I'll pay him back for the police officers. Cloud decided on his own. For revenge, and nothing else, he pulled the trigger.
CLICK. There were no more shells left in the chamber. Cloud wished he were dead at that moment.
Hearing the sound, Sephiroski turned around for a split second and swiped his sword. The blade cut through the metal barrel as if it were butter. It came undone and fell in two pieces on the ground. The Russian whirled around to viciously parry a thrust from Zack and follow through with a solid haymaker to the side of his head with his other hand, knocking him down.
"Excuse me, but I need to get my payment for the week…" he said, running in pursuit of Starter Jacket. "Hojovko, get the sedan! Meet me at the café!"
His associate ran past Cloud and Zack, who was picking himself up off the ground. "Good day." He said, running out of sight before Zack could pursue him.
"Shit. What do we do now?" said Zack.
Cloud was still staring dumbfounded at the two pieces of his shotgun.
"You know, you weren't supposed to use that as a weapon."
"Uh-huh…"
"Look, I bet they're bluffing about the café, but we'll have to call it for now. Hang tight over here until you see either of them. I trust you'll be capable enough to handle something like that. When you catch sight of either of them, radio in. I'm chasing after our suspect…"
"Mikhail Sephiroski?" said Cloud, dropping the two halves of his shotgun. He looked at Zack with a mixture of anger and confusion etched into his face. "C'mon. I know that you've been following him for a while, I know that he sells narcotics to sixth graders, I know that he's a cold-blooded killer… but WHY did you lie about him?"
Zack looked downwards at the gore-stained pavement where the remains of the cigarette-chewing man lay. "You're green, and I know you accepted this mission to gain respect in the police department. I didn't think you should have been given all the information I knew. I intended to keep you out of my way throughout the duration of our little outing here."
"That's why you tried to ditch me at the café, right?"
"Yeah, that's it. I guess I was wrong to underestimate you so soon, but you're still in my way. Try to help with catching the guy in the sedan…I'll see if I can find Sephiroski before he's got his grubby hands on the drug money." Zack tossed Cloud his portable radio. "Get in touch with HQ and tell `em what's gone on here. If we're lucky, this'll all turn out okay…the mission isn't entirely down the shitter yet."
"Gotcha. I'll wait here. How do I tell you if I've found something?"
"I'll go with my intuition as a cop. See ya, kid." Zack dashed down the alley in the direction that the Russian had fled.
"Intuition…?" uttered Cloud. Walking out of the alley, he picked up his discarded service revolver and twirled it on his index finger, just like his buddy Clint Eastwood. He depressed the button on the side of the portable radio communicator, roughly the size of a brick. He spoke into it. "HQ, this is Strife, come in."
The radio crackled back seconds later with the voice of Sergeant Cid Highwind. "Roger, this is HQ. What's your status?"
Cloud held down the button again. "I've got some bad news to report, sir…you may need to sit down."
"Cut the crap," Cid responded. "What happened down there?"
"Well, sir…both the officers from the Kalm police force were eliminated…" At that time, Cloud was walking down the sidewalk to examine the bodies.
"WHAT!? That can't be! They sent two of their best officers out there!"
Cloud reached the police cruiser. The right-hand window was still open, and an empty shell casing was left on the pavement nearby. He looked inside. "The first officer's taken a bullet in between the eyes, his brains are all over the goddamned window."
"Shit…" breathed Cid. "We're relaying this to the Kalm police right now."
Cloud walked towards the heap near the trash can. "We've got officer #2 here on the sidewalk, he's also taken a slug in the head. Doughnuts are everywhere… looks like they were heavy eaters, judging by their bulk. Kalm must have a shitty P.D., if these are their `best officers'…"
Cid groaned. "Kalm P.D. has been informed of this. They're saying that they're sending more officers your way on foot. What of your suspect?"
"The narcotics dealer? Oh, he killed a civilian and a couple hoods with the help of his associate."
"Associate? That must be his getaway driver from the last time we tried to nab this fuck. Get a description?"
"Yeah, he's got glasses, he's about my height, got a nice long ponytail, pretty skinny. He was probably a KGB dweeb back in the day. He carried around a pistol with a big ol' silencer on it, probably not the crap silencers that the Russkies use. Those are basically soda cans filled with steel wool."
"Uh huh. I'll do a search on him later. What was this about the hoods?"
"The people he set up the deal with…apparently, our man wasn't gonna give `em any goods, but he just wanted the money."
"They had no goods."
Cloud leaned against the wall. He was tired of standing. "What was that? I didn't quite catch what you just said…"
"They had no goods, Strife. Our intelligence intercepted a phone call from Seph to his associate. Knowing that they had no goods on them, we put the hoods there."
Cloud was startled by this. "Did you bribe them off the street?"
"No. They're Kalm police officers. We didn't tell them that they had help on this mission, though. They're under the impression that we've got choppers waiting for them if they feel the need to abort their mission. Little do they know that they're just expendable foot soldiers…"
Strife tried to resist throwing the radio on the ground and resigning from the police force for good. "Something tells me that everyone's hiding something from me."
"Shut up. Nobody's hiding anything from you. I just told you about the hoods. Where's Zack?"
"He's chasing Sephiroski right now. The `cop' with the cash on him ran away from us, and the Russkie wants his money from him."
"I see you figured out his name."
"Yeah, no thanks to you. See if I ever trust you again to intelligence." Cloud was antagonized by all these cover-ups and lies…he needed a smoke. Digging the joint out of his front pocket, he struck a match on the wall and lit up. He didn't get a high off the initial puff, but that was not his intention. Marijuana calmed him down, and that's what he wanted to do right now. "If I survive tonight, will you give me a raise?"
"Sure, kid. Whatever you say. Highwind out."
Cloud walked over to the police cruiser and tossed the radio on the passenger's seat. That way, he'd be sure to find it again. A rogue drop of water hit the hit end of Cloud's joint and fizzled it out. "Damn." He tossed it in the gutter and let the water wash it away into the storm drain.
There was still no sign of anyone. The boredom had begun to set in again.
Starter Jacket emerged from the other end of the alley. Why did I decide to work for the bastards at Midgar? I knew they'd set me up like this. If I tell the Russian prick the truth, he'll kill me just like he did officers Renaldo and Gradsky…I guess it'd be smart not to tell him that the money's fake, too.
He knew Kalm like the back of his hand, having grown up there. His real name was Greg Doan, even though people called him "Dr. Doan" for short, after the medicine.
Doan looked down the street. On the other side, facing him, was a large apartment complex. He sprinted as fast as he could, still holding the Desert Eagle and the briefcase. Another disadvantage he had was the fact that the briefcase containing the fake money was attached to his hand via handcuffs. The key was in the back pocket of his trousers, making it next to impossible to retrieve them.
Reaching the other side of the road, he saw a means to evade his pursuer. There was a fire escape ladder on the side of the building. Taking a look backward, he saw the Russian man run across the street. He almost seemed to glide, as if he was not human-
"I SEE YOU!" he screamed. Sephiroski had his sword out again, still crimson with Renaldo's blood on it. "Your blood will be on the blade, too!"
Doan aimed with his right hand at his foe. "Yours will be over the street!" He squeezed the trigger again. He didn't care to see if he hit anything, as he pulled himself up the ladder with his other hand. Once he reached the top, he kicked off the lower portion of the folding ladder and watched with some degree of satisfaction when it clattered to the ground. Standing up on the lower landing, he saw the Russian run up to the corner.
"I see you're a resourceful person." He said, eyeing the portion of the ladder, which lay at his feet. "As am I…"
Greg took no heed of his statement and fired again.
Much to his surprise, the Russian picked up the ladder and swung it, seeing sparks fly as the .44 caliber bullet was deflected like a baseball. Knowing that time was of the essence, Doan leaped, grabbed the next ladder and worked his way up.
"Admire my resourcefulness!" exclaimed Sephiroski with a huge grin. He chunked his crude weapon at Doan, who was still on the second ladder. The metal hit him square in the chest.
"GAAGH!" he grunted. His left hand still grasped the ladder rung while his right hand flailed out. The Desert Eagle flew from his grasp. Doan watched in horror as his only weapon bounced off a railing and fell to Sephiroski's feet. He managed to continue up to the second landing as the Russian laughed.
"I have no use for guns," he said. "I prefer my sword over anything else." He drew his katana again and swiped it across the ground, knocking the .44 into the street. "You are quite an entertainer." He said. "I'll let you continue to try to get away… just keep in mind that it's all fruitless…"
Doan grunted, telling himself that Sephiroski was using scare tactics to get him to break his concentration. You're not gonna pull one over Dr. Doan, his mind reassured him. For some reason, it made things better. With some effort, he managed to pull himself up to the third landing. He glanced down. Sephiroski was 30 feet below him, he still wore a sadistic grin. Looking up, he noticed that there was one more flight to go before he was at the roof, ready to signal the Midgar police choppers he was told would be waiting for him if everything went to hell.
"Had enough yet?" said the accented voice from below.
"How do you intend on catching up to me?" replied Doan without really giving the matter much thought. "How is it `fruitless'?"
"If you insist…" said the Russian. He bent his legs, kneeling low to the ground. "You'll need a running start, my friend." He said.
This guy's a fucking nutjob…carrying around a sword like it's normal to have one around like that out in the open…Jesus H. Christ. Now he thinks he can jump up here. What an idiot. "C'mon, let's see you jump!" he taunted, leaning on the ladder on the second landing.
Sephiroski breathed in. It's time to show this infidel what I am capable of. Like a spring, he shot vertically into the air, past Greg, who stared in total awe, and grabbed onto the railing of the fourth landing. Pulling himself over, he grinned at Doan, who stood slack-jawed.
"How the hell…"
Sephiroski dropped down beside Doan. "Well, now…quite a predicament you're in, wouldn't you say? He still held onto his Masamune Blade. "I'm debating with myself what to do with you right now…disemboweling, or something more sanitary? If you wish to save yourself the trouble, hand over my money and I'll spare you…unless you put me in a bad mood. Have you ever seen me less enthusiastic?"
Doan backed up to the railing. "I-I-I…can't hand it over…it's-it's…"
The Russian grinned even more. "What's that? Spit it out, or I'll force it out of you." To accent this, he moved the blade's tip closer to Greg's throat.
A loud thunderclap sounded, followed by a blinding flash of lightning moments later. The rain intensified and the wind started howling like a feral wolf. Sephiroski's hair waved around, raindrops seeming to emanate from it.
"I'm a cop! This deal was all faked! It was a setup by the Midgar Police!" stammered Doan, hoping to live through tonight, unlike most of his friends.
"I couldn't care less. Hand over your briefcase." His hand was extended towards the suitcase's handle. "…Or I'll amputate your hand and get it that way."
Greg let loose of the briefcase. It fell, only to be caught by the handcuffs that bound it to his hand. "Sorry, pal. You'll have to pass this up."
Sephiroski shot Doan with a baleful stare. "What was the point of attaching a briefcase to your wrist?"
"I told you, it was a setup by the Midgar Police! They never expected me to pay for your drugs. It's all a game to them, and we're the pawns! Can't you see!?"
Sephiroski was taken aback by this. "What kind of fool do you take me for?"
Another thunderclap.
"It's the truth! You can have this money, I think it's just government tax dollars. Too bad the possession of government property is a federal offense."
"Everything I do is a federal offense here." He took the briefcase that was attached to Doan's arm in his hand. Suddenly, he placed the flat of the sword's blade on Doan's chest and shoved him boldly back over the railing.
"AAGH!" Greg started to fall, but was held up only by the handcuffs attached to the briefcase. "Don't hurt me! Put me back down! Please!! I beg of you!"
Sephiroski extended his arm to its full length, letting Doan hang over the sidewalk. He showed incredible strength on a wounded arm. Taking his Masamune in hand, he pivoted his arm. "Sorry I can't make this any less painful, but I need to eat and stuff…" he smirked at that.
"NO!" Doan flailed about, waving his other arm, trying to take out the key that would undo the handcuffs. "I'm sorry I shot you, really!"
"Oh, I happen to be enjoying the pain. As for you, you won't have much time to enjoy it, my friend…" He pulled the sword all the way back, ready to strike. "Any last words before I get away with this?"
A new voice from below sounded. "Stop! Put him down!" It was Zack. "I could hear you two carrying on over here. Made it really easy to track you down."
"The guy's a madman, I tell you! PUT ME DOWN!" screamed Doan. Those were to be his last spoken words.
"To tell you the truth, Zack…I was hoping you'd arrive. You have such perfect timing when it comes to important things such as this…" His blade sliced the air faster than light, it seemed. It cut through Doan's wrist like it was paper. At that same instant, there was an excruciatingly loud clap of thunder. The hand was cleanly severed from the arm, and nothing was left to restrain Greg from falling.
He hadn't felt the cut, and as he started to fall, Doan stared at the bleeding stump where his hand was. He was in disbelief, utter denial. But he knew that the ground was rapidly approaching from below. That was not a dream. The lightning searing across the sky at that moment was not fabricated by his imagination. Greg managed to choke out a gurgle before he hit the sidewalk back first.
With a crunch, Zack saw the last `hoodlum' die. His spine was broken. Nothing could be done; he was dead.
"You bastard! That wasn't your enemy! He's a cop!" screamed Zack in utter rage.
"Correction: he WAS a cop. Don't sweat telling me the whole story. The weakling spilled his guts before I put him down…just as you said. That was exactly what both of you wanted me to do." Sephiroski said from three stories up.
"You asshole. That's not what we meant…" said Zack. "I swear to you this is the last time we meet face to face! I'm going to end this once and for all, Mishka."
Sephiroski's features turned to shock. Only his comrades at the Spetznaz Academy called him Mishka in his youth. "How did you know that?"
"I know everything down to your dick size." Said Zack with a chuckle. "I'm sure that's what most Russian men are proud of."
"That's so crass of you to say that. One with an intellect like yours would never stoop that low to insult another man."
"I always wanted to see how you'd take that." Said Zack, making his way to the fire escape ladder. "I'm coming up, Mishka!"
Sephiroski eyed his briefcase and noticed that the cut from his sword was so clean that Doan's hand managed to stay in the handcuffs. Disgusted, he took the hand and threw it down at Zack. "Catch!" he said, leaping up to the fourth landing.
How the hell does he jump so goddamned high!? Wondered Zack as he scaled the ladder to the second landing. "I'm gaining!" he said, hoping to discourage his opponent.
"Your words are hollow, Zack. I could never imagine how you managed to pull off enough trickery and subterfuge for the Midgar police to get you here today."
"Touching words, Mishka. You're really reaching." Zack ran up the third set of stairs. Sephiroski stared from above.
"Sarcasm is a haven for the weak-minded, Zack."
Zack landed on the fourth landing. "You must be cracking out those old philosophy books again, like you did in Siberia in 1965. Your buddies called you `Miska the philosopher', spouting off fortune cookie riddles like a faucet spouts water. You gave out their fortunes before putting a slug in each of their heads!"
"It was the only way to relieve our boredom guarding the Muslims in the work camps, fool. If you were there, you might have identified with me."
"I can't identify with someone who killed 39 people in one day!" screamed Zack. "You were the executioner. You and your friends were bored, so you took it out on some Muslims."
"They deserved it, in my opinion."
"You're not just a druggie, you're a murderer! You're considered a war criminal!" Zack scaled the last ladder to end up on the gravel-floored roof. Sephiroski was there, waiting with the Masamune out, leaning on it like a cane.
"Your self-righteousness gets on my nerves sometimes." He tossed his sword up in the air like a baton and caught it by its handle. "I still remember taking every one of their lives that glorious day… the looks on their faces when I pulled the trigger, their fortunes would be coming true in the afterlife; if one even exists."
"Yeah, well one of us is about to find out if there is one." Zack pulled his massive sword out and held it in front of him, in a fighter's stance. "I've waited so long for this day to arrive…"
"As have I." Said Sephiroski, drawing some confusion out of Zack. "Do you know me?"
"I addressed you by your first name in the alley back there. How soon they do forget!" he laughed. "I've been noticing your interest in me from the moment you messed up the Rocket Town deal…"
Zack was dumbfounded. "How did you know I coordinated it?"
Sephiroski grinned again. "I've got friends in very high places at Shinra- the same company who funds the Midgar Police, who, in turn, provide support for neighboring towns and cities with small police forces. Dear me, I know more about your corrupt system than you do!"
"So you hired some shmoes to pull strings for you, right?"
"I wouldn't call them `shmoes' if I were you, and I knew who they were…" "And who would they be?" growled Zack, his grip tightening on the handle of his sword. I might be able to strike and catch him off-guard. He planned.
Sephiroski sensed a movement in Zack's arms, like he was tightening his grip. Over the years, and through his experience, he knew that that meant the opponent was planning on striking soon. Assuming a fighting stance, he said, "Young man, I've told you far too much…But that's alright, since you'll be dead soon." He laughed haughtily.
Zack narrowed his eyes, staring at his opponent. Their fight would be a hard-fought one. "Come and get it, Mishka!" he screamed, charging headlong at Sephiroski.
Cloud was bored stiff. 10 minutes without any sign of anyone, aside from cars that blissfully whisked by, unaware of the carnage that took place there.
Damn. I wish something would happen…he thought, twirling his .38. He sat inside the police cruiser, in the passenger's seat, with only Trevor Gardoli's body there to keep him company. "Getting kinda lonely, eh?" he asked the corpse. "What's it like in the afterlife? I hope you're eating your share of doughnuts."
Trevor's glassy eyes stared off into space.
"Yeah, I know…it sounds pretty hard. Don't worry, I think you'll be seeing some of your pals up there real soon." Cloud took special interest in maintaining conversation with a dead body.
Another car whisked by. Not him.
Cloud knew that he was looking for a black car. Nothing more. He could usually spot a car's color within 100 yards, as his eyes were still keen.
"This is boring…just like that stakeout."
Trevor seemed to agree.
"I assume you always find something to entertain yourselves. I'm no good. I haven't started to get into police work. The last time I saw action was the time that I shut down the brothel in Wall Market. Some bastard named Corneo running the place. I slapped some cuffs on him and led his merry ass into my police car."
Trevor continued to stare into space.
"Pretty amazing, eh? For me, anyway. I don't know about you, but that was the highlight of my career…so far. Now we'll never know what secrets you held. Maybe that's for the better. I guess I'm a little disenchanted with the police department right now, hearing that Cid was setting up a fake deal with Sephiroski…"
There was another pair of glistening headlights in the rearview mirror. Cloud looked into it-
YES! The car was black, and he could make out the outline of a head through the windshield. Images were somewhat unintelligible through the rain, but he could make out that the driver had a ponytail…and glasses. Cloud had his man.
Having planned this out long ago, he reached across the officer's remains and opened the door. Putting his back to the other door, he placed both feet against Gardoli and pushed with all his might.
The body rolled out of the car and into the street. Smiling, Cloud watched the results unfold.
Hojovko only had a split-second to react to a body rolling in front of his car. "No!" he screamed, slamming the brakes. The car screeched to a halt to avoid plowing over the body. Hojovko looked over the dashboard. The body was unmoving, illuminated in his headlights. Plainly seen was a bullet hole in his forehead-
"GET OUT OF THE CAR, NOW!!" yelled Cloud, running into the street, his .38 pointed at the windshield. "THIS MEANS YOU!"
It's the cop! Thought Hojovko. I'll teach him not to interfere with our plans! He stomped on the accelerator.
Cloud saw the back wheels spin on the pavement as the car lurched forward, with him in its path. With a grunt, he flung himself onto the hood of the car, grabbing the windshield wiper with his left hand.
The driver's face had an expression of utter disbelief. A grin suddenly spread across the face.
Uh-oh. Cloud cringed.
Hojovko swung the wheel to the left as the car swerved into the other lane. Cloud glanced backwards. There were no oncoming cars…yet. Cloud's feet dug into the grille, preventing him from moving around too much. With his left hand, he pointed the .38 at the windshield.
The driver had not anticipated this. In a sudden move, he swerved back into the right-hand lane. Cloud skittered across the hood of the car, being careful not to lose his grip. He took aim at the driver's face and fired the revolver.
Hojovko ducked under the dashboard as he saw Cloud aim. Just in time, too. The bullet ripped into the headrest where his head had been seconds earlier, sending up a puff of foam and cloth.
Cloud fired two more shots, even though Hojovko had ducked out of sight. The windshield shattered, blowing glass fragments into the car.
"Agh!" screamed Hojovko, using one hand to steer and the other to shield himself from the glass. If he hadn't been wearing his glasses, he'd be dead. A large fragment fell and hit the right lens, cracking it. In his desperation to rid himself of the attacker, Hojovko pulled the parking brake.
Cloud had a feeling in his gut that he should let go of the wiper and fall to the street. Acting on this, he opened his left hand and tumbled onto the street not a moment too soon. The car's rear end kicked out and led the car into a massive tailspin. The sedan caromed across the wet street into the left lane.
This must be the "intuition" that Zack spoke of... Cloud realized.
In its path was a parallel-parked dairy truck. Hojovko peeked up from under the dash to discover this.
His mouth opened to utter a curse when the back of the sedan crunched up against the side of the truck. Hojovko's head was snapped to the side against the window, cracking it into a spider web pattern. Knocked unconscious, he fell, slumped over the wheel. His nose hit the horn.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
Cloud stood up and covered his ears. His suspect was probably unconscious., leaning on the horn. He began walking over to the demolished car. Unfortunately, the gas tank was punctured in the crash and was leaking out gasoline onto the sidewalk.
Two headlights appeared from down the road and were coming in fast. Could it be police support from Midgar? Cloud wondered.
Hojovko picked up his head. How long was he unconscious? He looked at the young rookie who had apprehended him. It was all his fault. If it hadn't been for him, he wouldn't be in this mess right now. Sniffing, he could smell gasoline. Ah, it's probably nothing. He thought.
Undoing his seatbelt, he checked to see if any bones were broken. None. That was good. Suddenly, he heard sirens from down the road.
Shit! How did they get here so quickly? The police are NEVER this fast! He opened the door. It was to be his last mistake tonight.
The police car roaring down the street was meant to identify the dead officers in the police cruiser down the block. The driver didn't notice Hojovko's car or Cloud, who jumped as the car rode unabated down the road…until it rendezvoused with the car door.
A lone spark created from the meeting of metal and metal. The door flew off its hinges as the spark met with the giant puddle of gasoline, which ignited and sent a sheet of flame towards the gas tank-
Cloud ducked behind another car as the police car de-doored Hojovko's sedan. With a loud BOOM echoing across the neighborhood, Hojovko's car, the dairy truck which was also packed with gasoline, and the police car went up in a massive orange fireball. The police cruiser was flung up in the air like a child's toy, onto the other side of the road.
The dairy truck flew to the side, impacting against the side of an apartment building. A few people ran outside to see what was going on. Hojovko's car was immediately vaporized, presumably with him inside.
I guess it's all for the better. Thought Cloud.
The rain still came down, though. It was as if nature was ignoring what was going on around them…
A lightning bolt lit up the town bright as day. On top of a distant building, Cloud could see two men on top…one wore purple and the other wore a black raincoat.
The mission isn't over yet… Cloud ran off towards the building.
A massive clap of thunder sounded, shaking the roof under Zack's feet as he lunged at Sephiroski. His sword almost met its mark, but was deflected with a parry from his foe.
"Work harder than that!" jeered Sephiroski, spinning and slashing at Zack.
Zack raised the huge sword just in time to block the blow. "I'm just as good as you are at this!" he countered verbally. He countered physically with another slash from the Buster Sword aimed at his opponent's legs.
The Russian jumped over it effortlessly and landed to Zack's left. "Getting tired?"
Zack swiped the sword at Sephiroski. With satisfaction, he felt the blade scrape against bone. There was a gash in the Russian's left arm.
"I guess I won't be needing this." He said, throwing down the briefcase. It was as if he didn't care he was feeling pain. Zack wished he could have that ability…
Sephiroski lunged again, the Masamune Blade clashing with the Buster Sword for a second time. He was getting slightly tired from this constant exertion. He didn't want to prolong their duel any further, but that was a task that proved very difficult to achieve.
He walked backwards, parrying Zack's furious blows. He had lost the use of his left arm completely due to the bullet wound and the bone-deep cut. Sephiroski had an idea. "You're getting tired, I can tell!" he said, to demoralize his opponent.
"Not yet!" said Zack, thrusting at Sephiroski's chest.
"Gah!" shouted the Russian as he dodged the thrust and countered with a slash to Zack's arm.
This time, Zack felt pain. The blade cut across the right forearm. The cut wasn't bone-deep, but he felt the open artery start to fountain blood. Dropping his sword, he covered the wound with his left hand. The sword bounced off the gravel roof and plummeted down to earth. Its final resting place was in the sidewalk, the point buried deep in the ground.
"You…win…" he gasped out.
Sephiroski stepped up to his vanquished foe, a wide grin on his face. "I am the victor, once more. Take your place in Hell, dear Zack!"
Zack stared up at the demon before him…the man who would take his life away in an instant. God, let it be short. He pleaded silently.
The Russian squealed with delight as he brought the sword down, plunging it into Zack's chest. The police officer's face contorted as the blade went through his torso, point sticking out the back.
"I have business elsewhere." Said Sephiroski, suddenly serious. "Goodbye. You were a worthwhile opponent."
He wrenched out the blade, watching Zack's body crumple to the rooftop. Sephiroski didn't need to see any more corpses tonight. He kicked the body over.
Cloud kneeled to the pavement, tears filling his eyes. He had hurried over here to see the end of their duel…Zack was the clear loser. Cloud watched his body fall to the sidewalk, beside the sword.
He walked up to the body, watching his blood flow at a steady pace into the gutter, mixing with the ever-flowing water into the storm drain.
Switching his gaze to the sword, he picked it out of the pavement. It was lighter than he thought it would be. Holding it in both hands, it felt like it was meant for him.
All at once, he knew what his duty was to be. Goodbye, Zack. You were a good friend, a mentor, and a complete asshole. I will avenge your death using any means possible. Sephiroski will pay dearly. I'll run him through like he did to you.
Cloud heard the distant police sirens. He knew it was time to start his new life, his new career…After Sephiroski. Zack seemed to agree from his slumped state on the sidewalk. Such an undignified death… Cloud wanted to talk to him one last time, but he had enough talking to corpses for one night.
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