This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events.
Enjoy...
: : The Past RE-Concluded : :
February 8th, the 99th day post-Meteor,
The past week has been weighing heavily on my mind. The resurrection of Midgar has gone smoothly. The last of the sector four plate has been cleared and slated for recycling, but the work has gone slower than the previous two sectors. It may be that since this was a dense residential sector that the people are taking the time to recover the dead. I don't remember the last count on bodies found on the plates, only that each one could have been saved if I had been stronger. If only I had warned them sooner.
No. I can't let myself be burdened by the past. I did what I could, and now I have to look ahead so that this tragedy can never be repeated.
The industry leaders are clamoring for additional manpower to be spared for their private works, adding to an already strained workload for the population. A final census hasn't even been made yet, but I know that only a few ten-thousand of us remain in Midgar. Outside help has been limited, most coming from Kalm and Junon Harbor in shelter and monies for temporary homes and medicine. Junon was kind to send their entire engineering corps to help us out, bearing most of the hard work with their heavy equipment. Wutai hasn't made a decision, not that I expected their help. I haven't received word from Dio about my proposal to include a tax on tickets to the Gold Saucer to help the recovery efforts. I doubt that he will agree to it.
But, money is one of my lesser concerns. Crime tops them all.
With the loss of the Shin-Ra corporation as a functioning entity, the financial stability in the streets is out of control. Price gouging is happening everywhere, and we don't have the manpower to correct it. People have been volunteering to clear the streets and to repair existing homes for shelter, but some are starting a labor union and demanding a salary for every man who picks up a shovel. Worst of it is finding those willing and honest enough to be deputized and work for the police division and help control this dilemma. People are literally fighting one another over ownership of materials, and some say that certain blocks are too dangerous for anyone to be in because of street gangs. Monster sightings get more frequent with every week that passes. This lack of coordinated security is making it hazardous to live in this city.
Now something terrible is hiding in those dark corners of Midgar. One of the lieutenants, acting as chief of police, has told me that he suspects a serial murderer is on the loose. Nine bodies in two weeks were found in sector three. The pattern is what scares me. Each body is found propped against a wall out in the open with no clothes on. There is no discrimination between men or women, age or physical appearance. The two constants in these murders are that the bones in the victims bodies are violently broken, and that their bodies have extremely localized third degree burns. One officer, an ex Shin-Ra security guard, testifies that only materia could cause that kind of damage to human flesh. He also said that it matches rumors he heard about the Soldier program, how to effectively torture an enemy combatant to get information without risking death or lethal shock. Clearly this was the practice taken too far.
If those statements hold true, then it may be possible that an ex-Soldier has gone insane and began hunting his own people as if it were wartime.
This, I suppose, is the only thing that would make me unearth a Shin-Ra registry to contact some loose acquaintances.
May the Planet have mercy on us.
- Reeve
A Deeper Green, Sector Four
The inside of the bar was threadbare and sterile, lacking in any sort of personality that bars usually maintained as a matter of pride. The liquor racks behind the counter were woefully empty, only stocked with cheaper drinks and local brews from nearby cities. A dozen tables with mismatched chairs were scattered in the lower section of the establishment, candles and bare lightbulbs illuminating the surfaces. At the corner on a raised platform were the grooves and marks of where a piano used to be, where it was a mystery to all. Nails were naked on the walls, no longer holding pictures or memorabilia or shelves. A solitary clock above the door clicked to six in the evening, a mechanical chime alerting to the change in the hour. The door to the kitchen was missing, a bedsheet lazily nailed in the jamb acting as a barrier to whatever was in there. The smells coming from it weren't appealing, but none of the occupants were ordering food. Stale pretzels and peanuts sat in unused ashtrays, flimsy coasters supported worn glass mugs filled with beer, and shot glasses lined the bar proper with people scrying fortunes from their contents. No one was concerned with anything but getting away from reality as often as money allowed.
"Yo."
The barkeep, busy with something below, stood at the voice. He cocked an eye at the stark red hair of his customer. "What?"
"What's with this place? It looks like a mess."
The keep huffed, putting his hands on the counter. "Look, bud, this place's only been open for six days. Gimme a break."
"Well, that's what I mean! Why open if you aren't prepared?" The redhead motioned around himself. "The place works, yeah, but it has no style! No culture! It isn't even very green."
The keep leaned forward an inch, eyes dark, wrinkles and sun darkened skin making such a glance even more threatening. "I'm workin' on it. Keep runnin' your mouth off and you can find somewhere else to go."
"I'll just keep runnin' my tab, then. Another shot of whatever I had last."
"You got money?"
The redhead reached into his blue coat and pulled out a thick fold of gil, wiggling it at the owner. "Plenty."
The keep nodded and poured another three fingers of watery vodka, sliding it over to the customer. The redhead took the small glass and inspected it quietly, trying to see through the blur; he wondered if he could see the future on the other side. He tossed it back and stood the glass down next to his others, feeling the burn linger down his throat and to his belly. The future, he mused, wasn't worth investing in anymore. Ever since Midgar was ruined nothing seemed worth his time except to drink and enjoy what was left of his money. What could a professional murderer hope to accomplish without the legal authority behind his every move? What was life without friends or comrades?
Shin-Ra. He had tried to find out what happened to the giant corporation after Meteor disappeared from the sky, but it was no use. The evacuation orders cleared the building out, and for some reason, no one ever returned to the shattered remains of the tower. Power was out, even the emergency reserves, so it would be mad to hike up the fifty floors to reach the executive offices. He did it anyway. Nothing was functional, nothing was moving in the dead cubicles and hallways, only the howling wind accompanied his jaunt to the farthest stairwell that wasn't blocked by rubble. The stairwell to the fifty fourth floor was too choked with debris to clear, so he went back down the stairs and left for the sectors. Ever since then he had wandered from bar to bar, drinking his retirement away while looking warily at the forbidding tower. He sighed, suddenly tired. When the money ran out, if the company wasn't alive and needing him, or none of his comrades ever found him, then it might be a sign to move on.
A figure took the stool next to his, leaning on the counter with their elbows. The barkeep looked to the newcomer, and the figure simply tapped the coaster and said. "House tap."
Those two word sent a jolt down the redhead's spine, memories blown back to the surface. He looked at the person with hope pounding in his heart, defeatist logic souring his mind. Surely enough, a familiar face and blonde bobbed hair smiled back at him.
"Long time, Reno," she said, voice betraying her emotions.
"Elena!" He stood and wrapped his arms around her in an awkward embrace, her arms circling him in return. He patted her back and chuckled, sitting down. "Where the hell have you been? Wait, is-"
"I'm here," a third voice spoke up from behind him.
Reno looked back and saw an imposing figure standing behind him. Sunglasses hid the man's eyes, but a smirk on his face told all the redhead he needed to know. He grinned and stood once more, giving the taller man a brief clap on the back. "Rude! Good to see you, man!"
"We thought you might be taking in the new colors," Elena spoke, taking a sip of her beer. "Where have you been?"
Reno looked back to his colleague and couldn't help but smile at her. "Been dreaming about your pretty face, 'Lena."
She scowled, but broke into a fit of laughter a moment later. She seemed determined to be angry at him, but it wasn't working. "You bastard. We've been looking all over Midgar for you, and you've just been drinking! Why didn't you call us, or go to headquarters?"
He sat back down in his stool and shrugged. "I went back to the tower, but no one's been there."
Elena looked surprised. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"About the new headquarters! Mayor Domino has been taking select people from Shin-Ra and giving them new jobs as city workers."
Reno was only a little surprised. He knew that Domino had been using his title of Mayor to bring control back to the city, but he didn't think that he would do it like this. Frankly, he figured Domino wouldn't even grant Shin-Ra employees a second chance, not after they screwed him out of his power for so many years. Now that he thought about it, what would Elena and Rude be doing with them at all? Elena wasn't in uniform, just street clothes, and Rude was always dressed in slacks and button down shirt. She looked at Reno from the corner of her eye, hands around the mug.
"Hasn't he called you?" Elena asked.
"Don't have my phone."
"What!? Why not?"
Reno shrugged. "Lost it. Besides, they don't work."
"PHS service was established in all sectors four days ago," Rude said, still standing alongside the two. "That is how Reeve contacted us."
"Reeve?"
Elena nodded. "He's been trying to get order in the streets. You've seen how things are, haven't you? It's almost like a war."
Reno rolled his eyes. "People will be people."
"Don't be an ass," she growled. "We've been helping to rebuild the city ever since day one, and you've just...wasted it like this! Don't you see that everything's changed? We can't just sit and wait for assignments, Reno. We...we can't live like we did back then. People need our help!"
"Don't get preachy with me," he snorted, avoiding her eyes.
The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Elena sighed in frustration. "Look, since you aren't aware, we have a job to do."
"A job to do? Says who?"
"Reeve. He want's-"
"He ain't our boss, 'Lena."
"So what if he isn't!" she snapped. "Why are you being like this? You can't hang out in bars forever. We aren't going to get a call to kill someone and wander into headquarters to collect a paycheck every two weeks for being intimidating. No one is going to hire you for a bodyguard. We need to get ourselves settled and start helping rebuild Midgar!"
"Don't lecture me, Elena. I don't have to do anything I don't want, an' that includes rebuilding this hole in the ground. Hell, we aren't even employed. If it's so bad out there, let 'em fend for themselves for once."
"But it's important!" she continued.
"So's a lotta other things."
Elena slumped in defeat. She looked at him with pleading eyes. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Will you at least her me out?" She waited for him to speak, and took his silence to mean okay. "Well, Reeve said that there's a murderer somewhere in sector three who has been torturing people. He's been helping to bring the sector police back to strength to deal with the crime, but they aren't any use. He said that the person might be ex-Soldier with a Fire materia in his possession. None of the officers have a lead, and few of them want to even get near the guy. Reeve asked us if we could lend a hand in the investigation and the arrest when it's made."
"And you agreed," Reno added.
"Yeah."
"You too, Rude?"
The man nodded.
"Reeve said that we would get paid," Elena went on. "He even found a place for us to stay at."
"Us?" Reno's lips curled to a racy grin. "You and Rude together, us?"
"I-It's not like that!" she blurted, face blushed red. "Honestly, Reno..."
The redhead laughed at her flustered expression. For the moment, he forgot about how the world had changed and felt like it was just another night out after work, throwing back shots and playing cards and pool. Elena was snickering at her own reaction, and even Rude had cracked a grin over his stoic expression. After so many weeks of wandering the sectors, he finally found the future that eluded his grasp. Reno leaned over to the occupant to his right and gave him a not too gentle pat on the shoulder. "Yo buddy, move it. My friend needs a seat."
The man looked at Reno and sneered with false bravado. "Why should I?"
"'Cause I'm a goddamn Turk, that's why!"
The man's eyes grew wide, ingrained fear of that name lurking to the conscious mind. He stood, finished his beer hastily, and clumsily wandered down several stools. Rude sat in his place and Reno ordered two stouts for themselves. Once the keep served them, Reno took up his mug and lifted it to eye level.
"A toast!" he said quickly. "To us, and everything else worthwhile in life."
"To us," Elena and Rude echoed.
They tapped their glasses against one another and drank them empty. The barkeep took the empty tankards and put them into the sink, then carefully leaned on his bar to place himself near the three.
"So you're...them?" The barkeep tried to keep up a front, but his voice quavered with fear. "The Turks?"
"We are! Well, we were," Reno replied cheerily. "Mister, what is your name?"
"Milton Dredge," the man answered.
"Well, mister Dredge, you just earned yourself three regulars from now on."
The owner looked surprised, but narrowed his eyes regardless. "I thought you didn't like the place."
"Oh, it needs work, don't think that it doesn't! Only now it's proven to have good luck for me. You two like it?" He looked at Elena and Rude, and they both nodded their approval. Reno smiled with sincere pleasure, taking out his wad of gil and peeling away several bills. He slid them over to Dredge. "It's settled. A bottle of something stronger this time."
"Reno, we have-"
Reno raised his hand to halt her coming speech. "Elena, forget about the job. Right now, all I want to do is enjoy a drink with two people I've sorely missed."
Elena looked to spout several responses to his laid back attitude, but none of them made it to her lips. Dredge brought out three clean shotglasses and a bottle of Gongaga whiskey from beneath, setting them on the counter. Reno fidgeted with the bottle, failing to twist the cap off. He began to swear at it, prompting Rude to take it and do the job for him. Reno snatched it back and poured out the first round, three fingers each. The redhead didn't care that this would probably make him sick. This was tradition. For all the weeks he had wandered, sleeping in the streets and railcars and empty homes, he only wanted to find somewhere to be at peace. Now that his friends were here, putting away the crushing pain of their likely deaths, and they had somewhere for him to live, everything he felt was missing just fell into place. He honestly believed for a moment that he could step outside and the world would be back the way it was, that Meteor had never come.
"Reno?" Elena leaned close to him, interrupting his thoughts. "Are you crying?"
"Tears of joy, 'Lena," he wiped his cheek nonchalantly, "'cause I'm finally home."
E Street Apartments #114, Sector Four
"So this is your place?" Reno looked around, tried to form an opinion of the settings, and found himself lacking one. The front door led right into the living room with the kitchen separated by the line between thin carpet and cheap plastic tile. A hallway shot off to the left, probably to bedrooms and a bathroom, and a window was opposite him with maroon curtains drawn closed. Below the window was a couch that was older than he was if the sheer volume of tears and holes meant anything. A strip of halogen lights illuminated the room from one end and a lamp from the other. In the middle of it all was a sturdy looking table and worn chairs, the surface covered in coasters, a deck of cards with chips, and an ashtray. Together it appeared older than dirt, thick with use and memories.
"Yeah," Elena replied, sliding her jacket off and hanging it on a peg by the door.
"It's...nice."
She huffed at his comment. "You could at least lie better than that."
"Alright, so it's cheap looking and small. Happy?"
"Yes." She began walking to the kitchen. "Beer?"
"I take it all back," said Reno with a grin.
She opened the refrigerator and tossed a chilled bottle his way. Reno caught it with little problem, thankful it was a screw to open lager that would be cheap and potent. He cracked it open, took a hearty chug and sighed, satisfied. They had drank until last call, but Reno was insistent that they continue celebrating, not willing to give up the last vapors of his buzz. Rude, who had followed in silence, was untying his shoes by the door and unlacing his necktie when Elena offered him a drink. They congregated by the table and sat, the silence a force of it's own only broken by the hum of the fridge and the creak of floorboards from the next story up.
"So..." Elena spoke towards Reno. "What are you going to do?"
"About what?" the redhead asked.
"About the job."
The job. Reno was still a little uneasy about the concept that he would be taking orders from someone who didn't know a thing about the Turks. Reeve was just a suit for the president's bureaucracy, filed paperwork and did a little spying if need be. It was Tseng that pushed him to spy on Avalanche, confident that the man wouldn't do anything stupid and could be trusted to keep his role a secret. His honesty was what made him so easy to manipulate into doing it, even though he fled ship at the last second and abandoned his job. But the man was determined and had a backbone; even if he wasn't cut for this work, it wasn't as if there was a line of others more suited to it. Better a half-wit than a complete idiot.
But still, he was uncertain. What kind of job was this lining up to be? Kill a murderer for starters, but then what? What freedoms was he going to sacrifice this time around?
"Hell if I know," he replied absently.
"What else are you gonna do? Go back to drinking all day?"
"Who said anything about quitting that?"
The joke didn't ease her expression. "Be serious. Reeve needs us to help stop that killer. Every day we wait means someone else could die."
Reno sat in silence.
"It isn't something that can be reasonably ignored," Rude spoke up, having lit a cigarette; it seemed he still hadn't given up that indulgence. "These people are not criminals, just survivors of the Meteor. Letting this man kill as he pleases will only hinder Midgar's recuperation."
"I've already said that they oughta take care of themselves."
"But we need to help if we can!"
"For what?" Reno looked at Elena with a stern expression, willing to dig at the heart of the issue now that he felt sober enough. "Sure, we'd get paid to do it, but why should we? Why should I put my life on the line for them? If this guy is ex-Soldier, why not fight fire with fire?"
"The new chief of police has been arresting Soldiers for any crime he can place on them, hoping to contain them and keep the populace safe from the threat they pose." Rude shook his head a little. "Ironic, considering that they are so thinly spread about the city and without motivation. The sector police is not equipped to deal with a military trained, Mako injected killer."
"So we're their last hope? That's great."
"So why won't you help?" Elena demanded. "Rude and I are. If you did, then it would be like old times again."
Silence again.
Elena scowled, slapping her palm on the tabletop and leaning forward to the redhead. She looked genuinely upset. "Reno!"
He turned his head, not wanting to meet her eyes.
"Dammit, do I have to force you into this?" She lifted her right hand and ticked off her facts on her fingers. "Look, you need the money. You also need a place to stay unless you want to sleep in the streets. I know you miss how things were, and this would be just like it. You aren't a coward, and you aren't an idiot!" The palm slapped onto the table again. "What other excuse is there?!"
The silence stretched on longer than they thought seemed possible, the tension thick enough to choke on. Reno looked at Elena, meeting her blistering blue sight and trying to get her to back off from the issue. But every second they looked at one another, the more it seemed that she was serious about this. The intensity of her will was surprising. She was never this persistent about anything since he met her those months ago, fresh in uniform and jittery enough to pass out. Had she really changed so much since the incident, or had he never noticed this side of her before?
He broke the contest with a grunt, taking up his beer and chugging several gulps down. He wiped his lips and rested his arms on the tabletop. "Do you know why I drink, 'Lena?"
"Of course I do," she said.
"I mean the real reason," he corrected.
"That one, too." She smirked in confidence when Reno looked at her with an eyebrow arched in amusement. "What, you think I haven't seen drunks before? You drink because you want to forget about the kind of life you lead. You want to suppress the emotions you feel towards it. I've been feeling guilt build up 'cause of what we do since day one, and it hasn't been any easier to forget." She sighed, seemingly deflated of her previous arrogance. "We've done atrocious things under Shinra's order. You've done more than I could imagine. No one can go through life with that kind of burden on their shoulders and expect to stay sane. Drinking to forget, even if it's only a while, helps keep the pain at bay. You forget the tragedy, the anger, the fear, that the next mission might be the last one...everything."
"Sounds like psychobabble to me," he scoffed, "right out of a book."
"Sector Seven."
Those words struck Reno like a physical blow, and his fingers tightened on the bottle in shock. The memories laced to those words came flooding back, numbers and screaming and statistics and plans and tears. Suddenly the cold sweat of sleepless nights and nightmares made his palms clammy, a chill running down his spine. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last he expected.
"That was low." The words came like a growl from clenched teeth.
"It got your attention," Elena snapped back. "Are you going to let this lunatic roam free? Give him a few months, he might come close to what you've done."
"Don't fucking compare me to that shit!" Reno snarled. "I did it because Tseng ordered me to! We all did shit because of orders!"
"Then why not do something good for a change? Or do you want to be remembered as a Turk who killed a whole sector and never repented for it?"
Reno stood up and stormed over to the door, though listening to her dig up the past. If she was going to guilt him into hunting this killer, then it wouldn't be worth the effort. Elena stood as well as Rude, but she was first to pursue him and throw her hand on the door to keep him from leaving. She slithered herself in front of it, trapping Reno where he stood. Her expression looked mixed between outrage and panic.
"We're going to help. Are you going to let us do this alone? Do you want to be remembered as a heartless killer who didn't even care about his own friends?"
"Let me go, Elena."
"Not until you answer me!"
Reno slammed his palm onto the door by her head, pinning a stray lock of hair beneath his thumb. Her image faltered and revealed the fear in her eyes, but she struggled to hide that weakness. Nothing she would do would change his mind, but her resolve was still unbroken. He questioned where all this courage came from. Maybe the incident had changed her to lead instead of follow. Maybe that was why he was upset at her, that his memories of her didn't match the woman who stood before him now. "Move it."
"I won't."
"Let him go, Elena," Rude spoke up suddenly from beside them.
The two looked at their quiet friend, his expression masked by his sunglasses. The cigarette was forgotten between thumb and finger, ash building on the tip. It was clear that he was troubled over their argument, which was rare. He always preferred the role of the silent arbiter when it came to their shouting matches, offering facts and logic when asked. Reno wondered whose side he took in all this. Elena spared a glance at him, looking betrayed.
"But Rude...!"
"It's his choice to make. We don't have time to spare for this." The man looked at Reno, eyes peering like daggers from above his shades. "If he wants to waste his life sulking, let him."
The blonde was conflicted between his logic and her own feelings, but the seconds proved that it was useless to argue like this. She slowly stepped away from the door, and Reno lowered his hand to take the knob and twist it open. He stepped into the hallway, but a hand grabbed at his own and held him still a moment. He looked back and saw Elena again, but this time her expression was genuinely hurt. Her eyes looked close to tears, and again he couldn't place a time when he saw her like this. The past several hours had shown him many sides of her that he never recognized before. It almost made him feel guilty.
"You have a home here...so don't run away again," she begged. "Please."
He snatched his hand away from her and walked away. Walked away to the door outside. Pushing it open let in the sounds and feelings of the world, and the heavy thoughts from within were cut away when the door closed behind him.
Somewhere in Sector Three
The sounds were everywhere, but at least they were quieter in the deeper parts of the abandoned neighborhoods. All this construction and renewal made it tough to find a place to relax in, a place to keep to one's self. But, eventually, it would all be taken and reborn. The old would be burned and purged from this world and covered by a shiny new facade to ease the people's worries. People would come and go, and the visible scars would heal. There were already flowers in the cracked patches of earth, soil buried beneath concrete and stone for so many years and only now exposed to the sky. A person could look straight up and see the blue sky instead of the brownish haze from the industries and the reactors and the plates. A person could breathe deep and not choke from the smog. A person could walk down a darklit street and not be afraid of faceless goons or assassins out for his life because he stood against the majority. You'd never realize just what this land and the people endured by looks alone.
But the mental scars would still be there.
He would still be there. No one would ever deny him his existence, not anymore.
Those others who tried to place themselves as his betters were shown otherwise. Even now he expected the footsteps of sector police to come, for someone else to push their laws on him and their authority. He expected the future to try and erase him, a memory of the past, like they did to so many others; but he would not allow himself to be pushed aside and buried. Not like all the other weaklings he once worked with.
No one had authority over him. No one. Try and keep him from what he wanted, and he would fight you to the death for it; the laws of nature were the only ones he paid respect towards. Survival of the fittest ruled in the sectors, and he was fit for gods.
"I won't bow to anyone," he murmured to the shadows.
A cat hopped onto the window frame and into the empty room, silent and graceful. It was a lean and ruffled tomcat, colored like the clouds and striped with silver lining. It strode over to the person and nosed around the small things sitting by his waist. The person waved an arm at the feline, warding it off.
"Nothin' there, furball," the man muttered in a throaty voice.
The cat paused and sat on its haunches, waited a second, yawned, then began grooming itself vigorously. The man sighed, leaning farther against the wall and the crook of his arms behind his head. The cat had been there ever since he showed up, always looking for something to eat. It caught rats, though, and seemed fit enough on that diet. Better it ate them instead of them nibbling at his things. That was probably the only reason he let the thing hang around his hole. He felt more familiar with animals and simple survival than people and their complexities. That cat was a good animal, capable of surviving anywhere, independent and proud. A lot like himself.
The man took a deep breath, held it in a moment, and exhaled it slowly to relax his muscles. That last one had been too weak and croaked nearly as soon as he caught him.
"Younger, maybe," he muttered, closing his eyes to rest the day away.