The Destined Paths We Take
By Cat Alex
P a r t O n e: Past Mistakes
Chapter One: The Thrower
I was a thrower. I had perfect accuracy, speed and the strength to hurl sharp objects at people. My largest gift that aided my second gift was the aptitude for mathematics and the calculation of angles. I had excellent estimation skills when it came to angles, a talent that fuelled my second gift of being able to kill a monster with deadly accuracy – one blow to the throat with a razorblade.
And I loved it. Well, I didn't love killing like that, but I loved the idea of having this special talent no-one else I knew had. I loved the fact that I had this power to defend myself at a whim, so I was safe on the streets of Midgar from any fools that dared cross my path. Midgar isn't the safest place to live. Factionalism had grown considerably since the toppling of Shinra as the government, tons of seedy groups claiming they had the right to power. President Reeve did he best in the face of adversity, but he was too kind-hearted for government; he was not nearly harsh enough on these gangs.
However, where there are few to turn to for answers and people shouting their opinion, claiming them as answers, people will always look to these factions. I myself have on occasion visited the new group and vaguely listened to their demands, though rarely have given them further thought, instead returning to my life as a waitress in the local bar near where I lived called The Neola. All of Midgar had been obliterated, leaving the newly installed President Reeve to start rebuilding essentially from scratch. He had done a pretty good job too, considering what a mess this place had ended up. I live in the area that used to be the borders of sectors one and two, but barely any part of Midgar mirrors the pre-Meteor one; for a start it was all open air. We now had the beauty of the stars and the sky and the glorious sun.
"Neriah! I need some help over here," my friend and co-worker Beliqua called to me and I moved from behind the near enough empty bar to where Beliqua was trying to heft a big lug, who was totally drunk beyond belief, out of the bar. With a sigh, I pushed several messy strands of my jaw length brown hair behind an ear, grabbed the mans legs and dragged him out of the bar onto the street.
"Sorry," Beliqua told the incoherent man, "company policy."
And with that, we went back into The Neola and collapsed onto a coupled of seats behind the bar. Beliqua looked at me, her dark blue eyes closing as she yawned, covering her wide full mouth with a hand and I felt the need to yawn too, the boredom of the day sending me into a stupor.
"Gang speech tonight," Beliqua informed me listless, propping her feet onto a shelf under the counter as she glanced at the clock. My heart sank when I followed her gaze to find it was only four o'clock and groaned. We still had two hours of our shift to go and it was looking bleak. Most people were working at this time and the only customers we got were drunks who didn't have jobs and wasted their savings on alcohol, or retired men seeking the odd drink, but these were even rarer because with all the disaster that befell us in Midgar caused a massive economic upheaval that left most in poverty. These last two years everyone has been contributing to the rebuilding of our city; not even the old can have their retirement. Some of the richer ones who had been above the plate had left enough savings to keep a better lifestyle, but why would they bother coming into The Neola?
Gang speech. It's an okay way to pass an evening if there's nothing better to do. Entertainment isn't exactly scare, the cinema is still about but it's so expensive. I wanted to see the new film, a sequel to Loveless, called Faithless about the struggles of a heroine with her lover, but I haven't got the cash. With all the rebuilding, few of us have the money to have the luxury to see a film. Before the disaster, I got to see Loveless. It's when I had cash, when I was still learning to be a thrower at the local weapons institution. They had taught all kinds of people, as long as they had the talent. I got in on a scholarship, which was complete chance that I even got to take. I was scared, but I knew I had a good throwing arm. Makes me laugh to think back two years when I was a pretty un-knowledgeable twenty year old when it came to street life. I had grown up in the slums that were what you could call middle class. Not quite above the plate, but still a lot of the kids I had known acted as if they did the way they treated other slum kids.
So, my mom sent me along to the Shinra Weapons Academy, or SWA, near Shinra headquarters itself. I took a test and I was accepted with a load of quiet conversation between instructors that sent shivers down my spine. The academy had trained people like Rufus and the Turks, I had heard. I knew Rufus had because he was still in the academy when I first joined. He took classes in accuracy with that shotgun of his and rarely spoke to anyone, instead sliding those creepy blue eyes to the few people in our class as we worked, as if he wanted to put us off. I hated the academy, but it did make me what I am today. Well, not streetwise; that came from Meteor and the fall of Midgar. No, it taught me to be dangerous; it gave me the persona I can use to defend myself wielding whatever small sharp objects I could throw that came to my hand.
I should be quiet and stop talking about myself. The academy wasn't that interesting anyway. All I did was learn to be deadly and then graduated just when the Meteor hit and ruined millions of lives, mine included. With my parent's dead, house demolished, I had to become streetwise and pick up a new life. That's when I helped rebuild and managed to pick up a job in The Neola. I already made friends with Beliqua when we were put together in rebuilding housing in the demolished sectors that don't even exist anymore.
And so here I am, working in a bar with what I could say was easily my best friend, serving up drinks to those who want to drink their lives away during the day instead of doing a hard days work and now I was going to a gang speech. Gang speeches can be so boring if it's the wrong kind of gang; those put together by a bunch of thugs who can't string two words together between them.
The time passed slowly, but surely, and eventually Beliqua and I got away. Beliqua smiled as I hauled in a massive sigh of relief, as well as a breath of reasonable fresh air, and we strolled through the busy streets. The sun was beginning to set and I wanted to just get to my poky home and catch a few hours of sleep before getting ready for this gang speech.
"Today can be rated as 'sucked' today. I hate it when we have to kick customers out," Beliqua sighed heavily, her black locks swinging sadly around her head. I put an arm around her shoulder as we were bumped into by various people hurrying to their desired locations.
"We shouldn't worry about kicking customers out. It's their fault for allowing themselves to become so inebriated in the first place. You were just doing your job. Oh man, today really was pretty terrible," I sighed and shrugged, releasing some tension in my shoulders and back. Beliqua reached her small house, barely big enough for one person just like mine and gave a tired wave.
"Catch up on some sleep; you look tired. I am so I'm fresh for the speech. It starts around eight thirty, so you want me to call by at quarter past?" she asked me, rubbing her face resignedly and I gave a smile.
"I'll try to sleep, but I don't know if I'll manage it though. Quarter past if fine, see you later Bel," I replied and she gave half-hearted wave before retreating into her house, shutting the small grey door. This whole city looked all grey sometimes. Except at night, when all the clubs open and then it's all colourful lights and noise, laughing, drinking and relaxing. It's kind of cool, but the way I was brought up meant that I missed out on a lot of that stuff and now I have desire to start. Milling in a crowd of drunken dancing teenagers isn't what I would call the best way to spend a night. Perhaps I have become jaded at the age of only twenty-two, but really what can you expect when I lived through the Meteor? Some people act like it never happened, that the world hadn't been on the brink of ending two years ago and I always wondered what the hell was going on in their heads. How can people just let that slide away and live a life of obscurity, allowing themselves to just rebuild the city and settle down once more? I intend to save enough money to travel and look around the world before it's gone for good.
These thoughts would leave me as I trundled down the street, my head looking more at where my feet were going. I knew exactly where I was because of the hundreds of times I had walked down this street home. Those thoughts made me uncomfortable thinking them. I didn't think I was ever going to eave this city with the amount of money I was making, and I always turned to the idea of becoming a mercenary and using the skills I learnt at the SWA to make some cash, but I didn't like the idea of killing people, or stealing or whatever for money. I would end up messed up in the head if I wasn't careful. But would it be worth it, being able to travel the world and see such sights for a few potentially immoral actions? No, I knew in my heart I couldn't do that and live with the tarnish that would build with time. I would fight in self defence and nothing more.
I hastily turned into my street, my eyes barely registering the numerous identical grey houses the size of matchboxes. I abruptly stopped at one and fished out my keys from a trouser pocket. It was my house. There was no noticeable difference between my house and any other, but I always knew which was mine when I came to it. I think I subconsciously count how many paces I take, I have no idea. I just know.
I was still thinking too much. Why did I even go to gang speeches when I could sit at home and argue with myself all evening? I shut the door and shuffled over to my small sofa, collapsing into it so my legs hung over side. With a heavy sigh, I curled up, and fell asleep almost immediately.
When I finally woke up again I could barely see my way to the standing light. Yawning and noticing the red neon of my electric clock telling me I had half an hour before Beliqua came by, I gracefully rolled off the sofa to my feet and switched on the light.
Blinking owlishly, I grumbled to myself and made my way across my five meter square lounge and into the kitchen. My stomach had that pain from not and into the kitchen. My stomach had that pain from not eating for several hours and I pulled out the loaf of bread from a cupboard. I quickly made a sandwich and stuffed my face before moving back into the lounge. Opposite the front door were a small flight of stairs up to the second floor where my bedroom and bathroom were. Rejuvenated by the sleep and sandwich, I turned into a whirlwind and had a vigorous shower. Well, most showers I had were vigorous, otherwise the tepid water would run out and it was likely that I'd freeze to the floor.
So, I dried off and made my way into my bedroom to survey my wardrobe. Usually I dressed a little on the dangerous side, but only to project an aura of danger if people go near me. I like showing that image because it fits with the training I got at the SWA and I can behave that way if I'm pushed. But I don't like using that façade too often, though I like to think of myself as strong. My wardrobe reflects this; a mixture of tight leather garments and strict black clothes. I couldn't decide which I preferred; strict uniform or more outgoing clothing.
One thing: you have to dress dangerously for gang speeches. It's a credibility thing, I think, that developed into a kind of way to be. If you look weak during gang speeches, there was the potential for people to start picking at you, accuse you of being a hanger-on and not a free thinker. The free thinkers are the worst; they'll attack on anyone who even nods their head a little too vigorously. Myself and Beliqua are neither free thinkers nor hangers-on; we're only there for the entertainment, which goes to show how boring Midgar is when you're poor. It had become somewhat of a tradition to attend for Beliqua and I that we had adhered to for many months; so many that we've lost count.
So I pulled on my leather trousers and popped on a crimson halter neck top. Peering into my medium sized mirror, I gave my jaw length hair a quick comb just before I heard Beliqua bang on my door. I grabbed some lipstick the same shade as my top and applied it before nearly breaking my neck running down the stairs. I opened the door and Beliqua smiled in the shadows, dressed as I was so we didn't attract attention. She wore similar black leather trousers, but her top was midnight blue and that showed her midriff. It shone like silk. I motioned for her to come in and she stepped over the threshold and sat on the sofa, swinging her legs as if she was nervous. We both had good reason to be. Violence wasn't uncommon later in the gang speeches if a large proportion of the people didn't believe in them. Maybe people wonder why we even go, but when you have nothing to believe in, sometimes you'll go to things that are a little radical. At least you have something to listen to. For us, it's mostly entertainment, but a little part of me can't help but wonder what would happen should these people get what they want. Power was what most of them wanted; power to shape Midgar like they wanted, to change it into a vision that would dominate the Planet once more. One thing about the new Midgar that was being shoved together using the pieces of the old was that it was faceless. Faceless little grey houses and plain grey larger buildings. The new Midgar had no soul. When I thought about it sometimes, the way Midgar was being rebuilt it was like the soul Midgar used to possess. Its soul was dark and greedy like the people who ran it and now it felt like the new Midgar's soul was being put together from pieces of the old one. And that worries me because most of the people here now hold such a disregard for what had happened; they just want to get on with their lives.
I was just nervous about the gang speech. Violence can break out if people get rowdy for whatever reason. There can be squabbling amongst the listeners if some darker characters come along to stir up trouble. Preparation is the key. Beliqua didn't have the training I had – she was just a regular citizen who happened to befriend a, well… weirdo like me. I don't fit in anywhere. But I can protect her, my best friend, with the weapon I've trained with. I headed to the kitchen and opened a draw filled with every kind of handheld sharp objects I could get my hands on whenever I went. Piles of wreckage still lay about where certain sectors hadn't been rebuilt yet and you could pick up all kinds of things. Small pieces of metal that could be thrown were some of the things that lay about.
"Jacket," Beliqua said standing in the doorway with my black jacket in her hands. I smiled and took it, swiftly shirking it on and carefully placing some razorblades and a few shards of metal in the pockets. At least we're safer with me there. I don't know what Beliqua would do without me.
"Ready. Let's go," I told her and with that we stalked into the night.
Three silver haired men sat in the hollow wreckage of a building. It was where the gangs made their speeches and they were in preparation. The leader of them appeared to be the youngest and the most troubled, his teenager body striding back and forth irritably. His hair just overshot his jaw and he kept gripping his hands into fists and then relaxing them again, which appeared to be an unnoticed habit of his. The two other silver haired men seemed far less perturbed. The eldest stood still, his back resting against the slightly crumbling concrete walls, his arms crossed and head tipped up so he stared with blue-green eyes that held slits for pupils within at the ceiling. He was the heaviest muscled man out of the three and his left arm was adorned with a metal arm guard of some kind that bore two threatening prongs. The other silver haired man was by far the most delicate looking; his features androgynous and framed with long silver hair and the same eyes as the other two. He looked thoughtful; his head tipped slightly to one side, and sat on an unidentifiable piece of wreckage that reached waist height.
"Loz," the teenager suddenly said, his back to the two, and the eldest man straightened from his leaning against the wall. Loz had his hair different from the other two; short so his silver hair swept back. He seemed the most unconcerned of the three.
"Yeah, Kadaj?" he replied and the teenager called Kadaj whirled around, turning on his heel to stare levelly at Loz. The third nameless man remained where he was, not even paying attention to what was going on. Kadaj frowned slightly as he caught sight of the long haired man staring into space and opened his mouth.
"Yazoo," he said and the long haired man blinked and finally turned his attention to Kadaj. Even paying attention, he still had the remnants of dreaminess on his face.
"Yes? Do you think our plan shall be successful?" the man called Yazoo suddenly replied in a slightly lilting voice of an untraceably faint accent, pausing afterwards almost as if he were surprised he had asked questions, then focused his cool gaze back on Kadaj, briefly flicking his eyes to Loz. Loz hadn't moved except to shift his weight from one leg to the other, clearly becoming bored.
"I think it will. We will be successful and Mother will be happy. Just remember to keep a lookout. For the strongest, Mother says," Kadaj informed the two with a small smile that played on his lips. Loz grunted and gave a careless nod before returning to his spot and Yazoo gave an absent-minded nod before returning to his thoughts.
Kadaj began to pace once more, his steps impatient and sharp on top of the debris.
The plan was afoot at last. Mother's will would be done.
In the darkness outside, people began to gather. Tonight was the gang speech.