AN: Hi everyone! Welcome to The Hand That Feeds, formerly known as Knife to a Gunfight! This is a reboot of a story that I had started over eight years ago! Yeah, you read that right. I was fourteen at the time, but when I went back to reread it before I cleaned out my account, I realized it still had some potential. So, here it is! Though I'm unsure of where it's headed just yet, I really hope I get to finish it this time. Anything that gets me writing is a good thing.
No preface necessary. Just jump right in. If you enjoy it, please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts, ideas, or constructive criticism. Thanks so much for reading.
Disclaimer: I don't own any Square copyrighted material.
Rhea had just finished cleaning the windows of the Materia shop when the first raindrops began to fall over the streets of Edge. She had always liked a rain shower at dusk, when the clouded light of dusk blurs the line between the real and the imagined. Strange shadows crawled along the streets and up the sides of buildings, creating shapes she might have seen in a dream or in the far reaches of her memory. She watched them dance in the corners of her vision until the sinking sun was finally swallowed whole by the menacing thunderheads.
She heard the shuffle of feet behind her and turned to look at Paddy, the owner of the shop. He was a shrunken old man, probably three times her age, but he had a kind face hidden behind a wiry white beard. He leaned on a molded metal rod that he used as a cane and squinted one of his beady black eyes at her.
"Today's the day, huh?" he asked.
Rhea smiled at him before turning back to the world outside the window. She could see the peak of a tall white skyscraper over the beams and pilings of the building across the street. "Yeah."
"You nervous?"
She shook her head. "I'm sure it won't be a big deal."
Two weeks earlier, Rhea had gotten a visit from her brother, the ghost of her past. He had showed up at her door, hands in his pockets, smiling at her through the chain lock. She hadn't seen him in over four years, and hadn't wished too. She had almost slammed the door in his face, but his hand caught the edge of it. Without a word, he slipped a piece of paper through the crack in the door. She had opened the crinkled sheet and read its hopeful message, eyes tumbling over the words in disbelief.
When she looked up, Reno had gone.
Rhea's daydream was interrupted by Paddy's wrinkled hand on her shoulder. "Go on then," he said. "You don't want to be late."
She gave the old man another halfhearted smile. "Thanks Paddy," she said softly. "I'll see you next week."
Paddy tapped her gently on the shoulder before turning to the back of the store. With a deep breath, she shouldered her bag and strode out into the warm summer rain.
Rhea pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head to shield it from the rain. She glanced down at the paper in her hand. The ink was smeared from where her wet fingers had touched the page, but she had memorized its message already. The look, she thought, was just to make sure it was still real.
She took the first of many steps in the direction of her destination, brushing shoulders with the other citizens, some privileged, some hardened, all destitute in some way or another. A pickpocket looked her up and down, knowing just by the look of her that she was not worth the effort. A suited man cursed her for kicking mud onto his pants and shoes. She offered no apology.
Rhea ducked through an alley and weaved her way through smoldering barrels and the twitching, mumbling bodies that stood hunched beside them, begging for spare change. When she emerged on the other side, it was as if she had stumbled upon a palace. The blazing white skyscraper rose above her like a towering spire. People in their suits and jackets came pouring in and out of the building, toting black umbrellas and briefcases. She climbed the stairs carefully, deliberately, brushing past the chattering businesspeople, eavesdropping on their conversations of big and little consequence. When she reached the top, the doors whirred open for her and a blast of warm air rolled out. She stood on the rug for a while, shaking out her jacket and taking in the sights and sounds of the World Restoration Organization headquarters.
Everything seemed as though it were made of glass—even the benches lay perched on crystal legs that seemed to defy gravity. Grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling and gave the huge lobby a warm glow. Despite its bustle and grandness, the room somehow calmed her.
When her eyes had seen enough, Rhea began to move over toward the welcome desk, startled when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw a large man dressed in a black and white uniform, toting a gun on his hip.
"S'cuse me, miss," he said, "you have to go through the detector first."
She looked over his shoulder and saw the line of businesspeople and visitors who stood waiting to go through the metal detector. She nodded apologetically and shuffled over to the line.
When it came to her turn, Rhea stepped through the gate and jumped at the high-pitched ring that followed. The guard in front of her stood up straighter.
"Please step back through and remove all of your belts and jewelry," he instructed. Rhea obeyed, carefully removing her belt, earrings, and cigarettes and placing them on the conveyor, along with her lighter. The guard picked it up and examined it. "Gonna have to confiscate this," he said glumly. "Sorry—W.R.O. policy." Not knowing what else could be done, she nodded before heading through the detector a second time, relieved that it remained silent. She gathered up her things and headed to the welcome desk at last.
The attendant there perked up. "Hello, welcome to the W.R.O. Headquarters," she said. How may I help you?"
"I'm here to see the president," Rhea said flatly, feeling very out of place.
"Oh," said the attendant skeptically. "Do you have an appointment?"
Rhea suddenly remembered her note and handed over the crinkled, ink-smudged scrap of paper. The attendant scanned it, her eyes going wide for a moment.
"Oh, I'm very sorry Ms. Flynnt. Please wait here for a moment."
The attendant returned the note to Rhea and disappeared for a few seconds, returning with a slender, dark-haired woman in tow.
"Ms. Flynnt," the woman said, extending her hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Cora. I am President Shinra's personal assistant."
Rhea shook Cora's hand, dumbfounded by the response she'd gotten from a simple letter. Was she really on her way to meet the president?
"The President has been waiting for your arrival," Cora went on. "Please, follow me, Ms. Flynnt."
The assistant led the way toward the elevators and Rhea had to jog to catch up. "You can just call me Rhea," she said, surprised by how small her voice sounded. Cora did not respond—she simply smiled as she swiped her keycard beside the elevators. The doors immediately flew open and they stepped inside.
Just as soon as the doors closed, the elevator shot up the shaft, passing floors with incredible speed. Rhea gripped the bar behind her for support and watched the floor numbers speed by. The elevator slowed as the numbers passed 60, climbing one by one until it stopped at last on 70 with a subtle bob. The doors slid back and Cora again started off briskly down the hall. Rhea jogged after her. The hall was brightly lit with the same chandelier-style lights, albeit smaller, with walls painted a bright eggshell color, and floor carpeted with wine-colored velvet. Her boots made no noise as she scuttled along behind the assistant.
Cora came to a stop beside two large mahogany doors, and Rhea followed suit. Cora pressed her finger down onto a button on a keypad beside the doors and spoke into it.
"Cora here with Rhea Flynnt."
There was a short pause before a quiet voice played back through the intercom.
"Send her in alone."
With that, a large clanging noise echoed through the hall and one of the grand doors popped open. Cora pushed it ajar further, smiling as she motioned for Rhea to pass through. She obeyed and lifted her long, slender legs over the threshold, feeling as though she were stepping into another world.
Rhea jumped as the door slammed closed behind her, the noise echoing off the vaulted ceilings and marble floors of the foyer she was now standing in. It was lit with another small chandelier overhead, and two huge columns stood guard beside the entrance to the room beyond. Rhea took a few steps toward one of them, the clack of her boots sounding like tiny gunshots on the sparkling black tiles. She reached out her hand and touched the cold marble of the pillar as she passed it, her eyes rolling over the grand space ahead. The room was divided by a more columns, four of them framing a low-set lounge area in the center, complete with plush sofas and chairs. Rhea made her way around the lounge, following the softly curving walls of the suite, interrupted only by closed doors and several paintings, mostly murals and portraits of what she could only assume were former presidents. One mural in particular caught her eye: It depicted the gruesome scene of the great, mighty Meteor plummeting toward the planet, casting its enormous shadow on Midgar and its helpless citizens. It all came back so clearly as she looked at that painting, how she had cowered in fear below the crumbling plates of the upper world, unsure of whether the sun would rise another day...
"It'll be five years next month." A confident voice startled Rhea from her reverie. She spun toward it and cast her eyes upon the man that voice belonged to. "Five years since Meteor struck. Seems like just yesterday, doesn't it?"
Rhea did not reply right away, rather, she let her eyes roam over the man that stood before her: he was tall, taller than he seemed on television, with much sharper features. His nose was refined, even a little bit long, and his eyebrows seemed set in a permanent expression of conviction. Below them sat two eyes of deep blue color, dark and narrowed, obviously occupied with the same analysis she was giving him. He was dressed as though he were ready for television appearance: his long arms were crossed over an off-white satin vest and shirt, a black tie and kerchief starkly contrasting it; a pair of black suit pants matched them.
Suddenly, his hand unfolded itself from his chest and extended out toward her. His offhanded smile caught her off guard—it seemed so different than the stone-faced, narrow-eyed expression she'd seen so often on TV.
"Rufus," he said, his voice softer than before. "Rufus Shinra. It's nice to finally meet you, Rhea. Your brother has told me so much about you."
Rhea took his hand timidly, feeling his other one fold over the top of hers. She let her arm be moved only by his motions and nothing else. Precedent had conditioned her mind to be intimidated, and yet the affable air about him betrayed those feelings. When he finally released her hand, she let it fall to her side, where it curled into a fist against her skirt.
His hand suddenly swept into a wide gesture, motioning toward a desk at the back of the suite. "Come sit," he said, leading the way. Rhea followed, her eyes scanning the wall-to-wall window behind the desk that looked out over the streets of Edge and remnants of the grand city that was once Midgar. Rufus had pulled out a chair for her and motioned for her to sit. She did.
He made his way around to the other side of the desk where he relaxed into a high-backed chair and pulled himself in. Rhea crossed her legs awkwardly, smoothing her skirt across her thighs as Rufus shifted some documents around his desk. He propped open a folder and clicked a pen before clearing his throat.
"So, Ms. Flynnt," he began, "or...do you prefer Rhea?"
She blinked at him. "...Rhea is fine."
He smiled. "So, Rhea," he repeated, "please tell me a little bit about yourself."
Rhea stared at him again, this time for longer and with an expression of confusion spreading about her face. "I'm sorry, I don't…" she started, but Rufus wasn't fazed. "With all due respect, Mr. President—"
"Rufus," he interrupted, his face stony but still smiling. "Call me Rufus."
Rhea cast him a grave look. "With all due respect...Rufus," she repeated, "I didn't come here to talk about myself. I came here because my brother said you could help get me out of the slums."
Rufus snapped his folder shut and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the armrests. "I'm aware of this," he said, giving her a look of patience. "However, whether or not you qualify for relocation assistance solely rests on my judgment. It is my duty to determine if you meet the criteria set forth by the Organization."
Rhea's mouth fell open slightly in disbelief. She had not come to this place with high hopes—though her brother had vowed to get her a meeting with the president, she had learned long ago to not to trust empty promises. She thought perhaps, if she were lucky, she would get to speak to a W.R.O. representative, to whom she would tell a heartfelt sob story of her struggles in the slums, and then two months later she would hear back that her claim had been denied.
Now her expectations had been shattered and she was left with a flutter of anxiety in her stomach. She knew sob stories wouldn't work on Rufus, especially considering his relationship to Reno, which meant the truth was the only option. She hadn't revisited the empty void of her past in years, and did not look forward to doing it in the company of a sitting president.
"It's alright." The President's voice broke her contemplative silence. "Start with the simple things—the basics. Just...start talking."
Rhea looked up at him. She wanted to be encouraged by his half-smile, but she found it hard to be hopeful. She didn't think Rufus was prepared to stare into the twisted truths of her life.
"Well, I..." she began, letting herself settle back into the chair. "My name is Rhea Selene Flynnt... I am 26 years old. I spent the first ten years of my life on the upper plate of Midgar, Sector 2. My parents' names were Claire and Julian Flynnt..."
Rhea trailed off and Rufus looked up after he finished writing a sentence down in his folder. She looked over at it but couldn't read it upside-down. "You say you spent your first ten years in Sector 2," Rufus said. "What happened after that?"
Rhea looked over his shoulder at the sky beyond the window. It was a mottled mass of blue and gray, all leaking and pressing against the twisted metal of the once-glorious structures of Midgar.
"You might remember my mother," she began. "She was an employee of yours once."
Rufus's smile disappeared. "Actually," he said, "she was employed under my father. But yes, I remember her."
Rhea nodded. "She was the head of some big department there. She used to tell us she helped to build Midgar, but Reno and I always thought she was kidding. I don't remember much about those years. The only day I can ever really remember is the one she died. It was some special occasion and she was invited to a big gala at the Shinra Building... She decided at the last minute to take all of us along—my father, my brother and me. Reno was twelve and I was ten."
Rhea stopped. Her mind began to wander; her gaze was still locked on the darkening sky outside. It brought her back to that long-forgotten time and place. She hadn't thought of it in years.
"What happened next?" His voice did not bring her back to reality, but rather sank her deeper into her memories.
"We were held up. By a gang. Dad tried to give them his wallet, but they said they weren't after money. Mom hid us behind a dumpster just before they saw her and told us not to make a sound. I could barely make out the shapes through the cracks in the metal. They beat Dad down when he tried to reason with them. Reno and I were so quiet. They saw Mom's Shinra badge and called her names and spat on her. They would have done terrible things to her if Dad hadn't thrown himself at them. I remember feeling Reno leave my side just as the gunshots went off—"
Rufus hadn't written a word while she spoke, but left his eyes locked on her own, faraway ones. Rhea was quiet a moment before her gaze trailed back to his. She brought one of her delicate fingers up just below her eye where a bright red mark was carved into her sunken cheekbone.
"The gang marked them," she said. "So everyone would know it was their kill."
Rufus scribbled to catch up. "What about you and Reno?" he asked.
"They initiated us," Rhea said. "Marked us too so no rival gangs could scoop us up."
Rufus looked up. "This gang..." he said. "Who were they exactly?"
"They called themselves 'Hydra'," she said quietly. "They started out as a few ex-Shinra workers who were fired for tampering with Mako..."
"How so?"
Rhea let her eyes drift back to his. They were almost as dark as the night sky blooming outside the window. "Shouldn't you know this stuff already?" she asked. She was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the conversation progressed.
"Not necessarily," Rufus explained. "Some of it I've gathered from Reno's file, but it's not an intensive profile. Most of this occurred and ended under my father's command, and he and I didn't exactly…get on."
Rhea exhaled sharply. She scratched the crook of her elbow softly, then stood and walked toward the large pane of glass before her. Rufus swiveled in his chair and followed her intently as she paced before it.
"Materia is made by cooling and condensing pure Mako," Rhea said, still not looking at him. "Do you know what happens when you heat it intensely?"
Rufus did not reply. He did not even shake or nod his head. Rhea spun on him and took a deep breath.
"It becomes the perfect drug," she said simply, crossing her arms. "It loses everything except its most basic components. Shoot it up and it's like drinking in a dream."
Rufus looked at her for a while, his pen poised above his folder but unmoving. Rhea broke a cynical smile.
"Hydra found this to be a very lucrative business," she continued. "They would steal Mako from Shinra reactors, cook it in underground labs, and sell it on the streets for huge profits. They used me and Reno as scouts and runners." Rhea began to pace slowly, scratching her arm a little harsher now. "They shot us up with a little bit more every day—until we were addicted and completely under their control."
Rhea stopped and caught Rufus's stare. His face was stony, but a hint of something softer shone through in his eyes. "That's sick," he said.
Rhea scoffed and stopped scratching. "It's the truth." Rufus followed her with his eyes as she made her way around to the front of the desk. She fell into the chair and reached her hand into her jacket pocket where she retrieved her cigarettes. She pulled one out and twirled it between her fingers. "You wouldn't happen to have a lighter, would you?" she asked.
To Rhea's surprise, Rufus pulled out a small golden lighter from the breast pocket of his vest. Reaching over the desk, he flicked it open and struck the flint. The bright flame danced in Rhea's amber eyes as she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it. She leaned back into her seat and inhaled, blowing a long, wispy line of smoke up toward the ceiling. It disappeared a moment later.
Rufus turned the lighter over in his hands for a moment, contemplating the stories Rhea had just shared with him. He closed the lid and handed the sleek lighter back over to her. "Here," he said. "You can keep it."
Rhea gave him a glum look as she took another drag from her cigarette. After another exhale, she reached out and took it, if only to replace the one the guards had confiscated in the lobby. She tucked it into her jacket next to her cigarettes and enjoyed the silence and the feeling of smoke entering and exiting her lungs.
Rufus watched her intently. Her eyes were distant, as if she had been transported somewhere miles away, far from the horrors she was reliving in this room. Still, her posture remained strong. She had learned, much like her brother, that strength in appearance and strength of mind are often very different. He watched her resist the urge to touch her arm again. She folded it into herself defensively and caught his gaze.
He cleared his throat, picking up his pen and folder again. "My father didn't take kindly to people tampering with his Mako," Rufus mused. "He must have sent the Turks after them."
Rhea nodded. "The men in blue coats..." she said, her voice sinking to a mere whisper. Her memory faded back into the past as a cloud of smoke rose before her eyes. "Reno and I had been with Hydra for four years before they intercepted one of our shipments." She inhaled deeply. "They killed everyone."
"But you and Reno were spared," Rufus said. "Why?"
Rhea thought about it a moment. "I can't really say," she replied. "Maybe you should ask them."
Rufus looked uncomfortable for a moment, until Rhea's exhaling mouth turned upward in an amused smile. He relaxed. "You're sharp," he said, "just like your brother."
Rhea's smile disappeared. "I'd rather not be compared to him," she said. "We're not as alike as you say."
A silence passed between them thicker than the smoke that seemed to linger after each of her breaths. Rhea drew from the dwindling cigarette, her eyes locked on his and nothing else for the first time that night. It was Rufus who cast his gaze away at last. He snapped his folder shut and tossed his pen down onto the desk.
"I've scheduled another meeting for tomorrow," he said, leaning back into his chair, "with President Tuesti and myself. We'd like you to stay in our suites tonight, if you don't mind. The meeting is at 10:30 sharp. Cora will assist you with the arrangements."
Rhea wanted to protest, feeling suddenly assertive, but remembered her fate rested on these meetings. Instead, she stood, leaned over the desk, and smashed her cigarette into the ashtray that sat near his folded hands. Rufus reached out and picked up the phone that lay beside it, calling for Cora to escort Rhea to the suite. He rose a moment later, his face a stony slab, and led the way to the exit. When they arrived, he pulled one of the grand doors open. Rhea reached out and placed her hand on it as she walked passed. She noticed Rufus's eyes drift to the bend in her arm and smirked.
"I know what you're wondering," she said softly. She turned her arm over and showed him the pale skin there. There were scars, yes, but they were faded, and the veins were bright and blue. "I've been clean five years." He looked away, embarrassed. "Besides, it's hard to find that stuff ever since Hydra fell off the map." She smirked and stepped out into the hall. Cora was already waiting outside.
Rufus watched them disappear down the dark corridor with folded arms and narrowed eyes.