Author's Note: This fic is inspired by the awesome picture, "Russian Roulette" by Ashley Cope, AKA GlassShard. Check her out: http://www.casualvillain.com - Keep in mind: [Vincent] |Chaos|
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Russian Roulette
--
Reno Spiegel
-
I started from my deep sleep, only to find myself still in that cell that my own mind had created for me. Wiping my forehead, I tried to do the same to the dream I'd awakened from; wipe it away, make it leave. It was one of those recurring nightmares. You know, the ones you have and people tell you are supposed to mean something. I knew what this meant. It meant it had happened and it would never leave me alone.
|Had that dream again, didn't you?|
[...You don't even have to ask, do you?]
Chaos, this beast that an old...friend...had put in me, controlled my mind. I was actually in a hotel room, I knew that, but he made me envision a prison cell. With a window and a door. Yeah, he was good at this. I checked next to me, sitting propped against the wall right across from the door, and felt my gun there. Good. I always had my gun with me.
|You always have it with you...but why?|
[Leave me alone, Chaos.]
|I want to, but I can't. I was forced into your body, you know that as well as I do.|
Yeah, I knew that. I also knew that I was wrapped like a mummy while the sun beat down on the back of my head, casting what I saw as bar-like shadows across the floor and up the other side of the cell, some even across my face. I could tell my hair was a bit out of order, but I didn't care. It was that damned dream again. And there was Chaos, frozen in time on the other side of the cell, with black abysses for eyes and an evil-as-my-villain smile contorting his face.
|Face it Vincent, you'll never be rid of that dream until you face it: You killed her.|
[Shut up, Chaos.]
|Haven't said a word, Vincent.|
[Keep being a smart ass and I'll go back to sleep. See how you like that.]
|I control your dreams, fool. I can talk to you, awake or sleeping.|
I sighed and rested my hands on my chest, feeling the box underneath. Cid Highwind called me uptight, had given me a pack to ease my stress. Hadn't smoked in thirty years, didn't plan to start in that hellhole. Corel. What a joke. We came back for the Gold Saucer, which was where we were. The Ghost Hotel had no effect in the early evening. I knew they were out filling their pockets with GP, and no one had dared to invite me; after all, who wants the guy who talks to himself riding on the gondola with them?
[...There's only one place you can't talk to me, isn't there...?]
|If I know it, you know it. If you know it, I know it.|
[Way to be subtle.]
|No use hiding something that belongs to you in your own domain, my friend.|
[I'm not your fucking friend.]
|Seems like you need a friend, Vince. After all, your last friend died. Who was she? Oh, yeah, that Lucrecia bitch. And you KILLED her.|
[...What do you want from me?]
I'd never admit it aloud, but yes, I had killed Lucrecia. Not in that, "oh, boo hoo, it's all my fault" way. I'd directly killed her. Shot her in the head. I lie to everyone about that. And it wasn't to save her, not to free her from this hell. I glanced to the gun at my side and took it into my hand, my right, human hand, looking down the barrel halfheartedly. I'd killed her...
|Now you've got the idea, Vince. Go ahead. Pull the fucking trigger. Let them have something exciting when they come back.|
...because I couldn't stand her goddamn screaming. I'd told Hojo I'd caught her with his other lab assistant, Tony, when really, I'd been the one fucking her. I was just trying to save myself. He'd killed Tony and used her -- my -- unborn child for tests. And she'd scream -- oh, how she'd scream! Days at a time, there was nothing but sobbing, screaming, sobbing, off, on, off, on. I had to shut her up. It was driving me insane. And so, I did. Hojo had gotten me after that, but her futile screaming and resistance was long gone. I pulled the cigarettes from my red cloak with my left, metallic hand, my right moving the gun up. To my forehead.
|...You don't smoke. That can kill you.|
[Fuck you. I haven't had a cigarette in thirty-two years. Lay off.]
|Pissy. That dream really gets you on edge, doesn't it?|
[...We both know the only place we can go way from each other. It's inside this gun, isn't it?]
|Can't put a thing past you, can we?|
I've never thought about suicide seriously, I thought as I rested the pack of cigarettes on my chest, one barely hanging on my lip and still half in the pack. My lighter, always in my belt, had slid up, probably because I tended to twitch horribly in my legs when I slept. It was acting like a shield -- from what, I didn't know -- over my navel underneath my black assassin suit. Cigarettes on my chest, one in my mouth, lighter on my stomach, gun pointed at my head. Yeah, I was quite the fancy corpse.
|Do it, Valentine. Open your mind a bit. Literaly.|
[I'm laughing so hard inside, don't worry.]
|...You know you want to.|
Chaos hadn't moved an inch across the cell. He couldn't. Once I saw him, he had to stay that way. Probably some mental glitch I always had. Big smile, hollow eyes. Yeah, he was a real looker.
[That's beside the point.]
|That IS the point.|
[...]
|It's a shame you won't actually do it.|
My finger moved to the trigger. What the hell was I doing? Trying to prove him wrong? Yeah, shoot myself to prove that demon in my head he was a liar. That was a real great tactic. Then again, you can't have nightmares in death, or so I imagine. No dream, no confession to it.
|Ooh, he considers happiness in death. C'mon, boy, pull it. End it all. You look so miserable.|
[I'm sure I do.]
I had to stop and think. All the pros and cons left the decision at a stand-still. Pull the trigger and rid myself of this horror, or let myself live and...
|Exactly. What's the point of life to someone like you? See if it turns out well? Why not end it now, be happy, and not have to take that gamble?|
[...For once, I see your side.]
|Of course you do.|
[Are you making me think this way?]
|I talk to you, not think for you.|
[...]
|...|
[Goodbye, Chaos.]
|See you on the other side, Vincent.|
Barret Wallace, outside my door to see if I wanted to go to the bar for some drinks and nachos, kept walking. No one wanted to disturb the dead man that talked to himself.
-
Russian Roulette
--
Reno Spiegel
-
I started from my deep sleep, only to find myself still in that cell that my own mind had created for me. Wiping my forehead, I tried to do the same to the dream I'd awakened from; wipe it away, make it leave. It was one of those recurring nightmares. You know, the ones you have and people tell you are supposed to mean something. I knew what this meant. It meant it had happened and it would never leave me alone.
|Had that dream again, didn't you?|
[...You don't even have to ask, do you?]
Chaos, this beast that an old...friend...had put in me, controlled my mind. I was actually in a hotel room, I knew that, but he made me envision a prison cell. With a window and a door. Yeah, he was good at this. I checked next to me, sitting propped against the wall right across from the door, and felt my gun there. Good. I always had my gun with me.
|You always have it with you...but why?|
[Leave me alone, Chaos.]
|I want to, but I can't. I was forced into your body, you know that as well as I do.|
Yeah, I knew that. I also knew that I was wrapped like a mummy while the sun beat down on the back of my head, casting what I saw as bar-like shadows across the floor and up the other side of the cell, some even across my face. I could tell my hair was a bit out of order, but I didn't care. It was that damned dream again. And there was Chaos, frozen in time on the other side of the cell, with black abysses for eyes and an evil-as-my-villain smile contorting his face.
|Face it Vincent, you'll never be rid of that dream until you face it: You killed her.|
[Shut up, Chaos.]
|Haven't said a word, Vincent.|
[Keep being a smart ass and I'll go back to sleep. See how you like that.]
|I control your dreams, fool. I can talk to you, awake or sleeping.|
I sighed and rested my hands on my chest, feeling the box underneath. Cid Highwind called me uptight, had given me a pack to ease my stress. Hadn't smoked in thirty years, didn't plan to start in that hellhole. Corel. What a joke. We came back for the Gold Saucer, which was where we were. The Ghost Hotel had no effect in the early evening. I knew they were out filling their pockets with GP, and no one had dared to invite me; after all, who wants the guy who talks to himself riding on the gondola with them?
[...There's only one place you can't talk to me, isn't there...?]
|If I know it, you know it. If you know it, I know it.|
[Way to be subtle.]
|No use hiding something that belongs to you in your own domain, my friend.|
[I'm not your fucking friend.]
|Seems like you need a friend, Vince. After all, your last friend died. Who was she? Oh, yeah, that Lucrecia bitch. And you KILLED her.|
[...What do you want from me?]
I'd never admit it aloud, but yes, I had killed Lucrecia. Not in that, "oh, boo hoo, it's all my fault" way. I'd directly killed her. Shot her in the head. I lie to everyone about that. And it wasn't to save her, not to free her from this hell. I glanced to the gun at my side and took it into my hand, my right, human hand, looking down the barrel halfheartedly. I'd killed her...
|Now you've got the idea, Vince. Go ahead. Pull the fucking trigger. Let them have something exciting when they come back.|
...because I couldn't stand her goddamn screaming. I'd told Hojo I'd caught her with his other lab assistant, Tony, when really, I'd been the one fucking her. I was just trying to save myself. He'd killed Tony and used her -- my -- unborn child for tests. And she'd scream -- oh, how she'd scream! Days at a time, there was nothing but sobbing, screaming, sobbing, off, on, off, on. I had to shut her up. It was driving me insane. And so, I did. Hojo had gotten me after that, but her futile screaming and resistance was long gone. I pulled the cigarettes from my red cloak with my left, metallic hand, my right moving the gun up. To my forehead.
|...You don't smoke. That can kill you.|
[Fuck you. I haven't had a cigarette in thirty-two years. Lay off.]
|Pissy. That dream really gets you on edge, doesn't it?|
[...We both know the only place we can go way from each other. It's inside this gun, isn't it?]
|Can't put a thing past you, can we?|
I've never thought about suicide seriously, I thought as I rested the pack of cigarettes on my chest, one barely hanging on my lip and still half in the pack. My lighter, always in my belt, had slid up, probably because I tended to twitch horribly in my legs when I slept. It was acting like a shield -- from what, I didn't know -- over my navel underneath my black assassin suit. Cigarettes on my chest, one in my mouth, lighter on my stomach, gun pointed at my head. Yeah, I was quite the fancy corpse.
|Do it, Valentine. Open your mind a bit. Literaly.|
[I'm laughing so hard inside, don't worry.]
|...You know you want to.|
Chaos hadn't moved an inch across the cell. He couldn't. Once I saw him, he had to stay that way. Probably some mental glitch I always had. Big smile, hollow eyes. Yeah, he was a real looker.
[That's beside the point.]
|That IS the point.|
[...]
|It's a shame you won't actually do it.|
My finger moved to the trigger. What the hell was I doing? Trying to prove him wrong? Yeah, shoot myself to prove that demon in my head he was a liar. That was a real great tactic. Then again, you can't have nightmares in death, or so I imagine. No dream, no confession to it.
|Ooh, he considers happiness in death. C'mon, boy, pull it. End it all. You look so miserable.|
[I'm sure I do.]
I had to stop and think. All the pros and cons left the decision at a stand-still. Pull the trigger and rid myself of this horror, or let myself live and...
|Exactly. What's the point of life to someone like you? See if it turns out well? Why not end it now, be happy, and not have to take that gamble?|
[...For once, I see your side.]
|Of course you do.|
[Are you making me think this way?]
|I talk to you, not think for you.|
[...]
|...|
[Goodbye, Chaos.]
|See you on the other side, Vincent.|
Barret Wallace, outside my door to see if I wanted to go to the bar for some drinks and nachos, kept walking. No one wanted to disturb the dead man that talked to himself.