THE MIRROR HAS MANY FACES

by Various Authors



I. Reno

by Scarr

a/n: I solemnly swear not to write another POV of Reno every again.

_____________

They say life's a bitch, then you die. Which is, frankly, the only clever theorem I've derived from all the shits of philosophy.

So I'm broke as hell, and that greasy swine of a boss is having the time of his life with two-cent whores giggling daftly under the table. A day in the life of Magnus Shinra constitutes revelling in the glory of a nineteen-twenty cigar with your zippers undone and a pair of disposed lips enclosing over your shrivelled dick.


Talk about luxury.

All the slum dogs do is bitch about how it's supposed to be some sort of utopia above them. You know, they even give the sector plates fancy names like "The Floating Pizza". Cute. Least there's one sector that keeps down riot now, 'cos dead men don't talk.

Right, so you're the lucky 27 percent inhabiting the upper plate. Big fucking deal. Don't mean to punch your rose tinted specs out, but it isn't some kind of alternate Eden in here, and the factory smoke would do you in quicker than a hill of cigarettes would.


Desperate situations call for desperate measures. When even two-cent whores seem extravagant and that whiny bitch who shares your bed stops doing the laundry and the dishes for you, you're usually left with three choices.

One. Take up a new assignment. Which I'm not terribly eager to commit myself to. When I get my hands on the bloody fuckwit who calls himself a pilot, he will be learning a wondrous new way to fly. For that fleeting instant, I could have vouched that Sector Seven was going to be my last job ever, what with a couple of cracked ribs -compliments of Strife and company- and jumping off the railing only to find that the helicopter was not underneath. The new kid, Elaine, Elenor -whatever her goddamned name is, told the cleaner at the fouth floor toilet that it was my fault I leapt off the wrong end. She will be belting a different tune when she sees what I've done to her new bottle of perfume.

A second idea would be to arouse a revolution within the cooperation until demands are met.

And three -  attempt to fly from Reeve's office, while conveniently forgetting to bother with such a mundane thing as a parachute. Of course, option three would prove to be an inconvenience to the roadway maintainers. Besides, I happen to be an immaculate person. Don't look at the suit, it does my obsession with cleanliness a great injustice. As for option two, my colleagues sure as hell wouldn't hesitate to pump a couple dozen holes in me the instant I turn against the Company.

So I talk a little walk to the sixty-ninth floor, and request for something, anything to do, just hand over the fucking gil and I'm on the case.

"Really? Well you can get down on your knees and start sucking."

I truly hope that little brat is joking. Is it some distasteful legacy of the Shinra to derive pleasure from the fine art of fellatio? Like father, like son. I pray for the day he fiddles with that cheap, oversized rifle of his and shoots himself right in the balls. That'll give the pompous urchin something to think about.

I permit myself a complacent smirk. I like playing hard to get. Which is why the little twerp never stops getting the hots for me. He may not know it, but I have him nicely wrapped around my little finger.

"Actually, Sir, I was thinking along the lines of work."

A blond eyebrow perks ever so slightly. He disgusts me, utterly. It's as if he rehearses every single move, flaunting that fucking gay body like he's Scarlet or something.

"Work, Reno? That's new. I should be expecting a horde of flying pigs coming round this way now." Speak of the devil. Damn bitch doesn't know when to keep that bloody mouth of hers shut. She drums her painstakingly manicured nails on the desk and leans sleazily towards Rufus. She's doing a revolting job of flirting, but I don't tell her that. Watching that slut embarrass herself is definitely more satisfying.

"I just made some coffee, Sir." I didn't know it was possible for her to even sound sweet. The cup is placed delicately upon a stack of paperwork, and I catch a little twitch at the corners of his mouth. I guess the woman doesn't know that his stress in ultimate tidiness surpasses mine by a mile.

He declines hastily, and she takes the initiative to exhibit her cleavage as a last ditch resort. Which part of go away and die, you bitch doesn't she understand? Rufus is desperate for me to save his little gay ass, and I am ignoring him on purpose. Scarlet closes the distance between them, cleverly arching in such a way that displays her total lack of regard for a bra. Sadly, she isn't clever enough. Even a fool like Rufus remains unmoved.

"Scarlet, Palmer's probably craving for a drink much more than I am. Perhaps you could do something useful for a change and pacify the fatty before he starts whining again."

The sensuous grin vanishes from her face and she withdraws with an attempted pout. Personally, I think she did a miserable job. It came out more like a snort.

High-heels clattering upon the marble floor, she strides off furiously, as Rufus calls out, "And don't forget the lard."

The door opens and she nearly collides into a passing Tseng before scowling and heading towards the opposite direction.

Tseng's a man of business. He's so composed and stoical it makes me seem like a slob next to him. He's been seeing the Vice-President more often than needed, I notice. Makes me feel a twinge of sympathy for the rookie sometimes. And is it just me, or is everyone turning into a bunch of lovelorn twits? Now you know why Cupid's blindfolded. Even my best bud isn't spared from this bullshit. I remind him frequently that it wouldn't do for him to pine for that barmaid like that, it ruins the whole cool-as-shit attitude he usually holds up. Not to say I wouldn't like to have her under my sheets either, but she's apparently spoken for, and I certainly won't appreciate a Nailbat shoved right up my arse.

I notice the blond boy is staring at me again. I don't like it one bit. It doesn't take an idiot to interpret that shameless leer of his, but what can I say, I'm just an attractive sort of person. I clear my throat and try again.

"I mean, you could hook me onto the Avalanche case. I heard it's expanding its forces, so you might want to have more people looking into it."


"Right. Avalanche." There is a mild furrow of eyebrows, and he nods brusquely. "So you remind me. Those ruffians are proving to be more of a threat than Sephiroth. Especially their leader, Clod Strife."

I suppress the urge to mention that name-calling is a very childish thing to do. "So do I have a job or what?"

He looks pensive for a moment, then summons for the General, self-consciously eyeing his reflection in the porcelain ash-tray, while I secretly willed for it to crack in reply. Just at the moment, a hearty guffaw erupts from the corridor and Heidy ploughs down the carpet with a forceful salute to Rufus. I hope he sprains his arm one day or something.


"Your orders, Sir!"

Slender fingers render his fringe a narcissistic flick. I cower. The kid might have dandruff. "General. Any news regarding the terrorist activities of Avalanche?"

"No, Sir. But there has been a recruitment of a new member, according to Reeve. Based on his reports, though, she seems relatively harmless. They picked her up in the forests near Gongaga just a few days ago -"

"Nevertheless, someone worth checking upon." Rufus interrupts, his gaze shifting offhandedly to the glass of untouched tequila on the bar counter. " You on, Reno?"

I shrug. "You want me to spy on her?"

"Well. I just require sufficient information on her for the records. Her background, fighting capabilities and techniques. It's a simple job, really."

"Then I'll take it."

Heidegger concludes the discussion with another unpleasant chortle, and Rufus swerves around to glare at him.

Boy, if looks could fucking kill.

__________________________________


II. Yuffie
by morning z e p h y r.

a/n: This took us a few months to get together, and at one point, we thought all was lost. But we pulled through. I am extremely proud of scarr, tini, and magnum opus! Excellent work girls. And to all readers, I hope you enjoyed reading this!

______

Slowly, I swing my legs as I perch atop a branch. Truth is, I am marveling over the hell of a decent job I did on deceiving AVALANCHE. You would think that fooling this so call "terrorist" group would be just a tad bit more difficult. Of course, I really shouldn't be complaining. Maybe achieving my aspiration isn't going to be so tough after all.

Damn, my stomach is howling. So I casually jump down from the tree and walk towards Gongaga where the crew is currently staying.

Wait, I hear footsteps behind me.

Boy, whoever it is, that person really needs a lesson on spying. Pretending that my ears heard nothing, I continue my little walk. Just as Gongaga comes into view I pivot myself around on my right heel only to see a red- head stop dead in his tracks.

The hell does he think he is doing? If anything, nobody follows Yuffie Kisaragi, namely me, around without my consent.

Before a word even escapes me, I unconsciously raise a questioning eyebrow at him. In return, he gives me this mischievous smirk.

Gawd! I hope he doesn't use that to flatter girls on dates. Pretty bad technique if you ask me. Of course, that isn't the only thing he needs to do some brushing up on. For starters, grooming that hair of his more than once a year would be quite nice. And that navy blue, disheveled suit of his…let us not even go there!

He shoves a hand in his pocket and gives me the "lookover" while stopping momentarily at my legs. What does that guy think he is doing? He finally averts his eyes and looks up at me. "Where you heading to, sweets?"

Does he own no shame? Sweets? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I am pretty sure I don't know him too well. Come to think of it, I don't know him at all. "Nowhere that should concern you, sugar!"

Once again, a satisfied smirk adorns his features. Mimicking his usage of pet names obviously doesn't work too well against him.

"See, you adore me already." He walks towards me while laying his Electromagnetic Nightrod lazily on his shoulder. Naturally, I grip the Conformer tighter in case anything out-of-the-ordinary should occur.

He grins and places his weapon under my chin, gently tapping upward. "Feeling a bit timid? Don't worry. I won't hurt you; at least, I won't, yet."

He apparently took notice of me tensing up. "It's called ninja instincts, red head." Ninja instincts definitely comes in handy every time, all the time.

"Has anyone ever told you that name calling is very childish?"

That lowly bastard. I restrain the thought of pulling myself away from his continuous tapping on my chin. It is extremely annoying, but that weapon of his doesn't exactly seem to be a mere toy that he carries around for fun. Instead, I present him with a self-content smirk and simply say, "No."

Almost as if he can read minds, he lowers his weapon at an antagonizing, slow pace. "Oh, of course, I almost forgot. You are a child. That explains why adults don't tell you the truth. Children get their feelings hurt a little easier."

Within a matter of seconds, my priceless Conformer found its way to his temple. "I don't know who you are, but I swear by the gods of Wutai that if you move, I'll slit your fucking throat out." I whisper -barely audible- and press on my weapon just a little harder to erase, if any, his uncertainties about whether I am serious or not.

"I guess, we aren't going to be friends, huh? Well, in that case, you might want to reconsider your own position, too. I can sizzle your bones as easily as you can rip out my throat."

Confused by what he meant, I glance down slowly while keeping the Conformer steady.

Quite disturbing of a fact to be a ninja and not realize when and where your opponent's weapon lands on you. In my current case, it's not knowing when the Nightrod was first pointed between my breasts. Disgusted, I look back up at him.

He lowers his face towards mine, stopping only when a thread of space separates our noses. If he wants to live, he had better not come any closer.

"For your information, the name is Reno. Reno of the Turks. Don't forget that. And from the looks of it, you're the Wutaian princess, Yuffie Kisaragi."

Turks? Shinra? Is that what he just said or did I hear wrong? Yeah, that's what he just said. Damn the Wutaian gods to hell!

Right now, I would much rather have a bat bite me and contract rabies than have a Turk touching me. Do not think I'm kidding, please.

Once again, he gives me his notorious smirk. That move gets real old really fast. "Surprised? You really shouldn't be. Just because I'm a Turk doesn't mean you can't lust after me. By all means, don't resist. It won't do you any good at all."

Gods almighty! I honestly hope he is kidding. His ego had better not grow any bigger than this, or I will inflate it faster than he expects. "Lust? You? Sorry, but I don't exactly dig guys like you. Don't exactly meet my requirements as the ideal man."

Barely touching my skin, he runs a finger slowly down the left side of my face. "Define the meaning of 'the ideal man.'"

The lowness of his voice makes him almost irresistible . . . Gawd, I so did not just think that. Yuck! Kisaragi, what is wrong with you? Get a grip! He is a Turk! Turks work under Shinra. Shinra is an asshole who lets his lackeys carry out his dirty work for him. Therefore, Reno was most likely sent by Shinra to retrieve something from me. Right? Right . . .

This is bad. I can't even convince myself to believe my own thoughts. Not good.

"Yuffie! Yuffie, where are you?"

I let out a sigh of relief. Aeris saves the day again. I really owe her one.

He glances at the hills behind me and grins. "Darn it. The Ancient has impeccable timing. Sugarette, we'll finish this conversation later. Gotta run." He pivots around on his left heel and jogs in the opposite direction of Gongaga.

Just as Reno disappears beyond the horizon, Aeris places a hand on my shoulder. "Who were you talking to?"

Should I tell her? Nawh, it won't do any harm to keep this little "encounter" a secret for a while. "A lost stranger who asked me for directions."

She shrugs and says, "Oh I thought the voice seemed familiar. Guess not. Anyway, dinner is ready."

Gawd, in a haze of chaos, I totally forgot about my poor stomach; it's all that Turk's fault.

Damn you, Reno.

Damn you.
_______________________________

III. Vincent
by tini .

a/n: vincent is angsting again. the lyrics are from pink floyd.

_____

it's the slow sort of nightmare. I don't get the fire ones anymore, the spontaneous combustion of friends and lovers, the rush of red light on black, burning my retinas through. now it's different. the acid burns slow and caustic through the grey matter, things ooze blood and slowly fester and rot off. I think it's worse this way, before I could turn my head and it could be over, but these dreams take hours, and everything seems old and worn out. like me.

there's a voice.

it's girlish and bitter, like poison dipped lollipops. it's not what I want to hear. it's young.

"….just like that. just like a turk."

--your lips move, but I can't hear what you're sayin'….--

I keep my eyes shut, feigning sleep, but she sees the twitch behind my lids and I wonder why she has to come to me. she's everything I lost. everything I lost and don't want back.

"were they like that when you were one?" she asks, not expecting an answer.

"they were worse, yuffie. worse than flirtation, worse than the insolence and bratty muttering you see. they still are. you don't even know."

"I do know," she protests. "he's an asshole."

I'm closing my eyes to be rid of her, but everything is tattooed in perfect swirling crisis on the inside of my eyelids, all the things I taught, and the one who teaches them now. if he remembered my warnings. if there is honour among thieves. if the next generation can uphold it.

if I care anymore…

--and I have become, comfortably numb….--

"yuffie."

"vince?"

"what am I fighting for?"

___________________________________


IV. Tifa
by magnum opus.


Suddenly, I'm sixteen again.

Hungry red flames shoot up around me, licking greedily at the houses. The air is filled with the deafening screams of the people, and I see bodies, charred, lifeless, all over the ground. Zangan is running in and out of the houses, trying to search for survivors, but deep in my heart, I know there are none. I watch in horror as Sephiroth strikes down two of Daddy's friends, before melting into flames as though he was never there. Daddy yells at me to stay where I am, and then he runs, he runs after Sephiroth, towards the old Mako reactor. I scream at him to come back, but he doesn't hear me, and suddenly, I'm moving, chasing him, praying that he will be all right.

"Tifa?"

But I am too late. Daddy's corpse is stretched out on the metal floor, and I see the huge wound that Sephiroth's sword made in him. I scream and scream for him to wake up, but he doesn't…

"Tifa!"

Barret's voice jolts me back to reality, and I find myself shivering uncontrollably.

"Ya okay?"

I give a quick nod to reassure him, but he doesn't look too convinced. He gives me a slight frown, before patting me on the back.

We're leaving Nibelheim today. Cloud thinks that we should head through Nibel Mountains, after Sephiroth, and I hope he is right. Whatever it is, I just want to get out of this place quick. It's uncanny how Shinra was able to restore all the buildings to look exactly like they did before the massacre. But no matter how perfect the buildings may appear, all I can see is the orange glow of embers, reminding me of the day Daddy died.

Cloud seems to notice my discomfort, and he comes over to stand next to me.

"We're going to get him, Tifa, I promise. He'll pay for what he did five years ago."

Five years? I still don't understand. Cloud wasn't there five years ago. There was another SOLDIER apart from Sephiroth, but he definitely hadn't been Cloud. Yet, Cloud had described everything perfectly that day, right down to the Mako fountain. If he knew what had happened, it had to mean that he had been there, right?

Then why can't I place him in that memory? Or was the whole memory just an illusion, like Nibelheim is now?

"Are we leaving or not? This place bores the hell out of me!" The slender sixteen year old ninja behind me taps her shuriken impatiently against her knee, ignoring the glare that Barret gives her. Cloud merely shrugs, and we start moving towards the mountains.

Barret doesn't trust the new additions to our group. He thinks that Cait Sith is too zealous, Yuffie seems to be hiding something, and our newest member, Vincent… well, he's an ex-Turk. And Turks work for Shinra, which means they're always up to no good, right?

I wish I could be sure like Barret. He's always so confident about what he does. I'd like to think I'm like that, but lately… I don't know. Lately, I keep remembering Jesse, Wedge and Biggs, and I wonder if there had been anything we could have done to save them. I keep wondering what would have happened if we had never gone against Shinra. But if I ever told Barret that, he would probably go ballistic.

Oh come on. Barret trusts me. He's been looking out for me ever since we met. I can't betray him.

Cloud gestures to me from the front of the group. He seems a little worried that I'm lagging behind, which is surprising since he's usually preoccupied with Aeris. Not that I blame him. She's everything the perfect girl would be: pretty, outgoing, smart, innocent. She's got an angelic smile, a tinkling laugh, and the utmost grace in movement. It's no wonder that Cloud is captivated by her. I would be if I were him.

But sometimes, I get the impression that she knows more than she lets on. I can't help but wonder if she knows that I like Cloud in… that way. When she looks at me, I get the feeling that she's gloating, and that perfect smile is just another weapon to strike at me with.

Maybe I'm just overreacting.

I trip on a loose rock, but something cold grabs my shoulder before I fall. I look up to find that it's Vincent's golden claw, and an unconscious shudder runs through my body. He notices, I think, but the man doesn't show emotion in any way, and I can't be sure. I look away muttering a word of thanks, and he quietly slinks to the back of the group.

Since we "freed" Vincent from his underground prison in the old Shinra mansion, Yuffie's spent most of her time talking to him. She's very intrigued by the fact that Vincent used to be a Turk, too intrigued according to Barret. Her behavior is obviously not earning any trust points from him. I'm just amazed that she can chat so freely with Vincent, even with his glowing red eyes and that hideous claw.

It's not that I don't want to give him a chance, but the man claims to have been sleeping in that coffin before the day I was born. Technically, that makes him almost 60, even though he looks at most 30. I find that hard to believe, but then again, I never know what to believe in anymore.

Most importantly, he claims to know Sephiroth. I can't help but feel wary of him. How would he know Sephiroth if he was supposed to be asleep in that coffin when Nibelheim was razed to the ground?

There are too many contradictions, too many questions that nobody can answer.

The old Mako reactor looms in front of us, and I clench my fists in determination.

We're coming for you Sephiroth.

And when we get to you, I'm going to get some answers.






{ To be continued.}