A/N: I came up with a couple of challenges for myself: to write in present tense and to write a horror story. How did I do? Well, I'm hoping you'll tell me! The result is this three-chapter story, which will be posted over the next couple of weeks. It takes place before the events of FF7 and each chapter is written from a different point of view.
I hope you enjoy! Feedback is very welcome, as always.
Rated T for dark themes, a bit of gore and a bunch of naughty words.
** Part 1: The Hunters **
The man creeps forward, gripping the handle of his weapon firmly in his long fingers, and wishes he was somewhere else, anywhere else.
"Yo, Rude," he whispers. "Think Dr. Freaky's gonna live?"
His bald companion ignores him.
Reno peeks over his shoulder at the imposing security doors, sealed tight to put the laboratories in lockdown, then lets his eyes follow the grisly trail of blood smeared along the floor and, occasionally, walls. Hojo's trail, he surmises.
"Shit, he probably will. We ain't that lucky."
Every time the professor smiles, Reno expects the lips will continue to peel back until his face falls off and some fucked-up monstrosity pops out instead. He does not feel particularly inclined to recapture whatever thing nearly killed the Head of the Science Department, but orders are orders.
"Hey, whaddaya call it? Hojo gettin' torn up by one of his own freaks, I mean. It's got some special name. Poetic justice? That it?"
Rude's shades glint in the feeble glow of the emergency lighting as he turns his head. Reno feels, rather than sees, the stern look leveled upon him.
"Alright, alright, fine. I'll keep it down, yo."
As the Turks advance, the sallow floor-lighting makes their shadows dance ominously across the smooth, sterile surfaces of the Science floor. Reno experiences vague regrets about coming into work today.
It's too quiet, the younger Turk reckons. He gnaws on his bottom lip, opens his mouth, then remembers his promise and closes it, pushing a hand through the mess of scarlet hair crowning his head instead. He checks the settings of his mag rod. Battery full, set to stun, good to go. He extends the weapon with a practiced flick of his wrist and feels a tiny bit better.
He has a gun, too, tucked away in a shoulder holster under his jacket; but before the professor passed out, the man was adamant that his specimen be caught alive. Shame the old creep was less specific about what the specimen actually is. A top secret experiment, that is all Reno knows; Turk eyes only. Just his luck that he and Rude are the only ones present at Shinra HQ right now.
Reno glances up at his burly partner. He hopes two Turks are enough. Whatever it is, it broke free and slaughtered most of Hojo's team, then somehow cut the main power to the whole damned floor.
As if on cue, the anemic auxiliary lighting falters, fades, and just as the red-haired Turk's heart begins to sink, it flashes back to nominal. He scowls at the nearest lamp and mentally aims choice profanities at the electricians working on the power problem.
The first room is empty, save for a few stacks of crates. Halfway to the next room, a dull clang breaks the silence, followed by a faint whimper.
Reno drops into a defensive crouch and shares a look with Rude, who mirrors his pose. The redhead flicks his head toward the open doorway at the end of the hall. With soundless efficiency, the two men hustle into position on either side of it. After a few seconds' pause to listen for signs of alarm, the redhead peers in.
It is a mess. Desks and chairs lie where they were thrown, overturned in a scatter of books and papers. The large monitor on the wall is cracked and dark.
A figure is hunched over a body on the floor. The live one – a woman with long, brown hair pulled into a ponytail and her back to the Turks – is tugging at the dead one's belt. Reno's lips twist into a sour grimace when he recognizes Shinra security uniforms on both of them. Just what they need: more complications.
He glances as his partner and tilts his head. No words are needed; they have both been Turks for long enough to know there are only two ways this can play out. She dies now, or she dies later. Hojo is notoriously uptight about protecting his secret projects.
Rude shrugs, content to leave the choice up to his fellow Turk, then waits for his call.
It would be a clean shot from here, no fuss, but he has no idea what they're up against. Hojo could have anything locked up in the high-security laboratories. It would be smarter to keep an extra pair of hands around for now. Besides, the noise might attract trouble.
His decision made, Reno unfurls his lanky body and adopts a well-rehearsed slouch. As he strolls into the room he slings the mag rod over his shoulder, ready to swing it into action if need be.
"Hey," he calls out. "What's a girl like you doin' in a hole like this?"
His voice is pitched low, but she starts and whirls around with a speed that sends her flat on her ass. Her stained hands leave bright red streaks on the floor as she scrambles for purchase and Reno frowns, giving her a more careful inspection. Blood soaks the sleeves of her light blue shirt and her pants are covered in dark, wet splotches, but she doesn't appear injured.
The stench assaults his nostrils after just a few steps inside, followed by a jolt of dismay when he shifts his attention to the body she had been looting. The corpse is torn open by deep gouges, the man's guts spilling to the floor through split skin, lined with the jagged ends of cracked ribs. The Turk stares, speechless for once, then looks away before his lunch decides to take a wrong turn.
His eyes fall on a second corpse, hidden from his previous vantage point; this one in a white lab coat, but mutilated just like the first. A third one lies in a pool of blood near a door on the other side of the room. It appears to be missing a head.
His heart drums with anxious energy, his hands have turned clammy and cold, but appearances must be maintained. Reno snaps his mouth shut, plants his free hand on his hip and sighs.
"Well, fuck," he states. "Bad day to show up for work, huh?"
The woman stares at him with disbelief and naked suspicion. He keeps his own face free of emotions, noting her nervous tics and wild-eyed expression with some disapproval. Well, she is from security. Glorified janitors, that bunch. Hardly Turk material. He wonders if she is even fit to fight.
"You okay? In one piece?"
She stares, for a second or two longer than he finds comfortable, then responds with a sharp nod. The gray eyes hold his for another moment, then dart aside to look over his shoulder. Rude must have entered the room.
"So... What happened?" he prompts once the large man comes to a halt beside him.
A few seconds tick by. When she speaks, her voice is shaky, hesitant.
"We were attacked," she says. "I ran and hid, but the others weren't as lucky."
Reno can think of a thing or several to say about a security guard that runs away while the employees she is supposed to protect get chewed to bits, but manages to refrain from commenting.
"Attacked by what?" he asks instead.
"I... I don't know." Her tongue darts over her lip and she casts a skittish peek over her shoulder. "Some kind of animal."
"Okay, so what did it look like?" he nudges again, feeling his modest reserves of patience trickle away.
"It was big. Big and red." Her eyes flick to the mop on his head. "Red fur that was longer on its head, like a... a scruffy mane."
"Two legs? Four legs? Horns? Wings? Tentacles?"
"Four legs. A tail. Kind of like a wolf, but red and bigger."
Utterly useless, the Turk decides, and changes the subject.
"So, how the hell did ya get in here? Security ain't s'posed to come anywhere near the labs. The top floors are Turk turf, yo."
She shrinks at the steely edge in his tone and stumbles over her answer.
"Grady told me to come along, said one of the scientists needed help bringing some containers in here. I couldn't say no. I've only been here a couple of weeks."
"Grady? That's your buddy there?" He gestures to the mangled corpse and she nods. "Huh. Sucks to be him. What were ya doin' with the guy just now, anyway?"
"I wanted to get his gun," she mumbles, averting her gaze.
"What's wrong with yours?"
"It's not here."
Reno blinks, then looks down at her waist. The holster is conspicuously absent, along with her belt. How did he miss that detail?
"Are ya tellin' me you forgot your goddamn gun?"
"I was late! Grady rushed me before I'd finished changing. I didn't think it would be a big deal!"
He stares at her, amazed at the incompetence of Shinra security, and questions his decision not to put a bullet in her brain straight away.
"You ain't much of a security guard, are ya?"
She bites down on a reply to that, but the fierce indignation in her eyes gives him a little hope that she might have some fight in her after all.
"Forgot your jacket too, did ya?"
"No," the woman snaps, then makes a disgusted face. "It was covered in... guts. I took it off."
Rude tilts his head toward his partner and tightens his fists, letting the quiet creak of his leather gloves do the talking. Reno gets the message: less talk, more action.
"'Kay, whatever. I'm thinkin' we oughta stick together. Better chance of catchin' this beastie and gettin' the hell outta here that way, yo."
"You want to catch it?" She scoffs and shakes her head. "You're out of your mind. Count me out."
The brunette stumbles onto her feet, but Reno speaks up again before she can take a single step.
"Turks outrank Security. I just gave ya an order."
She shakes her head vigorously and heads toward the door.
"Oh no, no way, I've had enough of this. I'm leaving, now."
"You sure 'bout that?" he calls after her. "We're locked down, code red. Gonna need Turk clearance to open the doors, darlin', and you ain't gonna get it unless you do as you're told."
The woman's shoulders go tense and she stops. With visible reluctance, she retraces her steps.
"Good girl," he croons, allowing himself a smirk. "I'm Reno. This is Rude. And you?"
She shifts her eyes back and forth between them as he makes the introductions. The muscles in her jaw flex.
"Pierce," she finally says.
Pierce turns toward her dead colleague and gives the belt around his waist a sullen tug. The belt springs free with a sickening squelch and more of the unfortunate man's insides slide out of the gaping holes in his body. Reno feels his stomach do a quick flip, but the woman's face turns three shades whiter. She staggers to the nearest desk and ducks behind it.
"Whaddya think, buddy?" the redhead asks his colleague, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of retching. "Holding pens first? Check what critter's missin'?"
Rude, whose face has also taken on a more unusual hue, nods in agreement.
As a general rule, Reno likes to pretend that he has never visited the laboratories, has never laid eyes on any of Hojo's fucked-up experiments – or the creep himself, for that matter – but the longer he spends in the Science Department's facilities, the harder it becomes to maintain the illusion. They have not ventured into any of the labs so far, and yet an old, familiar loathing has settled in his belly and twists his guts into a knot of apprehension that has nothing to do with what he has faced today.
It is the smell, he decides. He despises it with an instinctive aversion buried deep in his bones. It is as if the walls themselves reek of old fear and death, and it only worsens the deeper they go. Reaching the holding pens is a blessing. The stench of monster musk and droppings is strong enough to seep into the corridor outside and overpower everything else.
"Something's wrong," Pierce says.
Reno stops, hand wrapped around the handle of the half-opened door. Puzzlement creases his brow and he turns toward the guard, but with the next intake of air he picks up on it too: the sickly-sweet tang of blood mingling with the more powerful odors. A sudden burst of alarm rushes through his body, but he knows how to harness it, how to take advantage of the sharpened senses.
The redhead hunches down and signals to the others to wait while he sneaks in for a closer look. The low ceiling, criss-crossed by pipes and held up by concrete columns, reminds him of the underground parking garage some seventy floors below; only instead of painted parking spots, the space is segmented by steel walls and bars.
The dim glow of the emergency lights create too many shadows and dark corners for his liking. Taking cover behind the nearest pillar, his eyes scan over the cages lining the walls and settle on the half-eaten, unidentifiable corpses in the middle of the room. None that he can see look human. That is some relief, he supposes. The fact that all cages are empty, some with doors wide open; not so much.
He is not alone. It is not a knowledge based on observable facts, but on a fierce survival instinct he has learned to trust. It warns with a tingling along his spine, with the raised hairs on the nape of his neck. His ears prick up. His grip tightens on the baton.
Reno thinks he hears a faint clicking sound but cannot be sure; his mind conjures up images of claws on concrete. He creeps farther into the room with a silent tread, switching on his mag rod with a quiet hum. His ears pick up another click, stronger this time, and he catches himself thumbing the rod's shock output to full. Capture, not kill. Reluctantly, the Turk dials the weapon back to stun, not at all sure it will have any effect on Hojo's freaky pets. He glances over his shoulder, trying to catch Rude's eye.
A savage snarl is the only warning he gets. He whips his head back around and in the split-second it takes to react, he registers murderous, bloodshot eyes and gleaming fangs. On pure reflex, his body twists and jerks to the side, avoiding the teeth, but the creature's massive weight slams into his shoulder and knocks him down.
Reno uses the momentum of the impact to roll away as soon as he hits the floor and finds his feet just in time to face the second attack. This time he dodges, swings, then dances to the side as the sparks fly. The monster mewls in pain and fear, flounders blindly and crashes into a pillar, slumping down in a jumble of purple fur and enraged growls. A wolf, Reno realizes as the beast writhes on the floor, its clawed paws flailing around for hold; a weird, mutated wolf that only seems more pissed off after the shock it received.
The Turk dives for the nearest cage just as the beast scrambles to its feet. He wildly gropes for the cage door as the animal lunges for him a third time, but only manages to pull it halfway before the wolf crashes into it, throwing him backwards. A roar thunders through his head and rattles his ribs; then all he knows is the pain.
It takes him a few seconds to figure out he isn't dead; a few more to figure that might be an improvement, considering the agony that throbs in the back of his skull, pulsing in time with his racing heart. Reno grits his teeth and opens his eyes with a groan, blinking away the bright lights that cavort across his vision. Lolling his head to the side, he realizes why he is still alive. Beyond the closed door of the cage, he spies Rude squatting down next to an immobile mass of fur. The bright red tuft of a tranquilizer dart sticks out of the animal's flank.
"For fuck's sake, man, what took ya so goddamn long?" Reno groans and lets his body go limp, soaking up the relief that floods through his chest and out into his shaking limbs.
Rude merely raises an eyebrow and straightens up.
While his partner and the guard drag the unconscious monster into another holding cell, Reno allows himself several deep breaths before he gathers himself off the cage floor into a sitting position. His eyes land on the torn sleeve of his jacket. He stares at it for several seconds, wondering when that happened. A closer inspection reveals a matching tear in his shirt and a long gash along his forearm. It bleeds, but is little more than a scratch. Better than having his throat torn out, the Turk muses.
He probes the back of his head with fingers that still tremble in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush, and grimaces as the light touch sets off another stab of pain through his brain. His eyes don't seem to focus quite right and a mild dizziness washes over him when he stands up. Concussion, probably. Again.
"I hope one of you useless bastards had enough brains to bring a Cure or somethin', cause my head's fuckin' killin' me," he gripes as he reaches for the cage door.
The door is locked. Reno regrets ever getting out of bed in the morning.
Rude appears on the other side of the bars and assesses the situation.
"Pierce," he rumbles.
When the woman joins him and gives them both a quizzical look, he gestures to his captive partner.
"Red, scruffy mane. Think it's your beastie?"
Reno gapes, then clenches his fists and glowers at the other man.
The confusion on the brunette's face deepens, but it only takes a couple of seconds before her eyes widen in understanding.
"Could be," she says thoughtfully, lips twitching. "He's got the same bloodthirsty look about him."
"Bit scrawny, though," the bald man continues. "Doesn't look that dangerous."
"Rude," Reno growls, "don't you ever shut up?"
Reno, now with an ache-free head thanks to half a hi-potion, nudges a carcass with the toe of his boot. It could be another wolf mutant. It could just as well be something else. The gouged flesh and gnawed bones do not tell him much, apart from the obvious fact that something had been very hungry. With any luck, the chewed cadavers mean Turks are currently off the menu.
"Kalm fangs, death claw," Pierce mumbles as she reads through an inventory of the holding pens' inhabitants. "I know what those look like and it wasn't one of them."
Reno wanders over to her as she speaks and peeks over her shoulder. A few obscure code names are listed in addition to the monster species. One of them catches his eye.
"'Red XIII', huh? Wonder if that's its color."
"Could be, I guess?" The woman tosses the document onto the metal trolley she found it on. "This isn't going to help us. There's just a bunch of numbers and letters next to the names."
Her eyes are intriguing, Reno thinks, dark gray like swirling storm clouds just before the lightning comes. She has a cooler head on her shoulders than the first impression suggested, too. Such a shame she had to wander into places she didn't belong.
"Guess it don't really matter anyway," he sighs and stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets. "We gotta round up everythin' that's on the loose, yo."
The Turk looks around and spots his partner in the back of the room, inspecting one of the cages. As he saunters over, he ponders putting in a word for her to Tseng before Hojo hears about unauthorized personnel in the labs, then mentally slaps himself for considering it. Her fuck-up, not his. Not his circus, not his monkey.
"What's up?" he asks, bending forward at the hip to peer into the cage that has captured Rude's interest.
"Red fur," the larger man murmurs, holding up a few strands in his gloved hand.
Reno glances at the number above the cage and matches it to one he remembers from the inventory list.
"Guess this 'Red XIII' might be our beastie," he concludes. "Why come back here, tho'? Wanted a snack, maybe?"
"Maybe," Rude says. "Maybe not."
"What else? Slow us down with more monsters on the loose?" He does not like the sound of that. "Think it's that smart?"
"Smart enough to open cages," his partner points out.
And tough enough not to worry about the consequences. Reno likes that implication even less.
"Smart or not, the fuckin' thing sure knows how to make our job suck harder," he grumbles. "Better get a move on. These monsters ain't gonna catch 'emselves, yo."
Rude nods and exits the cage. The redhead straightens up, turns around. He frowns.
"Where is she?"
An inhuman snarl tears through the brief silence that follows. The Turks trade a quick glance, then dash for the door. By the time they reach it, both men have their weapons in their hands, raised and ready.
To Reno, the poorly lit corridor looks even murkier than before, but he sees enough to deem it empty. Vicious growls and yelps bounce off the walls and echo through the desolate space, making it impossible to pinpoint their origin.
"Shit! Which way?"
"Let's split up," Rude suggests.
"Gotcha!"
Reno takes off to the left. The first room looks like an examination room of some kind; full of medical equipment he can't identify, but devoid of life. He darts toward the next one.
The cacophony of beastly sounds ends abruptly. Reno stops dead in his tracks, ears ringing in the sudden stillness, and presses his back against the wall, his head swiveling from side to side as he tries to keep an eye on both ends of the hallway. Rude has disappeared.
The light shifts. A shadow appears in the doorway he was heading toward. It flickers, divides, then comes together again. The sound of heavy breathing reaches Reno's ears; too heavy for a human. The Turk's chest feels tight; his own breaths are labored, and not from the running. He inches closer to the doorway, his eyes glued to the strange shadow-play on the floor. The darkness frolics in odd ways; he cannot make out a recognizable shape. Every primal impulse in his body screams at him to run.
The dancing shades go still. So does Reno, and he holds his breath, listening intently. Nothing. Not even the breathing.
A glance over his shoulder tells him Rude is still missing. He is on his own. The redhead closes the remaining distance to the door and sneaks a furtive peek. In the gloom of the backup lights, he can make out the outlines of large cylinders – Mako tanks, he recognizes, although empty ones. He strains his ears and hopes the wild drumming of his heart won't drown out the sounds of his quarry.
Still nothing. He can only hope his partner will show up to drag his ass out of trouble sooner rather than later. Muscles coiled tight with tension, the Turk enters. He stalks deeper, padding silently from tank to tank, all senses on high alert.
The stench of disinfectant and stale Mako hangs heavy in the air, but it cannot conceal the tang of copper and wet fur, which grows stronger the further in he goes. Reno discovers the first smudges of blood just after the first cylinder, and follows their trail. When he reaches his third tank, a faint light catches his eye. Not the pale green luminosity of Mako, but a warm glow, orange like the last rays of a setting sun. A stab of apprehension sends goosebumps crawling over his skin.
Reno approaches with slow, wary steps, seeking comfort from the heft of the mag rod in his hand, now set to a significantly higher power level. Adrenaline surges through his veins, bringing forth the undeniable thrill of the hunt. As he gets closer, the redhead realizes that the source of the illumination is obscured by a shapeless blob he cannot identify, about waist-high. A few more steps, and he notices the same, unsteady flicker of light he saw in the doorway. Kind of like... fire?
The blob moves. Wild shadows dance across the room as a flaming tail emerges from behind a crouching body, outlining the creature in a halo of red fur. A baleful eye glares at him, glowing with feral rage, and the Turk's mouth goes dry as he recognizes the fire lion from Cosmo Canyon.
"Oh shit!"
The great feline pounces, claws bared and snarling, and Reno wishes his last words had been wittier.