Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and its characters, places, and situations are (C) copyright Square Enix. They are reproduced here for non-commercial entertainment. All other material is mine.
I couldn't afford to be a better person. It's kill or be killed where I came from.
Sorry I joined? It was join or die. Sometimes I'd stroll through under-Four and its ghosts didn't recognize me. Didn't really recognize them, either: emaciated in the soul, torn apart by hungry desperation as I once was. Wouldn't have made it to twenty-five if I'd stayed. And I'd've had even less integrity and morality.
Those are luxuries, when you're a slum rat. I have to follow orders, but becoming this was my choice. I wear a suit, get paid, and don't have to kill every motherfucker around me to survive. The Turks give power, comfort, control, where I'd had nearly none. I would never go back.
I don't bite the hand that feeds and protects me. I worked hard to get and keep this. I'm outstanding as well as lucky to be Reno of the Turks.
Nothing can take that away from me if I don't let it. I'm in control. I'll never be powerless again.