Terror

Disclaimer: None of the persons or settings used are mine, I certainly get no money for doing this, and I think that's about it.

Chapter 1: getting lost

The light was gloomy and dim in the slums, as it always was beneath the shade of the 'big pizza'. But Tseng knew that in a few minutes the streets would be lit by the golden rays of the evening sun as it sank below the higher city. For a short while the slums would be shed in the bright natural blaze instead of the industrial lights that usually bathed the streets in their murky glow. A few precious minutes before the darkness once more claimed the run down streets.

However, the head of the Turks had not come to the slums to experience this fleeting moment of hope for the suffering populace; he had come here for business.

Various rumors of a new group of terrorists had reached the Turks' office. But they were just rumors, vague and unspecific, and his only goal for now lay in assessing their accuracy. Should he indeed find the groups' hideout and consider them a threat, he would have to think of ways to deal with them.

But that was just a possibility for the future and dwelling upon it now might cost him valuable concentration. He had left the office earlier than usual, had indeed even left some paperwork unfinished to take this stroll through the sector three slums. He could have probably send Reno or Rude to check up on the rumors, but the two Turks had already retired home, or more likely to a bar, after a tiring day in the field. And taking Elena with him on what would be but a simple scouting mission seemed improper, considering that she'd have to work overtime, again. Truth be told, the Turk commander liked to stay in training, more than just in the friendly sparring matches with his fellow Turks or the occasional SOLDIER. The polished mahogany table that adorned his office, too often gave him the impression of being confined behind it and its towering walls of daily reports.

Being the head of the Turks certainly had some disadvantages, always worrying about his team members' condition, or their reckless acts was one of them. Having to suffer through Reno's reports and not participating in most of the missions were other ones. Controlling the general affairs of the Turks, coupled with his primary duty as bodyguard to president Shinra and his son certainly claimed enough time as it was.

The sun just started to descend below the outlines of the plate as Tseng drew nearer to his presumed goal. The streets were almost completely deserted, which was unusual for the time of day, yet nothing too remarkable in the vicinity of a Turk. The untainted blue of his uniform was easy enough to distinguish and certainly well enough known to garner 

respect - and fear. Thus it kept most citizens in their houses or made them vacate the street he walked more quickly. The Turks had often found it to their advantage that most people cared little for involving them in their affairs.

Yet the blue suit had its disadvantages as well. It was a perfect target.

A sudden shot rang surprisingly loud through the clear evening air. And before it had fully registered in Tseng's head and kicked his body in motion, the pain hit him. White hot agony flared in his right shoulder and down the length of his arm and the sheer force of the bullet forced his body backwards. Staggering to keep on his feet Tseng's left hand flew up to cover his injury while he fought to not let go of the weapon he held in the other.

Years of Turk training kicked in as he searched his surroundings for his attacker and secure cover. According to the wound in his shoulder, which still bled freely, the opponent's weapon had been a small caliber, probably a sniper rifle. That would also explain why he had not noticed his attacker, more than likely he had stood upon the roof down the street, hidden by the harsh glare of the setting sun.

But if he had indeed hidden there to fire the shot, then he had already left his hiding place. It was likely that he was moving to a better position now, to shoot again, a more accurate shot this time. With no way of knowing where the next shot would come from and the injury hindering his ability to return fire, Tseng retreated into a close-by alley. With the nagging suspicion that he had run into an elaborate trap; he stumbled along the small street.

Blood was still gushing from his wound, sticking to his fingers as he fought to slow the bleeding. But judging from the warmth on his back the bullet had gone right through and he could do little to stem the flow of blood from the exit wound.

His steps grew slower as his feet seemed to get heavier with every one of them.

'The blood loss is getting to me, I'll need cover, and quickly.'

Was it just his imagination or were there footsteps hurrying in his direction? It seemed like the terrorists, or whoever they were, had caught up to him.

'Considering the kind of trail I left, that wasn't too hard', Tseng thought bitterly. Blood spluttered the ground behind him, and by now he was certain that he could hear the footsteps of his pursuers.

But the Turk leader would be damned if they'd get him just like that. Scanning the alley he noticed a couple of trashcans off to one side. Hiding behind them, he leaned heavily against the brick wall behind him. This place sheltered him from two sides, effectively blocking possible bullet paths, should they try and shoot at him again. If they wanted him, they'd have to go around the bins and would thus allow him to shoot first.

If he could get his injured gun arm to work.

The steps were louder now, but more careful, too. They knew they were getting closer to their victim, but being unable to see him; they would not rush headlong into their doom. He could distinguish three or four different walking patterns. With his gun fully loaded that would pose no threat, should they attack together, however, he would stand little chance in his current condition.

His attackers drew ever closer and Tseng lifted his gun, ready to shoot at the first of them, who stepped around the waste bins. The blood on his hand made it difficult to hold onto his weapon and fatigue let his arm tremble, but his aim was true as the first of his opponents appeared. With a loud bang, which resounded from the walls lining the small alley, the bullet left the weapon and hit the man in the head, directly above his right ear.

The stricken man fell to the ground unmoving, his weapon clattering from his lifeless hand.

Silence gripped the alley after the last echo of the gunshot had died away. The terrorists seemed to be too shocked to launch a direct attack. 'Or they plan a new strategy', Tseng thought grimly. Now that they knew where he was he had lost the element of surprise and the trash cans were not that much of a hindrance to them. If they had half a brain, one of them would climb the bins and they'd attack from two sides at once.

Tseng would have no possibility to counter that attack. Now that his opponent's had the advantage he had but one option: attack them while they were still unaware of it.

Grinding his teeth against the pain he pushed himself off the ground and into a standing position, keeping his back against the wall for the added support. His eyes met those of his opponents as they stared at him. Surprise was written across their features before he 

brought his weapon up and, supporting his shaking right hand with his bloody left one, pressed the trigger twice.

Once again the bullets found their targets and the two men joined their fallen companion on the ground.

Tseng slid back down the wall, exhausted. He dropped his weapon to the ground and fumbled through his pockets for his cell phone. He retrieved it at the third attempt, his bloody grasp slipping on the smooth surface. But as he had feared the small device was pretty much useless down here in the slums. The reception was virtually non-existent.

Sighing, he dropped the cell phone as well.

His first priority now was to take care of the wound; he could worry about informing his fellow Turks later. But the fact that he had informed no one about this scouting mission kept nagging at the back of his mind. The sun had already settled below the slum's higher buildings and flickering lamplight had once more claimed the streets. Uninvited thoughts came to him as he started to wonder what would happen if he did not make it back to his office, or at least to a 'cell phone friendly area' before tomorrow morning. Elena would undoubtedly have a fit and he didn't actually want to think about his superiors' reaction. Though, with Heidegger and President Shinra, it was doubtful that they'd miss him at all, at least if Reno hadn't gone and gotten himself in trouble again.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts from those pointless musings the Wutaian refocused them on his injury instead. The pain had ebbed to a dull throbbing, but that was not necessarily a good thing. He had to stop the blood flow, fast.

Reaching forward, Tseng released the straps that bound his hunting knife to his lower leg. Using the weapon to tear the sleeve from his uniform and the shirt beneath it, he could get a first glimpse at his wound. It looked about as bad as he had anticipated from the flow of blood. No major blood vessels had been hit, and he was positive that no bones had suffered either. This way he could at least move his injured arm, even if not much.

It was not an easy task to rip his sleeves to shreds and despite the help of the sharp blade it took him awhile to create the makeshift bandages. Using his teeth to pull them tight, he bound the wound, hoping that they would suffice to stem the flow of blood.

'What now, then?' The head of the Turks knew that with his cell phone out of commission, his best bet to return to the upper plate would be to reach the central pillar. From there he could use the hidden ShinRa elevator back to the main building.

His gaze passed over his opponents. Taking up his cell phone, he reached a decision. He typed a short message and left it with the terrorists. In case someone came searching for him before he had reached the upper plate, this would point them in the right direction.

Getting his feet beneath him Tseng was troubled to find how much strength it cost him to push himself off the ground. When he finally stood once more he was leaning heavily against the wall and suddenly he doubted whether he'd make it back to the central pillar.

He grit his teeth, berating himself for his sudden pessimism. 'No use, thinking like that.' Even his thoughts seemed to become hazy, but he pushed on regardless. It was only thanks to the darkness and the anxiety of the slums populace that he hadn't been found yet. And he did not want to stay around to discover just how much sympathy they would show an injured Turk. He doubted they'd even think twice about killing him.

He barely registered when he pushed off the wall, trying to avoid leaving a trail. He didn't register much at all, solely focusing on setting one foot in front of the other to reach his destination.

But eventually his strength ran out.

Leaning heavily against the closest wall he slowly slid down its length, finally hitting the ground - unconscious.

TBC

AN: It's been a while since I started this fanfiction and the original plan was to post it only after the whole story was written. But then I didn't find the time or the motivation to continue. So I'm stuck after the first chapter. I thought maybe some reviews might give me the motivation to continue :o)

So pretty please hit that button and tell me what you think.

I dedicate this chapter to my little sister fire.elve, as usual. Take care!