Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy 7 or the characters. Squaresoft
does. I'm just sort of....... borrowing them........ ^^
This is a weird little fic that just seemed to write itself. I had nothing to do with it. *coughs* And if there's any spelling errors, blame Reno. You can't expect a trained assassin to know how to spell too! And now on.... WAIT!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!! (not that I'm desperate or anything ^^; ) 'kay, on with the fic........
I Am.......
All the days seem like blurs now. Wednesday? Is it Wednesday already? Time seems so irrelevent now that everything I've known is gone. Gone like the wisps of smoke on the cool spring air.... Everyone seems to be asking, "Are you okay? You seem on edge today." On edge? Actually I feel quite the opposite. I feel so defenseless. Maybe that's the reason for my bad mood. I haven't seen you in days. I know your job takes a lot of his time, but couldn't you spare a few fleeting moments with me? Damn, I wouldn't care if I had to talk to you for only ten seconds. God, just to see your face in the morning would make these days seem a lot less gloomy. I haven't slept in days, immersing myself in my work, trying desperetly to dislodge that smiling face from my memory. I want so desperatly to forget you, and I want more than anything to see you. I must sound like I'm totally having a mental break-down. "I wouldn't be surprised," Tseng would say, "You've nearly worked yourself to death these past few weeks." And I'd grin and give him a little laugh. "Geez, shouldn't you be proud of me? I've actually done everything you've told me." And he'd shake his head, sighing. His dark hair would fall down his shoulders, resting in rivulets of ebony acrossed his navy blazer, just like it does every day. And I'd laugh again, giving him a wolfish grin and running a hand through my messy hair. Sometimes I surprise myself; I'm a lot less shallow than most people think. Nobody really knows me......... Hell, I don't even know myself. I'm just kind of full of contradictions.
You know those loudmouths. Those people who just can't help throwing cracks at everyone and everything. Those are the most insecure people. I should sure as hell know, since I'm one of them. We'd rather laugh at the world and ignore reality than accept it and deal with it. Call us insane or annoying, or whatever in the fuck you want but that's how we are and how we choose to deal with life. Heh, I sound like I'm fucking skitzopherenic. We this and we that. I'm so tired.....
It was so damn windy today, it took my breath away as soon as I walked out the door. Garbage flew around my feet in tiny whirlwinds as I walked out to the parking ramp. I stopped for a moment, leaning against my rusty red piece of shit truck that's older than time itself, trying to catch my breath. As I looked at the flaking paint job, I kinda realized why I hadn't ditched this beast years ago. Its not like I didn't have enough money to afford a new car. But this car......fuck......... its so full of memories. Each stain on its cheap beige plush interior has a story behind it. This rusty red truck was like a part of me. Getting rid of it would be like losing a piece of me. //Not like I've never lost a part of myself before.// I thought bitterly and remembered you.
You've seen me laying in a gutter, drunk off my ass. My clothes saturated with the rain, rain pouring from the heavens. Someone said that rain is the angels' tears. Maybe it was you. It sounds like something you would say. And there I would lay, in my gutter, tears running down my face. Angels don't cry, mortals do. Can't you see what you do to me? I would look up towards the sky, and you would be there. You would smile slightly, pity in your eyes. Leaning down, you would hold me in your arms and cry with me. You never knew why I cried, but you would feel my pain, you honorable bastard. I can't help but love you.
I went to the bar the other day, and got myself drunk again. Big surprise, huh? As I stumbled out of the bar at closing time, I made it to the curb before I collapsed. //Heh,heh..... I guess the gutter and my drunken self meet again. I hate this god damn gutter. // I looked up. The sky's beginning to turn rosy with the coming dawn. "Damn," I mumbled, "I need to be to work pretty shoon." //Not that it really matters.// I thought bitterly, //I'd be a half an hour late anyway.// Thankfully, it hadn't rained recently and the gutter wasn't pooled with dirty, polluted water. I rolled over on my back, groaning. My head pounded with a horrible headache. "Fuck......" I moaned, clutching my head, my vision fuzzy. As it cleared, I began to make out a blurred image of a face. I gasped, thinking you'd finally come to take me home, to hold me in your arms and cry, but it wasn't you. A young woman, frowning, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked, helping me to my feet. "Whatsha hell do you want?!" I spat, alchohal slurring my speech. "I just want to help you." she said softly, her eyes only belying kindess and a bit of pity. "I don't need no help, eshpe-, esh-, eshpecially from you, bitsh!" Why the hell am I such a dick? She shook her head and laughed quietly, "So stubborn........" I swore at her, then collasped, blacking out.
I awoke to a burning heat and a horrible pain in my head. I lay, not in my gutter, but an alley. I sigh, dissapointed. //What!!? You thought that nice chick is gonna take you home after all those things you said to her? You really are stupider than I thought......// That god damn voice. Some may call it a consicence, but I call it a pain in the ass. Who'd a thought, a Turk like me with a little voice telling him what's right and wrong. I laugh a little, blood spilling out of the corner of my mouth, dripping to the ground. I lazily roll my head foreward and look down. Blood, blood, flowing from my body in little rivulets. I never notice the pain, I'm immune to it now. Being a Turk does that to you. Shinra does a good job of brainwashing its little worker and blinding them to the world outside. But we Turks, we see each and every repercussion for each and every thing that Shinra does, and we take the brunt of it. Why? 'Cause we're Shinra's scapegoats. I close my eyes, blood running down my face.
I came out okay. You visited me in the hospital, brought me flowers. I thank you. I love you. But I can't tell you any of these things out loud. Turks aren't supposed to show any emotion, and love is the strongest of these. Damn! I wish I could just quit, just tell old man Shinra to stick it up his ass. But my job is all I have. If I didn't have this job, I would have to go back to the slums and even a chance at having your love wouldn't convince me to go to that life. A life of booze, parties, and prostitution. Y'see I never wanted to do it, but there's only so many way to make a living down there. And you can't always steal everything. Thank god you don't know what its like to do that, every morning waking up in a different bed, sometimes not even in a bed, lying bound on the floor, bleeding and sore. Y'see, there are worse jobs than being an assassin. I would rather kill ten people than have to walk around street corners at night, selling my body like one would sell weapons or food or clothes. Not that my body is even worth that much. I'm tainted. I wonder if you would still take me if you knew?
Why am I even doing this? Sometimes, when everything's all done at work, and everyone is gone and there's nothing to do, I sit here and type. I guess you would call it a diary or a journal or something, although I never really tell what I'm doing, just what I feel like ranting, preaching, how I feel inside. Sometimes I write to you. As if you'll ever read this. But if you did, you'd finally know how I feel, about you, about my job, about my life, about myself. You would know that even though I usually sound so full of myself, I do really hate myself. And most important, you would know that I love you.
I came to work late today. I couldn't stand to see Tseng this morning. This latest slum uprising problem has been especially dangerous. I can't write all the details; its confidential, y'know. Tseng was nearly killed yesterday. He came back to our office with a strange gleam in his eyes. He scares me sometimes. His body was beaten, but nothing too serious. But he'd told us, nonchalantly, that he'd been nearly shot in the head. Then he laughed. I don't understand how he can tell us that he'd had a brush with death and then laugh. I'd asked him once, back when I was a rookie. He smiled coldly and said, "Adrenaline does strange things to the body. Its exciting and scary all at the same time and when its over, you're exillerated!! I live for that feeling........" he finished softly. I vowed to myself that day that I would never get like that, living for every mission, needing adrenaline like oxygen, needing blood like water. But, I suppose I've actually become something much worse. I've become soft, a sniveling child. I can't perform in the field and god knows I never could get all the paperwork right. I'm surprised Heidegger doesn't just fire me. I'm so pathetic. And its all your fault.
Old man Shinra called me up to his office today. I had no idea what he wanted, since he'd hadn't spoken to me since I was interviewed to get this job in the first place. I was stuck in his waiting room for a half an hour. I think its a power thing, like he's telling us his time is worth more than ours, so he makes us wait. It doesn't really bother me, 'cause its either this or paperwork which, in my humble opinion, is an even more boring waste of time. Finally the door opens and the secretary gives me the go ahead sign. I walk in slowly, swaggering, showing my usual display. I slump into one of the chair in front of his massive desk without being asked to sit. He frowns at me, brows furrowing. I just grin and pull out a cigarette. "So, what did ya want to talk to me about?" I drawl. He leans back, his expensive leather chair squeaking in protest. "I needed to give you the specifications for your newest assignment." he said blandly. I frown, lighting my cigarette. Something's up. "What's with all the show?" I wave my hand around the room indicating him in general, "Usually Tseng just puts the folder on my desk and everything's there." "Well, this is a very important assignment. Not just one that I can just give to anyone." The suspense is killing me, old man. Just tell me already for god's sake. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly anyone." "Precisely why I'm giving this to you and you alone." By now my danger sensors are going ballistic. I can tell there's a catch. "Why just me? I usually work with a partner." "Well....... This is a very dangerous job. But I'm sure you can handle it. Here are the specifics." He hands me a manila folder and shoos me away. "Fat fucker....." I mumble under my breath. He's trying to get rid of me. He read Tseng's reports, one after another, saying something like: "Reno's slowing down." "He doesn't seem to be as accurate, shooting and wielding his electro-mag rod." "He seems to be preoccupied." "He just doesn't have what it takes to be a Turk anymore." I storm up to his office and throw open the door. "What's the meaning of this shit!!??" I yell, slamming down the folder on his desk. "I have no idea......" he replies, lazily, seeming annoyed that I'd interrupted his "important work time". "Old man fucking Shinra is sending me on a suicide mission. He wants me out of the way, and its all your fucking fault!!!!" He blinks at me, then slowly stands, sweeping the folder and its spilled contents up into his hands. "None of this is my fault. I simply write the reports. This was all the President's idea." I was hurt. All these years....... I had thought the Turks to be like my family. Tseng was like the father I'd never had. But then I realized he was worse than the father I had before, who I never knew. Atleast that asshole had stayed out of my life. Tseng was ripping my life apart piece by piece. My eyes burned and I could feel the tears that I'd held back for so long, begin to form. "I hate you, you fucking Wutaian bastard!!!!" I don't really know what happened next. Something inside me snapped and when I finally had a conscience thought I was lying on the floor, covered in blood, shaking. I looked up slowly and saw my gun laying in a pool of blood. I stand up, and start to run. I have no idea where I'm going. I guess I made it to my car. I don't remember driving. Finally I'm in my apartment. There's blood on my laptop, they know it was me. They'll come and kill me soon. Sure enough, a knock on the door. Its too late to run. Besides, I'm sick of running. I've been running all my life. I just wanna tell you, I love yo
********** end evidence
subject: Tarshil, Reno
time of death: 1700 hours 6/28
cause of death: gunshot wound to head
reason: unknown
crime: murder of the first degree
victim: Wulong, Tseng
time of victim's death: 1650 hours 6/28
cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds
reason: insanity
end report
********** "As you can see, he was clearly mentally unstable, Mr. President, sir."
President Shinra nodded slowly, closing the file. "I want you to get rid of this file. As far as we know, Reno Tarshil never existed and Tseng was killed on an important assignment." He took a long drag off his cigar and laughed.
"Yes sir."
So, any comments? Questions? Complaints? (I hope none of these!! .) Just leave me a little review or email. Remember, reviews make the author a very happy person!!! ^-^ -Angelknight
This is a weird little fic that just seemed to write itself. I had nothing to do with it. *coughs* And if there's any spelling errors, blame Reno. You can't expect a trained assassin to know how to spell too! And now on.... WAIT!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!! (not that I'm desperate or anything ^^; ) 'kay, on with the fic........
I Am.......
All the days seem like blurs now. Wednesday? Is it Wednesday already? Time seems so irrelevent now that everything I've known is gone. Gone like the wisps of smoke on the cool spring air.... Everyone seems to be asking, "Are you okay? You seem on edge today." On edge? Actually I feel quite the opposite. I feel so defenseless. Maybe that's the reason for my bad mood. I haven't seen you in days. I know your job takes a lot of his time, but couldn't you spare a few fleeting moments with me? Damn, I wouldn't care if I had to talk to you for only ten seconds. God, just to see your face in the morning would make these days seem a lot less gloomy. I haven't slept in days, immersing myself in my work, trying desperetly to dislodge that smiling face from my memory. I want so desperatly to forget you, and I want more than anything to see you. I must sound like I'm totally having a mental break-down. "I wouldn't be surprised," Tseng would say, "You've nearly worked yourself to death these past few weeks." And I'd grin and give him a little laugh. "Geez, shouldn't you be proud of me? I've actually done everything you've told me." And he'd shake his head, sighing. His dark hair would fall down his shoulders, resting in rivulets of ebony acrossed his navy blazer, just like it does every day. And I'd laugh again, giving him a wolfish grin and running a hand through my messy hair. Sometimes I surprise myself; I'm a lot less shallow than most people think. Nobody really knows me......... Hell, I don't even know myself. I'm just kind of full of contradictions.
You know those loudmouths. Those people who just can't help throwing cracks at everyone and everything. Those are the most insecure people. I should sure as hell know, since I'm one of them. We'd rather laugh at the world and ignore reality than accept it and deal with it. Call us insane or annoying, or whatever in the fuck you want but that's how we are and how we choose to deal with life. Heh, I sound like I'm fucking skitzopherenic. We this and we that. I'm so tired.....
It was so damn windy today, it took my breath away as soon as I walked out the door. Garbage flew around my feet in tiny whirlwinds as I walked out to the parking ramp. I stopped for a moment, leaning against my rusty red piece of shit truck that's older than time itself, trying to catch my breath. As I looked at the flaking paint job, I kinda realized why I hadn't ditched this beast years ago. Its not like I didn't have enough money to afford a new car. But this car......fuck......... its so full of memories. Each stain on its cheap beige plush interior has a story behind it. This rusty red truck was like a part of me. Getting rid of it would be like losing a piece of me. //Not like I've never lost a part of myself before.// I thought bitterly and remembered you.
You've seen me laying in a gutter, drunk off my ass. My clothes saturated with the rain, rain pouring from the heavens. Someone said that rain is the angels' tears. Maybe it was you. It sounds like something you would say. And there I would lay, in my gutter, tears running down my face. Angels don't cry, mortals do. Can't you see what you do to me? I would look up towards the sky, and you would be there. You would smile slightly, pity in your eyes. Leaning down, you would hold me in your arms and cry with me. You never knew why I cried, but you would feel my pain, you honorable bastard. I can't help but love you.
I went to the bar the other day, and got myself drunk again. Big surprise, huh? As I stumbled out of the bar at closing time, I made it to the curb before I collapsed. //Heh,heh..... I guess the gutter and my drunken self meet again. I hate this god damn gutter. // I looked up. The sky's beginning to turn rosy with the coming dawn. "Damn," I mumbled, "I need to be to work pretty shoon." //Not that it really matters.// I thought bitterly, //I'd be a half an hour late anyway.// Thankfully, it hadn't rained recently and the gutter wasn't pooled with dirty, polluted water. I rolled over on my back, groaning. My head pounded with a horrible headache. "Fuck......" I moaned, clutching my head, my vision fuzzy. As it cleared, I began to make out a blurred image of a face. I gasped, thinking you'd finally come to take me home, to hold me in your arms and cry, but it wasn't you. A young woman, frowning, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked, helping me to my feet. "Whatsha hell do you want?!" I spat, alchohal slurring my speech. "I just want to help you." she said softly, her eyes only belying kindess and a bit of pity. "I don't need no help, eshpe-, esh-, eshpecially from you, bitsh!" Why the hell am I such a dick? She shook her head and laughed quietly, "So stubborn........" I swore at her, then collasped, blacking out.
I awoke to a burning heat and a horrible pain in my head. I lay, not in my gutter, but an alley. I sigh, dissapointed. //What!!? You thought that nice chick is gonna take you home after all those things you said to her? You really are stupider than I thought......// That god damn voice. Some may call it a consicence, but I call it a pain in the ass. Who'd a thought, a Turk like me with a little voice telling him what's right and wrong. I laugh a little, blood spilling out of the corner of my mouth, dripping to the ground. I lazily roll my head foreward and look down. Blood, blood, flowing from my body in little rivulets. I never notice the pain, I'm immune to it now. Being a Turk does that to you. Shinra does a good job of brainwashing its little worker and blinding them to the world outside. But we Turks, we see each and every repercussion for each and every thing that Shinra does, and we take the brunt of it. Why? 'Cause we're Shinra's scapegoats. I close my eyes, blood running down my face.
I came out okay. You visited me in the hospital, brought me flowers. I thank you. I love you. But I can't tell you any of these things out loud. Turks aren't supposed to show any emotion, and love is the strongest of these. Damn! I wish I could just quit, just tell old man Shinra to stick it up his ass. But my job is all I have. If I didn't have this job, I would have to go back to the slums and even a chance at having your love wouldn't convince me to go to that life. A life of booze, parties, and prostitution. Y'see I never wanted to do it, but there's only so many way to make a living down there. And you can't always steal everything. Thank god you don't know what its like to do that, every morning waking up in a different bed, sometimes not even in a bed, lying bound on the floor, bleeding and sore. Y'see, there are worse jobs than being an assassin. I would rather kill ten people than have to walk around street corners at night, selling my body like one would sell weapons or food or clothes. Not that my body is even worth that much. I'm tainted. I wonder if you would still take me if you knew?
Why am I even doing this? Sometimes, when everything's all done at work, and everyone is gone and there's nothing to do, I sit here and type. I guess you would call it a diary or a journal or something, although I never really tell what I'm doing, just what I feel like ranting, preaching, how I feel inside. Sometimes I write to you. As if you'll ever read this. But if you did, you'd finally know how I feel, about you, about my job, about my life, about myself. You would know that even though I usually sound so full of myself, I do really hate myself. And most important, you would know that I love you.
I came to work late today. I couldn't stand to see Tseng this morning. This latest slum uprising problem has been especially dangerous. I can't write all the details; its confidential, y'know. Tseng was nearly killed yesterday. He came back to our office with a strange gleam in his eyes. He scares me sometimes. His body was beaten, but nothing too serious. But he'd told us, nonchalantly, that he'd been nearly shot in the head. Then he laughed. I don't understand how he can tell us that he'd had a brush with death and then laugh. I'd asked him once, back when I was a rookie. He smiled coldly and said, "Adrenaline does strange things to the body. Its exciting and scary all at the same time and when its over, you're exillerated!! I live for that feeling........" he finished softly. I vowed to myself that day that I would never get like that, living for every mission, needing adrenaline like oxygen, needing blood like water. But, I suppose I've actually become something much worse. I've become soft, a sniveling child. I can't perform in the field and god knows I never could get all the paperwork right. I'm surprised Heidegger doesn't just fire me. I'm so pathetic. And its all your fault.
Old man Shinra called me up to his office today. I had no idea what he wanted, since he'd hadn't spoken to me since I was interviewed to get this job in the first place. I was stuck in his waiting room for a half an hour. I think its a power thing, like he's telling us his time is worth more than ours, so he makes us wait. It doesn't really bother me, 'cause its either this or paperwork which, in my humble opinion, is an even more boring waste of time. Finally the door opens and the secretary gives me the go ahead sign. I walk in slowly, swaggering, showing my usual display. I slump into one of the chair in front of his massive desk without being asked to sit. He frowns at me, brows furrowing. I just grin and pull out a cigarette. "So, what did ya want to talk to me about?" I drawl. He leans back, his expensive leather chair squeaking in protest. "I needed to give you the specifications for your newest assignment." he said blandly. I frown, lighting my cigarette. Something's up. "What's with all the show?" I wave my hand around the room indicating him in general, "Usually Tseng just puts the folder on my desk and everything's there." "Well, this is a very important assignment. Not just one that I can just give to anyone." The suspense is killing me, old man. Just tell me already for god's sake. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly anyone." "Precisely why I'm giving this to you and you alone." By now my danger sensors are going ballistic. I can tell there's a catch. "Why just me? I usually work with a partner." "Well....... This is a very dangerous job. But I'm sure you can handle it. Here are the specifics." He hands me a manila folder and shoos me away. "Fat fucker....." I mumble under my breath. He's trying to get rid of me. He read Tseng's reports, one after another, saying something like: "Reno's slowing down." "He doesn't seem to be as accurate, shooting and wielding his electro-mag rod." "He seems to be preoccupied." "He just doesn't have what it takes to be a Turk anymore." I storm up to his office and throw open the door. "What's the meaning of this shit!!??" I yell, slamming down the folder on his desk. "I have no idea......" he replies, lazily, seeming annoyed that I'd interrupted his "important work time". "Old man fucking Shinra is sending me on a suicide mission. He wants me out of the way, and its all your fucking fault!!!!" He blinks at me, then slowly stands, sweeping the folder and its spilled contents up into his hands. "None of this is my fault. I simply write the reports. This was all the President's idea." I was hurt. All these years....... I had thought the Turks to be like my family. Tseng was like the father I'd never had. But then I realized he was worse than the father I had before, who I never knew. Atleast that asshole had stayed out of my life. Tseng was ripping my life apart piece by piece. My eyes burned and I could feel the tears that I'd held back for so long, begin to form. "I hate you, you fucking Wutaian bastard!!!!" I don't really know what happened next. Something inside me snapped and when I finally had a conscience thought I was lying on the floor, covered in blood, shaking. I looked up slowly and saw my gun laying in a pool of blood. I stand up, and start to run. I have no idea where I'm going. I guess I made it to my car. I don't remember driving. Finally I'm in my apartment. There's blood on my laptop, they know it was me. They'll come and kill me soon. Sure enough, a knock on the door. Its too late to run. Besides, I'm sick of running. I've been running all my life. I just wanna tell you, I love yo
********** end evidence
subject: Tarshil, Reno
time of death: 1700 hours 6/28
cause of death: gunshot wound to head
reason: unknown
crime: murder of the first degree
victim: Wulong, Tseng
time of victim's death: 1650 hours 6/28
cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds
reason: insanity
end report
********** "As you can see, he was clearly mentally unstable, Mr. President, sir."
President Shinra nodded slowly, closing the file. "I want you to get rid of this file. As far as we know, Reno Tarshil never existed and Tseng was killed on an important assignment." He took a long drag off his cigar and laughed.
"Yes sir."
So, any comments? Questions? Complaints? (I hope none of these!! .) Just leave me a little review or email. Remember, reviews make the author a very happy person!!! ^-^ -Angelknight