The Muse presents to you another fun mission for our favorite Turks. Heh heh heh. The gateway to the first of the new mission arc has been opened. I hope you all enjoy it.

Mission Thirty Six - Operation Save A Dynasty

They were the finest of the Shinra Elite. Cloak and dagger assassins trained with over five hundred thousand ways amongst them on how to successfully assassinate, humiliate, assimilate, or just down right annoy whatever unfortunate being drew the target card. Terrifying beings to the average eye, the bane of ceramic garden gnomes everywhere. Four individuals with absolutely nothing to fear but a bowl of 'harmless' Fruit Loops, the occasional rabid fan girl, and the ever so popular copy machine in the office. He'd personally agreed to never hold anyone accountable for fleeing for their lives from that machine in particular, especially with its reputation for disliking midnight blue blazers and for some odd reason, ties.

And yet Tseng was actually a tiny bit surprised to find three of the four standing before his desk, passing the folder from individual to individual. Rude's sunglasses fell from his face as he raised both eyebrows in mortified shock, not even bothering to retrieve them as he quickly passed the envelope containing the latest mission from the president of all people to his auburn haired comrade, who emitted a tiny squeak of horror and nearly threw the folder at Vincent, who merely scowled at his two comrades' behaviors.

It was a simple, cut and dry - His brow furrowed, crimson eyes rereading the fine print - mission. What trickery was this? Surely this had to be some form of a cruel, unusual joke.

"You have got to be kidding me," he groaned, banging his head against the bookshelf and allowing the folder to flop atop the desk, its contents scattering for all to see. "Can I please go play with Hojo today? Pretty please? I'll be a good specimen. I mean. I'll try not to bite him this time."

"What's the Big Book of Turk Mission Protocol say about this one?" Rude inquired, watching their female counterpart flip through the worn pages to the index, scowling at the tiny font.

"Let's see," she turned the pages. "Laundry, copying speeches, undercover lingerie model, volcanic eruption, confetti blindness, not seeing it, Rude."

"Check again. Try the Impossible Category."

She nodded, panicking as she continued to read. "Fan girls. Parenthood. Missing socks missions. Meteor striking the Shinra Building. Sephiroth going psycho. Staging an intervention for Genesis's LOVELESS obsession. Sir, with all due respect, these missions don't even begin to describe this one. I'm not seeing anything even close."

"That's it," Vincent threw his hands into the air with a sigh of defeat. "We're screwed."

Tseng closed his eyes with a fleeting sense of pity for his underlings. This was a mission he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemies. Not even SOLDIER deserved something of this caliber, and they were notorious for suffering through karaoke night at Goblin's Bar every Saturday evening from seven until midnight. It was a small wonder Sephiroth was even remotely sane from the warbling singing of Fair and Hewley.

"Calm down." Their fearless leader stood up, smoothing his blazer and intertwining his fingers together with 'the look' in his obsidian hazel eyes. "I have a plan."

The three Turks exchanged glances. Tseng, have an actual plan. They really were staring at the Doomsday Mission of all Doomsday missions contained within that folder.

"We-"

The door slammed open, revealing the blond haired menace himself, golden polo shirt stained with nachos and a golf club swung over his shoulder lazily. Tseng cringed. Some people should not wear tight white shorts, and this boy was one of them. "My father told me to retrieve the miserable peons. I assume that would be you four. He's waiting in the elevator."

The elevator? Tseng raised an eyebrow. Since when did anyone choose to hold a meeting in the elevator? Then again, this was the man who had somehow managed to father this thing standing in the doorway. No human could possibly have that much hair on their legs. He felt his three underlings gravitate to the far corner of the room, obviously contemplating the sight before them, or moreso, morbidly in shock and awe. How this man even made the Fangirl Monthly Hottest Male list was a mystery he did not wish to delve into.

He reminded himself to ask Cissnei about the female mentality later.

"Do not let us keep you from your golf-"

"Polo," the young man corrected snidely. "I'm late for an important polo match."

Polo? In Midgar of all places? Tseng shook his head. He couldn't even imagine the poor chocobos involved with this boy at the reins. He couldn't even stay aboard Chocobo Billy's Chocobo Rides around the kiddie ring while it was being led by a professional. Some things one did not ask about, and, Tseng nodded, this was one of those things. Instead, he merely nodded and gestured to his Turks.

"We shall not keep you then. Best of luck, Sir."

Rufus stuck his nose in the air and marched towards the elevator, the golf club catching upon the corner of the doorframe and drawing him backwards with the force of his stride. Four slightly amused, feigning horror Turks watched their future leader tumble onto the carpet with a cry of surprise, the golf club whacking him in the back of the skull. For several seconds, he twitched and fell still.

Reeve opened his office door with a raised eyebrow of horror, noting the blond haired man Tseng was nudging with the toe of his loafer.

"Good god man, you didn't need to murder him. A simple phone call would have scared him away."

Vincent retrieved the golf club and poked the young man between the shoulder blades, receiving a grunt in response.

"He'll live," Tseng stepped over the fallen future president and strode towards the elevator. "Come on, we have a meeting with an idiot to attend to."

Some time later...Location: Elevator, floor 65 A.

"But, Sir," Cissnei protested, backing into the corner of the elevator to avoid being stepped on by an equally nervous Rude. "This is absurd. We can't do something like that."

The heavy blond man shifted his weight and adjusted his hideous, three sizes too small, mauve tweed suit to prove a point, eyes upon the pair in the corner as he pinned Vincent to the wall with his back.

"You have no choice in the matter." President Shinra replied gruffly, trying to sound important for a change. "This is a matter of national security that must be dealt with immediately or dire consequences will follow."

Always about security, Tseng mused. Dire consequences to President Shinra usually involved the last of the black-market pastries being eaten by Hollander or Heidegger first thing in the morning. He's seen departments go to war over something like that, which was partially why he banned them for his own department. Then again, the worse they ever did was destroy most of the building with their escapades. Nothing lethal at least, yet.

"Who-" Vincent grunted, trying to get away from the man pinning him to the wall. "Might I ask would be stupid enough to challenge you for election again?"

The man in the tweed burgundy suit's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he fiddled with the button on the elevator, closing the door completely and catching Tseng's shirtsleeve in it. The Wutainese man flinched at the ripping sound as he tried to break free.

"He's a powerful foe who must be crushed, obliterated, ruined in both reputation and spirit." His fist struck the bald Turk's shoulder to prove a point, making the man flinch. "I want this election rigged so that no one, and I mean no one can win against me and take away my morning pastry. I don't care how you do it. Lawyers, guns, gil, aggressive Cosmo Canyon snapping turtles, a pack of ninja squirrels. Do whatever it takes to win this election and ensure my dynasty lives on"

Dynasty? The Turks raised silent eyebrows at the thought. That 'dynasty' was currently unconscious due to a golf club. They really were in the End Days.

"But Sir," Tseng held a hand up, trying to protect his other Turks from being beaten up even worse than they already were. "You haven't even mentioned who this guy is yet. How will we know who to humiliate."

Again, the man glared.

"Oh, you'll know him alright. He creeps through the masses every day, making 'friends' with his minions. They raise flags in salute to him and rush to ensure he receives their gifts, often paying him for the service! He's even got his own fan club!" President Shinra withdrew a small piece of folded paper, handing it to the leader of the Turks. "He's number five on the list."

One could have heard a pin drop at the silence.

--

Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:

Reno, oh Reno. Wherefore art thou oh Reno. And who is this mystery number five dude running against President Shinra for election?

Tune in next time folks. You never know what's gonna happen next. Heh heh heh.

Until we meet again,

SageQuill :)