Okay, so hopefully the Muse is going to have some extra time to dedicate to this fic in the next few weeks - hopefully. Until then, the missions will be kinda short and quick. I'm hoping they at least make ya'll laugh, smile, whatever makes ya'll happy, especially with the ones I have planned for after this one. Enjoy folks.
Mission Thirty Seven - Operation Wrong Mission
Reno Jebediah Sinclaire took pride in his ability to be a semi-descent Turk when the need arose. He could lay out a foe with a swift flick of his EMR, steal their wallet, and even manage to humiliate them before they even hit the ground with a one word witty response. But, for life of him, he couldn't quite figure out where in the hell he was.
He must have been drinking. Yes. That was it. He's managed to get into the whiskey cabinet somehow and pour himself a few good drinks, eventually staggering back to wherever it was Tseng had assigned him to go. He blinked stupidly. Either Tseng had a cruel sense of humor and was teaching one of his epic lessons on why not to piss him off, or he really had been drinking and screwed this up.
There was a giant eyeball looking through the window and he didn't know who, or what it belonged to.
Hazel. The startled Turk made a mental note of it. The eye, from what he could see from the corner of the hideous yellow window frame with a set of brittle plastic curtains that looked more like some sort of chocobo candy wrappers, was hazel. He ran the possibilities over in his head, pressing his back against the powder pink dresser and tightened the fuzzy cotton ball pillow around his otherwise bare waist.
Tseng? No, he reasoned. The eye was not squinty enough to be Wutainese. Rude? Why would Rude be looking through a window to begin with? Vincent maybe? Nah, wrong color and he wasn't turned into a stone statue from it.
His heart began to race. He didn't recognize the eyeball from any one of the possible suspects, making it, rather plainly, something worth investigating. The red haired Turk reached for his cell phone to call one of his comrades, preferably Cissnei, who would be more than happy to tell him just what in the hell was looking through the window at him and then tell him how much of an ass he was for inquiring.
Giant eyeball monsters didn't exist. At least that's what everyone had told him. Worse yet, he'd believed them and now there was one right in front of him.
Where in the hell was his cell phone when he needed it? More importantly, he scowled. Someone had stolen his clothing, leaving him with little more than this fuzzy pillow thing to cover himself with.
Why in the hell was the wall purple with pink polka dots? And the orange carpet plastic-like beneath his bare feet?
Was that carpet a giant sticker of a smiling sunshine?
The eyeball blinked, a pudgy, somewhat stunted finger poking through the tiny window and swatting him against the wall. He stiffened in terror. This thing had appendages. Now he wasn't just drinking anymore, but on either a serious simulation of life in the future, or he too had partaken of the tainted Fruit Loops. They'd tasted fine to him.
"Dolly!"
He cringed, the wall rattling with the high pitched warble of what appeared to be some sort of giant younger humanoid behind the eyeball. This was not good. Not good at all.
Okay, his mind raced, scanning the dim surroundings of the small room. One door of escape from the looks of it with a tiny plastic lamp. Not even the dorms in Midgar's lowest ranking infantry bunkers were this chincy. Someone must have suffered from the budget cut slaughter.
The eyeball blinked again, the entire structure shaking with a violent crunch.
Damn, he thought, cowering against the plastic pink dresser and grabbed the red lamp defensively.
"Dolly come out of hiding!" The floor heaved, casting the small bed onto its side and spilling tiny clothes hangers across the floor. Reno paled, a bruise forming across his backside at the impact with a tiny plastic animal that he assumed was to be some sort of collie dog, maybe, he really couldn't tell beyond the coating of sidewalk chalk over its hide.
The giant humaniods held some semblance of brute force and intelligence. This was so not in his training. Again, his entire world shifted, the ceiling tilting ninety degrees, casting him against one of the small staircases leading to nowhere, the unfortunate collie dog landing against his chest.
Clothing. He needed to find his clothing before he could do anything.
Gritting his teeth, he surveyed what he had to work with from the clothing piled haphazardly in the corner of the shaking room. Two frilly princess dresses, a snap on tiara, and a pair of what appeared to be synthetic leather pants.
Either Tseng really was a twisted psycho who got his kicks from tormenting his underlings, or someone had given Cissnei full authority to seek revenge. Never in the history of the Turks or any other excuse for a blackmailing, second rate, assassinating, civilized group of young men and women had anyone ever been stupid enough to grant such a request.
Even commander Veld had banned the paperwork. And that was saying something for a man who worked three days out of the year and received a ten figure salary each month.
"This is not funny yo!" He held the pants up with a look of disgust. There was no way these would fit, but he was a Turk, and Turks made use of whatever they could in a dire emergency.
The eyeball appeared, closer, more vivid than ever, a tiny fist punching through the open doorway, flicking him onto the balcony further down the hallway with a squeal of horrific joy.
"Help!" he squeaked, fingers curled around the railing as the peach chicobo shirt rushed into view, a sticky hand covered in what appeared to be the remnants of a popcicle wrapping around his body and plucking him into the air without second thoughts.
He was going to die today. The grim reality struck him with the crushing of his legs deeper into the sticky popcicle flesh. Grape. His least favorite flavor in the popcicle world. This truly was the hell his comrades had spoken of.
His tiny hands beat the calloused flesh of the two year old's finger in vain attempt to convince the toddler to release his death grip. The toddler warbled in joy, shaking the Turk up and down playfully and slamming him against the carpeted floor.
"Ouch! Hey!" The carpet grazed his shoulder, giving him a headache. Giant toddler people. The Apocalypse was upon them. "Quit it!"
He could only hope that his comrades would not suffer the same, humiliating end to their own miserable lives.
It isn't all bad, he tried to reason, the toddler squealing with joy once more and throwing him against the plastic dollhouse, only to retrieve his stunned form seconds later. At least he was still going to die with some semblance of dignity to his name.
The toddler began chewing on his arm, drool seeping all over his hair.
"Ewww," he flinched, trying once again to escape the giant humanoid's mouth. "Hasn't your mother ever told you not to put toys intended for older children into your mouth! You must be five years old or older to play with me! Besides, my lead content is through the roof. I'm not going to be a very healthy snack."
The toddler continued to slobber all over his arm, undeterred by the warning.
"Ow!" He kicked at the child's chin, scanning the room for anything of use he could immediately reach. A child's playroom, judging by the amount of building blocks scattered around.
Building blocks. Reno's eyes lit up. He could use this to his advantage.
"Alright you little happy-go-lucky humanoid giant eyeball freaky thing, I've really got to go hang out with my other friends who really miss me, so I can't play with you." The toddler held him up in front of the big hazel eyes, as though to study him an understand the words. Reno smiled. "Good. I see we understand each other. So if you could just put me down-"
"Dolly go in safe place!"
"Yes, Reno go to safe place-"
The toddler raised him into the air with another deafening squeal of joy. Alas, he was going to escape this hell and get back to his mission. Yes. Making amends with his comrades was sounding good right about now.
Wait. His eyes widened. Why wasn't he being thrown towards the doorway as anticipated. That almost looked like-
"No! No! NO!" The world shifted to a cotton and plastic darkness, the stench invading his senses as the toddler forced him into the void of no return.
If he survived this, which was looking to be a very slim possibility at this point, he was going to make sure that his letter of resignation was on Tseng's desk first thing.
"Not funny yo!" The Turk shouted, struggling to crawl out of the diaper as quickly as humanly possible. Being minified sucked now. He'd made up his mind. Once he escaped from this humanoid toddler, he was going to beg everyone and anyone to turn him back to normal size.
"Dolly! Dolly! Dolly!" The toddler danced around on wobbly legs, the Turk flinching as he managed to get a foothold on the diaper's fabric and crawled halfway over the top. This was beyond special mission. This was just plain cruelty.
The ground rushed up to meet him, the toddler's foot landing on his leg and pressing him into the coarse bristles. He yelped in pain, reaching towards a plastic GI-SOLDIER rifle clutched in the plastic hands of another unfortunate doll coated in fingerpaints.
"Sorry yo. I need this." The ground shook with the toddlers steps towards him, prompting him into panic mode. He needed to get out of here, now.
"Dolly no run away! Play with me!"
"No thanks!" The Turk scurried across the floor towards the partially open doorway. "I don't wanna play anymore yo!"
"Play with me!"
A fist swept across the ground beside him, the toddler crashing into the tower of building blocks, sending them flying into the air in all directions. Reno flinched, the high warbling cry of pain all humanoid creatures were capable of making filling the air.
But at least he was safe for the time being. Slinging the fake rifle over his shoulder, he began walking around the toy littered room towards the exit, daring to whistle despite the humanoid's high pitched cry.
"What's the matter sweetie?"
Reno froze, the whistle dying in his throat. This humanoid had managed to summon a forced greater than anyone - the mother giant humanoid.
"Eek! A mouse!"
"I'm not a mouse!" He skirted behind a building block, a shoe kicking the ground around him in attempt to trample him. This was just not his mission. "Stop trying to kill me lady!"
The foot swept through the air quicker with another angered shriek, sending him flying through the air and into the hallway beyond. The Turk dusted himself off with a disgruntled snort. At least he hadn't managed to hit a wall this time.
The woman's shriek filled the air again, this time with the sound of a vacuum cleaner filling the air. Reno trembled. From one extreme to the other. Someone needed to rewrite the entire Turk handbook to incorporate the impossible. He looked around in semi-sane panic, vowing never to drink again.
Standing on the fringe of the champagne carpet by the crack in the wooden wall, whiskers twitching with a high pitched squeak of horror, was his salvation.
--
On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:
Tseng's mission to rig an election begins…
Tune in Next time folks. You know you want to.
Until we meet again,
SageQuill : )