Friday the Thirteenth…Need I say more? Enjoy some of the superstitions that plague the Department of Administrative Research in this fun mini mission! :)

Mission Fifty One - Operation Superstition

There were many superstitions in the Department of administrative research. For example, on Wednesdays, the Turk known as Rude did not wear socks. It wasn't that he did not like socks, he actually liked them quite well, it was just that if one wore socks on Wednesdays, there was a higher than average chance of being hit by a bus.

For the Turk known as Cissnei, it was the complete opposite. In her case if she even dared not to wear socks, holy forbid sandals, there was a greater than average chance or more so guaranteed, that in the following order, all Hades would break loose.

It would begin with the fiend known as Printer AB12 on the fifty seventh floor running out of magenta mango violet cartridge seven 12DS ink - the rarest ink cartridge on the planet and the only one capable of printing the index cards required to file mindless paperwork. No one knew just why that particular cartridge lasted only three hours on the best of days and the other two colors such as red indigo teal and lilac surprise lasted more than three-years. What was definitely certain though that the fact that once the ink cartridges ran out, one had to change them, which usually resulted in a very lengthy emergency room stay. Shortly after the release of the hospital it was a guarantee that no doubt the Turk known as Rude would be hit by a bus.

Reeve Tuesti always carried a banana in his lunchbox on Mondays, just in case on the off chance that he was ambushed, assaulted, and potentially murdered by a rabid spider monkey that somehow been imported from the wonderful island of Mideel. No one really asked questions as to why he bothered with it because he was probably going to die anyway due to an over stressful game of full contact solitaire that same afternoon. It was an engineer thing.

Tseng never hired anybody on Thursdays. Rumor had it that a Thursday was the day he had been hired and shortly after, a multitude of great, legendary problems had occurred. No one ever bothered to ask just why he hated Thursdays or what purpose they served in his younger life. But there had been rumors going around the Department of Administrative Research for years through the proverbial grape vines of wrath. Anything ranging from a bad pizza that had jumped off the table and nearly killed the unfortunate Veld, to a duel with pencils that had given Reeve that scar about his left ear.

All they knew of the truth though, was that on Thursdays, no one was interviewed, hired, or even sent for the traditional lunchtime pizza, and Tseng merely regarded any questions with a shifty eyed nervous look.

Therefore for the sake of their entire department, on Wednesdays, Rude did not wear socks and Cissnei made sure she always has a less than perfect match on her feet to ensure the feng shui of the department was not thrown into apocalyptic chaos; Tseng never conducted interviews on Thursdays; Reeve carried bananas on Mondays; and the creepy tech guy standing by the elevator merely stood at an odd angle, stalking the stoic Turk who's office had been placed too close for comfort.

Not that Vincent Valentine considered not having a restraining order and ten levels of facial recognition security cameras stationed upon the creepy tech guy superstitious. No. He was not afraid that someone might murder him on Friday because he wearing My Pretty Chocobo briefs because it was taboo to do laundry on Tuesday as required.

But, there was one Turk amongst them all, who was not superstitious of anything at all.

And his name was Reno Sinclair.

It began with a warning, or, more so correctly stated by the issuer of the tidbit of information as she gathered what remained of her briefcase and tried to salvage what she could of her tie and blazer upon rounding the corner and colliding with said menace in question, who had just as conveniently, for the eighth hundredth time this month, managed to spill coffee all over her paperwork.

"Stay out of the mailroom, avoid the elevator, try not to step on any cracks in the tiles on the first floor, and above all, do not make eye contact with the creepy tech rep on the stairwell." Words of wisdom before she dead bolted the door to her office shut until Friday the Thirteen was over.

He blinked and stared at the door as Rude crept in at an odd swagger.

"Hey Rude."

The bald man stiffened in alarm, holding a cross and flask of holy water out defensively.

"Dude. You have got to stop watching vampire movies yo. I know Vincent is a little kooky in the head, but right now, he's got a sandwich and a fruit juice box to keep him entertained."

"Not Vincent," the bald one grunted like a displeased, somewhat alarmed Neanderthal, adjusting his shades and looking from left to right before dropping to the ground and making like a SOLDIER across their corridor to his own office. A similar echo of deadbolts being activated deafened the hall.

"What's with everyone today yo?" He sauntered through the oddly silent hallway, finding Vincent's door locked, the rather pleased echo of someone enjoying a sandwich in the air. The flame haired menace wrinkled his nose in disgust over his comrade's eating habits. One couldn't pay him nor get him drunk enough to eat the last sandwich on the meal cart unless there was an infantryman there to test it for poisons and other amusement purposes.

Tseng rounded the corner with his pistol aimed at something behind him, moving the fastest Reno had ever seen him move for a man of his age.

His smirked and held a leg out, tripping the elder Turk.

The Wutainese man swore in his native language and gathered his briefcase in panic. Reno raised an eyebrow. He had seen Tseng worked up like this when evading a meeting with Palmer and the rest of the tribe, but usually, he recovered long enough to accept a mission. Something was wrong.

"It's Friday the thirteenth and you're not worried?"

Reno leaned against the wall with a casual gesture of his hand.

"Me? Worry? You know I'm not superstitious like the rest of you. What are you running from anyway yo?"

"Dark Nation," he replied and hurried towards his office. "It's everywhere today."

"Dark Nation?" Reno raised an eyebrow at what he had just heard from the leader of the Turks of all people. Mr. I'm Holier Than Thou and you will obey my commands, listen to my orders, and be tolerant of your other siblings who don't like you but have to be nice to you because their paychecks depend upon it, discriminating about something serious like this? "Man, you really need to lay off the coffee in Hojo's laboratory. It's starting to make you sound like an idiot."

Tseng halted in the doorway and pointed.

"It's behind you by the way. I suggest running for your life if you wish to live."

Reno turned to peer over his shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing at their leader. Turks. The same Turks who scared away telemarketers on a daily basis, gave infantrymen Indian burns, humiliated SOLDIER at will, made small animals flee in horror. Cloak and dagger assassins with lethal skills and a tendency to scare themselves at times when missions went right - were afraid of a fuzzy midnight black kitten sitting with its tiny paws pressed against the carpeted floor, golden eyes watching his every move with stiff whiskers twitching.

The door to the Turk Leader's office slammed and locked. Reno turned to the kitten with a broad smile.

"Hi there little guy. Why's everyone so afraid - Sweet Hades Holy Meteor Tango Dancing Chicobos Jenova SOLDIER! Not the face!"

All they heard was a horrific scream from the top of the stairwell as the theme from Psycho began to play.

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Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:

Reno should never go through other people's lockers...

Until we meet again,

SageQuill