blob80 - flaming turkey... not the first time I've seen Reno referred to as turkey. He's more a cat for me than a bird, but maybe I'll have someone call him a turkey just for the lulz.
Echo the Ethereal Swordmaster - The sequel's stuck at an early chapter. Probably because I keep watching Honest Trailers and playing Thief. I should stop... Reno gets much more screen time, and he's not easy to write!
Chapter 53: Just too... Arien
The Gelnika had sunk, and the Turks were forced to avoid the wandering WEAPON that seemed very insistent to just stand in front of the entrance for a good few hours.
Reno rested his head against the glass panel of the submarine, staring into the deep blue that spread before him. The sea life seemed calm, as if nothing was amiss; but even this deep underwater, the red flames of the Meteor penetrated through, tinging the water with a slight red hue. The fish swam, uncaring, and somehow that seemed selfish, although Reno had to admit that it was only humans that were so terribly concerned with the astronomical anomaly in the sky; the plants grew, animals fed, and died as if nothing had happened. The passivity of the natural world seemed so stark against the activity of the human civilisation, which had grown like a parasite, proliferated, and had fed as if the world belonged to them. In a sense, everyone who had partaken in making Shinra what it was today - from the consumers to the employees - were just the same as the Turks, killing to meet their needs. Whatever their needs were.
Blue as the mako eyes, he thought. And somehow, he found that blue pure. They were always so innocent for some reason, those SOLDIERs, with their blue eyes devoid of all the crap that being a Turk accumulated to. Well, they combated monsters, not people. That was their job. Filled with dreams and ideals, the SOLDIER 1st class had maintained their fragile existence upon the lies fabricated by the company; and when that web fell, so did they, one by one.
He touched the cold glass, as if touching it would bring the feeling of water upon his fingers. His slender fingers closed in on the glass, and the reflection reached out to touch back. But he felt no warmth on his fingertips, just the cold, smooth surface. He wondered about the man who was causing all this trouble; was he even remotely concerned about what was happening? Unlikely. From what he had seen, mad Sephiroth didn't seem to be the kind to care about anyone else except that decapitated head of an alien and himself. Which was a stark contrast to the man he had been: proud, strong, stern but kind had been Sephiroth, with no given surname. His parents had singularly dedicated him to the purpose of the behemoth called Shinra, and thus Sephiroth was raised. Not that the father was any saner than his son.
Hojo. The man who had caused almost every misery in the past decade. Sephiroth's madness, Genesis' degredation, Angeal's defeat, Zack's sacrifice… all because of one man. If Reno was damned, Hojo was definitely going to hell. If there was hell. Recently he was starting to question its existence in earnest, because hell seemed to be this world, right now.
Embrace your dreams.
"Bullshit."
The newest SOLDIER 1st Class that he remembered, Zack Fair, had been one of the very few who had appeared to know just how futile it was to dream in the wicked and corrupt city. Captured, experimented on, and tortured, he had died with a smile. How? Reno wondered. How could he hold onto his dreams and his pride with such honesty, even when he knew - at least, he should have known - that they were all a sham, that everything was a sham? That being a SOLDIER wasn't some glory and honour in battle, but merely pawns that the upper echelons played against an invisible foe? How?
He slammed his fist into the glass panel, as if that would make him feel better. It didn't; instead, the inner glass cracked, a spiderweb growing from the point of impact, but not quite breaking. He slumped his head against the cracked glass. His face, lined from the broken pane, looked back at him. There were no lines on his face - there never will be - but the past was gone, and everyone had their dues in life to pay, and he felt as if he was paying his now, with his life falling apart around his ears, each brick falling down as the days passed on.
You gotta lose to know how to win.
Who had told him that? He must have been sixteen, seventeen when the team leader had told him that; the day after the gang leader had uttered that sentence, he had been shot dead, his face not much better than a bloody mess. He had known that everything he had done, it'd come back to him someday, but not in this way. Not this way. He didn't mind people taking shots at him; he didn't care much if he lived or died. But to have his life taken away, bit by bit, pinch by pinch, until he had nothing left, was unbearable.
His tears were dry. Maybe tomorrow God will be kind enough to take him away and save him from this hell; but there was today, and he had to live the moment, each moment to each moment.
He had dreamed, he realised; he had dreamed on, on and on and on, chasing something so shapeless, so vague that he didn't quite know what he was chasing, but he had dreamt, and that was how he had lived; dream until his dream came true. He had closed his eyes and dreamt of sunny liquid dreams, trying to get to someone - anyone - who'd share that dream with him, and maybe, just maybe, make it come true. Everyone did, from the lowest slum child to to Rufus Shinra, all clinging to some empty hope, dreaming on, hoping that life would be better, when the story had no happy ending. He wasn't sure if it even had any ending. Maybe the writing just stopped mid-sentence, like how Arien had disappeared mid-sentence, like how Zack's story ended abruptly in the middle of the wasteland stretching before Midgar. Maybe the pages just stopped mid-action, and that was the end of the book.
He looked into the broken glass again. A tired face looked back, asking him silent questions. So many he had killed, so many he had wronged. He had never even really thought of them, but they had taken up residence in the pit, all mired in the muck and unable to leave from his head. He knew all his coworkers had dreamed of them - you did accumulate your victims in this line of work - in the darkest hours, waking up and unable to go back to sleep, waiting for the dawn to come so the darkness will no longer blame the assassins. Arien had as well, and he knew it; he knew when she'd wake up in the dark hours, and wait for the morning to come, staring at the ceiling because the ceiling was silent and mute.
But he had to continue to dream, because in the end, that was all he had; he wasn't sure what he was really dreaming, but if he stopped, despair would take over. And even if he had lost everything, he could still dream, right?
Right?
His fist hurt. Bringing the stinging fist up to his throat, he gently fingered the chain around his neck, saw his reflection do the same, his fingers stopping at the pendant. The pendant was a glass vial protected by silver wires twisted to form a sheath, and inside was a light amber liquid. Arien had not said much about the gift; she had a hangover that day and had looked a little ill. And then they had gone to Junon, and they had not discussed anything outside of work since. And then she had disappeared, and then she had come back, but by then she had changed so much he wasn't even sure what was going on anymore. Had she dreamed, as Zack had? Or did her dreams wilt and die long before?
His fingertips touched the silver wires. He had attached the vial to the chain and had worn it since the wire case had been made. He had never told her; where was she now? Did she still think they were quarrelling? Was she even alive?
Tell me how to get to you, Arie. Because I don't know how. Not anymore.
The water was silent.
What can I do? I can't get to you, and you won't get to me. I wanna know you still care, but I don't have a fuckin' clue. I've always been alone. I don't know how.
He turned away from the window. It was time to suit up. He walked away, trying to forget the bright blue eyes and the honest face. But it felt as if the smile lingered in the air, reminiscent of the warm waters.
Arien was bored.
She sat on the roof of a slum building, flipping toy coins into the sunset and shooting at it with her pistol. Nobody in this area really cared if the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the filthy air, and so she sat, her legs dangling from the roof. The new pistols were the third pair she had in her possession, and it was the newest model developed by the Shinra Company before things had gotten out of hand and they started focusing on crazy ideas. Like shooting a rocket to make the Meteor explode. When they had first heard the news, they had seriously believed that it was a huge joke, until Philip pointed out that Scarlet won't know a joke even if it hit her upside on the head. But come to think of it, injecting a foetus with some alien cells was already crazy, so they realised they aren't supposed to be that surprised with the new string of insanity that was called the Shinra Company. Why Rufus - and the late president - thought of any of this was a good idea was anyone's guess.
She flicked her hair away from her face, flipped another coin into the air, and aimed. Another bullet left the chamber, and shattered the plastic.
"Good aim."
She turned, and got to her feet. "Ready yet?"
"Yeah. Mark five ready to go."
She holstered the pistol under her arm. "Let's go, then," she said, dusting herself off. "How's the search going?"
"Gareth and Magda got into the security cameras. We're trying to find which floor, but you know there are, like, hundreds of cameras in the building. It's a slow going."
Arien nodded as she climbed down the stairs. This wasn't a sniping job, and she wasn't sure if she was happy about it or not. Sniping was out of question; someone, and she had a good feeling who, had killed Mayor Domino a few days beforeand there were police helicopters in the air. It seemed a futile effort, since the world was going to end in a few days, a few weeks at most, but apparently someone saw it necessary.
It was easy to melt into the crowd, walking with their pace, chatting about nothing in particular; old instincts were hard to shake off, and melting into the crowd was one of the tricks almost everyone in AA possessed. But still, Zen was slightly tense. She looked at her former partner and smiled.
"Relax," she said. "This is routine."
"For you, maybe. Not for me."
She pursed her lips. "True. But relax. The worst that'll happen is you'll die a few days early."
"Thanks." But he wasn't comforted at all. He looked at his watch as Arien began climbing down the stairs to the train station, her heels clicking on the concrete as she walked; he wondered how she managed to maintain such calm and control. Zen, in his life, had never actually killed anyone. Shot someone, sure, but the actual killings he had left to Arien. But now, faced with the possibility of having to do it himself very soon - there were far too many on the list for Arien to take care of by herself - he was feeling as if he stood on the edge of the precipice. If he crossed the line, he would forever be changed, his soul forever marked with taint. He could only look at his shoes as he walked. How could Arien live with this?
But she did; and so did everyone else in the Investigation Sector, and Axil, and Shivvalan, and the other covert operatives. At one point or another, those who did covert operations ended up killing somebody for whatever reason, usually self-defence. The Turks, on the other hand, killed because that was the objective, which was the difference between them and the Intelligence. But Zen had never killed anyone, for self-defence or otherwise. Incapacitation was the extent of damage he had inflicted on another human being before.
Arien knew Zen's fear, and said nothing further. It was fear that had to be overcome by himself; no one could help him with it, and she had a gut feeling talking wouldn't help. And so she headed to the location without further speeches or pep talks. As she boarded the train, she stood by the wall, well aware that her black dress was too short for it to be modest, and that her white thighs only attracted sexual attention from the depraved males; well, she was playing a role of a hooker, and she was dressed for the part. She vaguely remembered another assignment like this, so ages ago now, when Reno had been the one with the assignment and she had just been the bait. That dress had been black as well. The redhead had picked it out, and he had argued with Tseng afterwards, saying that it had been dangerous. She never got to ask what the danger had been, but knowing just how much he disliked her being accessible to other males - attention was okay, apparently, since it just confirmed she was a desirable female - she had a good guess what the danger was. Now to come and think of it, their relationship wasn't what one saw in films as a healthy, good relationship; it was much darker, much more perverse, and there had been too much mental plays. Their relationship had been trades, bargains, tactics and strategy, not the straightforward "I love you" "I love you too" that Zen and Ivy seemed to have. Actually, Reno had never told her he loved her. From a man whose entire motto was "don't be serious with yourself", that was a big thing.
"The next stop is High North. High North."
The apartment was only a short distance away, and the man buzzed the door open as soon as Arien asked. After checking her appearance, they went upstairs, and Arien told Zen to wait in an inconspicuous space. Wordless, he obeyed, as Arien sashayed her way down and knocked on the door. The door opened right away, and after a few exchanges, she disappeared into the abode.
The man was extremely pleased with the girl. She's new, the man who had answered the phone had told him, brand spanking new who had just joined the day before. A virgin too, he said, in need of money, and he believed it. As she began to take her shoes off - he could almost see her underwear as she bent down to take off the heels - he took off his trousers. He was already aroused, and was extremely excited about the prospect of this beautiful girl doing all sorts of things with his unwashed body.
"What are you doing, kitten?" he asked in a low voice when she didn't immediately begin stripping her clothes. Maybe she was a tease? The brothel had said she would be coming in with toys, and she had come with a bag… his arousal became even more profound, and there was already a wet spot on his underwear. If she'd bend over just a teeny bit more, he could see the crotch…
"Lie down?" said the girl. Her voice was sweet, just the right amount of breathiness to tell him she was aroused as well; he obeyed her demand to wear a blindfold, now getting very excited. Maybe he'll call for her services again. So far, everything was promising, with just the right amount of kittenish smiles and the sexual openness that promised him she might just do anything. He could feel her legs spreading above him - she must be straddling him, he thought - and then a rustle, a shift of weight. Maybe she was reaching for her bag?
And so he was in for the shock of his life when he felt something soft but were definitely not breasts come over his face. He wondered for a fleeting moment what she was doing, but then his thoughts were literally blown out of his head.
Arien stuffed the poly-filled pillow back into the bag, and then holstered the compact pistol. That followed the pillow, and then she pulled out a pair of jeans, donned it, and casually slid her feet into her shoes. Unlocking the door latch - her fingertips were superglued to conceal her prints - she set the lock on autolock, so that it'll lock behind her. With that, she began walking toward the stairs, her heels clicking.
"Done. Let's go."
"Is he…"
"It's done," Arien repeated. Zen followed her down the stairs and out into the street, feeling sickened at the certain prospect of having to do the killing himself the next time. Axil, Shivvalan, and the rest were all taking care of their own marks, and Arien had already taken care of three. He had to do his part, but he felt sick at the thought of killing someone, and wondered how anyone survived doing this.
Arien said nothing, for there was no easy answer to Zen's unasked question. Souls survived, but only barely, and even then they came out marked, tainted, and half-broken from the guilt. Reno had often tossed and turned in his sleep, and according to him, so did she; usually they could keep the guilt down, but during the darkest hours, the dead came to claim for their revenge, their bony fingers scraping against their beings in their darkest dreams. She wished he would have listened to her, but Zen hadn't, and had volunteered. Even when Axil had tried to stop him. The covert operatives had promised each other that at least they'd keep Zen pure, but she wasn't sure if they could see that through. It was uncertain times, and purity and stability of the mind had to take a back seat when lives were at stake.
And that was the dark secret that kept the Turks in the shadows. People noticed something was off with them, as if their beings were emitting dark auras marked by their kills, and so they kept their distance. And that was how it was supposed to be. They were the dark side of the Shinra General Electric Company, and shadows never could see the light.
Ever.
