Scarlet
By HighWind
DISCLAIMER: Amarant Coral and any other FFIX characters/locales/references are copyrighted to Square.
Chapter One: Kapps and Fangs
There are really only two kinds of people in the world, and especially in a place like Treno: very rich, and very poor. And while I didn't exactly live like a king with my father, on my own I was, for the first time, staring true poverty dead in the face. And so here I was, fourteen years old, alone and frightened and broke on the streets of the most dangerous city in the world. What would you do?
I did the only thing I could think of: I joined the party. If crime was what drove this city, then dammit, I wouldn't be left behind.
It's funny, but when you are forced to live like an animal-when every day is literally a fight for survival-you kind of start to think like one too. Primitive concepts such as safety in numbers, and only the strong survive, become the words you live and die by. And so, before long, I was no longer alone. Still broke, still frightened, and still on the streets, but not alone. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the names of the people I ran with in those first months on the street. Names didn't matter, words didn't matter. What mattered was survival. And survival was really just a longer word for money.
It was easy at first. In the beginning, you tried to follow the law. Simply approach a rich-looking old guy, and beg. Ask for money, food, anything. And when the prick inevitably gave you a look of disgust and decided your life wasn't worth his pocket change, your buddies jumped out of the shadows and you mugged him. Really, that was the desirable outcome. You got more that way. Not just more money, but also more satisfaction. Because in addition to fattening your wallet, you get a little piece of vengeance on someone from the upper class. No matter who you are, if you're poor, anyone with money is the enemy. Unfortunately, they aren't the only enemy: they aren't even the most dangerous one.
Kapps vs. Fangs. It was an urban legend that was nearly as old as the city itself. The Kapps and Fangs were, for lack of a better term, rival gangs. But they were more then that to the people involved. This wasn't just some sort of feud over turf: this was an all-out war. The battle between the Kapps and Fangs produced more horror stories, more crimes, and, unfortunately, more casualties then anything else I've ever seen in my life. And believe me, I've seen a lot.
The concept was fairly simple: no one was neutral. If you were poor in Treno, you were either a Kapp or a Fang, period. If you weren't either, you didn't last very long.
Because Kapps didn't just see Fangs as their enemies: they saw anything not a Kapp as enemies. The same went for the Fangs. If you weren't wearing blue, you'd better be wearing red. And no matter what you were wearing, you'd better be strong enough to do your share of work and make your "brothers" proud. Because dead weight translated into dead bodies.
In a way, I was lucky. For starters, my shocking red hair made me a natural Fang...a mascot, I liked to think at the time. Aside from that, I was young, strong, already a head taller then most grown men despite my age, and desperate to survive. I was exactly what the Fangs were looking for. And so, before I knew it, I was officially a big shot in the world of organized crime. Far from the biggest shot, however.
That honor would have gone to Bruce. A tall, well-built man in his early thirties, Bruce was tough as nails and as merciless as anyone I'd ever met. Bruce wasn't the leader of the Fangs, but he was close; and, as head recruiter for the gang, he was in charge of all the "young blood" like me. We thought of him as a mentor, a friend. For many of us, including me, Bruce seemed to be the first person we could truly trust. However, that didn't make him any less hard on us.
Bruce was completely devoted to showing us the ins and outs of our "business", and that included the harsh reality of it all. Do well, and you were rewarded. Screw up, and you'd meet several well-aimed blows from his ever-present baton. Like most of the Fangs, I'd been recruited by Bruce just when it seemed I had nowhere else to turn. He'd watched me snatch some food from an unwary street vendor and, impressed with my cunning (and/or lack of a conscience) asked for my name.
i"What do they call you, kid?"
Having forsaken the name my father gave me, I wasn't sure what to say. "I...have no name."
"No name? Hmm...alright, Scarlet then. How's that sound for a gang name?"
"A gang name...you a Fang?" I noticed his telltale red bandana for the first time.
He nodded. "So are you, now. Come with me."/i
I figured, "hey, this is my big chance! Finally I have somewhere to turn!" I figured I was set for life.
I was wrong.
By HighWind
DISCLAIMER: Amarant Coral and any other FFIX characters/locales/references are copyrighted to Square.
Chapter One: Kapps and Fangs
There are really only two kinds of people in the world, and especially in a place like Treno: very rich, and very poor. And while I didn't exactly live like a king with my father, on my own I was, for the first time, staring true poverty dead in the face. And so here I was, fourteen years old, alone and frightened and broke on the streets of the most dangerous city in the world. What would you do?
I did the only thing I could think of: I joined the party. If crime was what drove this city, then dammit, I wouldn't be left behind.
It's funny, but when you are forced to live like an animal-when every day is literally a fight for survival-you kind of start to think like one too. Primitive concepts such as safety in numbers, and only the strong survive, become the words you live and die by. And so, before long, I was no longer alone. Still broke, still frightened, and still on the streets, but not alone. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the names of the people I ran with in those first months on the street. Names didn't matter, words didn't matter. What mattered was survival. And survival was really just a longer word for money.
It was easy at first. In the beginning, you tried to follow the law. Simply approach a rich-looking old guy, and beg. Ask for money, food, anything. And when the prick inevitably gave you a look of disgust and decided your life wasn't worth his pocket change, your buddies jumped out of the shadows and you mugged him. Really, that was the desirable outcome. You got more that way. Not just more money, but also more satisfaction. Because in addition to fattening your wallet, you get a little piece of vengeance on someone from the upper class. No matter who you are, if you're poor, anyone with money is the enemy. Unfortunately, they aren't the only enemy: they aren't even the most dangerous one.
Kapps vs. Fangs. It was an urban legend that was nearly as old as the city itself. The Kapps and Fangs were, for lack of a better term, rival gangs. But they were more then that to the people involved. This wasn't just some sort of feud over turf: this was an all-out war. The battle between the Kapps and Fangs produced more horror stories, more crimes, and, unfortunately, more casualties then anything else I've ever seen in my life. And believe me, I've seen a lot.
The concept was fairly simple: no one was neutral. If you were poor in Treno, you were either a Kapp or a Fang, period. If you weren't either, you didn't last very long.
Because Kapps didn't just see Fangs as their enemies: they saw anything not a Kapp as enemies. The same went for the Fangs. If you weren't wearing blue, you'd better be wearing red. And no matter what you were wearing, you'd better be strong enough to do your share of work and make your "brothers" proud. Because dead weight translated into dead bodies.
In a way, I was lucky. For starters, my shocking red hair made me a natural Fang...a mascot, I liked to think at the time. Aside from that, I was young, strong, already a head taller then most grown men despite my age, and desperate to survive. I was exactly what the Fangs were looking for. And so, before I knew it, I was officially a big shot in the world of organized crime. Far from the biggest shot, however.
That honor would have gone to Bruce. A tall, well-built man in his early thirties, Bruce was tough as nails and as merciless as anyone I'd ever met. Bruce wasn't the leader of the Fangs, but he was close; and, as head recruiter for the gang, he was in charge of all the "young blood" like me. We thought of him as a mentor, a friend. For many of us, including me, Bruce seemed to be the first person we could truly trust. However, that didn't make him any less hard on us.
Bruce was completely devoted to showing us the ins and outs of our "business", and that included the harsh reality of it all. Do well, and you were rewarded. Screw up, and you'd meet several well-aimed blows from his ever-present baton. Like most of the Fangs, I'd been recruited by Bruce just when it seemed I had nowhere else to turn. He'd watched me snatch some food from an unwary street vendor and, impressed with my cunning (and/or lack of a conscience) asked for my name.
i"What do they call you, kid?"
Having forsaken the name my father gave me, I wasn't sure what to say. "I...have no name."
"No name? Hmm...alright, Scarlet then. How's that sound for a gang name?"
"A gang name...you a Fang?" I noticed his telltale red bandana for the first time.
He nodded. "So are you, now. Come with me."/i
I figured, "hey, this is my big chance! Finally I have somewhere to turn!" I figured I was set for life.
I was wrong.