Scarlet
By HighWind
Sorry this one took so much longer to get up...I've had a lot going on lately. Hopefully it's worth the wait...and of course, thanks very much for all the positive reviews so far! It's really encouraging to know someone is actually ENJOYING this little mess of words...
DISCLAIMER: Amarant Coral and any other FFIX characters/locales/references are STILL copyrighted to Square.
Chapter Two: In Cold Blood
It didn't take long for me to rise through the ranks of the Fangs. To this day, I'm not sure if that's due to my own skill or favoritism from Bruce and the others at the top. Regardless, after about a year I was without a doubt the highest ranking of the really young guys.
Naturally, in that time I also grew to have my own little 'clique'. For the first time, I really felt like I had a good bunch of friends I could rely on. Naturally, there was Bruce, who by this point seemed to be my big brother. We almost always worked together when he was handed an assignment: whether it was a raid, burglary, or a professional hit.
And therein lied the first of my problems within the gang: fighting to the death. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I couldn't do it because of moral limitations. I simply wasn't equipped for the job.
You see, up until that point I'd always relied solely on my fists for defense. The way I saw it, they were a weapon that I couldn't lose, and that no one could steal. To me, the knowledge that I defeated someone with my own fist gave me a sense of satisfaction. No one could say that the weapon had made the man; no one could deny that I won solely because of my own strength.
Unfortunately, as much satisfaction as I got for laying an enemy out with a well placed punch, it's hard to kill someone with your knuckles. Most of the gang carried daggers or even swords, but that really wasn't my style.
"How 'bout wrist blades?" Bruce suggested one day.
"Um...wrist blades?"
"Check these out," he'd said, motioning me to join him. What he showed me was a sort of gauntlet with three long metal claws protruding from the front. "It's really pretty simple. You wear these and that knockout punch of yours turns into instant death. I honestly can't think of a more appropriate weapon for you."
I was a bit skeptical at first. But when I wore the claws to my first 'rumble', I knew.
Rumbles...they were what made the war between the Kapps and Fangs what it was. A rumble was simple...a mass free-for-all between the two gangs. Rumbles were infamous for being the time when the men were separated from the boys; the men were the ones who survived. Needless to say, I was nervous as hell when I was told I'd be sent to one, although I didn't admit it then. I'd have to be able to kill to save my own skin. I'd have to try the claws.
It was a thing of beauty. Violent, brutal beauty, but beauty all the same.
It sounds terrible, barbaric. But at the time, there was no greater feeling of triumph then when I first threw my now-legendary punch for the first time with the claws: and to my surprise, the deadly talons slid effortlessly into my opponent's face. It wasn't until I had to roughly yank them back out again that I realized just how much damage they'd done.
The guy was dead, and with three huge gashes in his face to boot. I hadn't stabbed him in the throat or heart, so I was (pleasantly) surprised when he fell dead from one blow. I realized with just a bit of alarm that I must have gone through to his brain.
You read so often about great warriors who were horrified the first time they had to kill. Heroes who almost called it quits when they first saw the light fade from another's eyes. Maybe that's why I'm no hero.
To me, it was bliss.
* * * * *
We won the rumble that day. I honestly couldn't tell you how much of a part I played. All I know is that that was the day I sealed my fate forever. That was the day that I knew I'd never be anything else...never NEED anything else. Gang life was what I was built for. I thought my little display of bloodlust on the battlefield that day proved it.
Bruce didn't seem to disagree.
"To be honest, kid, I didn't know for sure if you had it in ya," he admitted. "I've seen how well you steal. I knew you were made for breaking and entering. And yeah, I knew you were tough..." he paused. "But, the way you fought today...it was amazing. You'll be big kid, you'll be big."
As pitiful as it makes me feel now, Bruce's words that day filled me with greater pride then I'd ever felt in my life.
* * * * *
When I was 15 years old and on my way up the corporate ladder of crime, Anthony Giovanni was one of the richest men in Treno. And, despite having a great name for it, he had no connections at all to the various gangs in the city.
To this day, I think that was his problem.
40,000 gil. That's what Pryce McLane, one of Giovanni's biggest business competitors, was willing to pay to see him dead. We were all too happy to oblige.
Like so many other missions that didn't involve our battle with the Kapps, this job was handed down to Bruce and what had come to be called "his kids". Naturally, he selected me to join the team. Also with us would be a friend of mine named Ralf.
Ralf was about two years my senior, and although he was considerably smaller and not quite as crazy in battle, he was notorious for being a natural born thief if there ever was one. It was a common joke among our ranks that Ralf could probably steal half the clothes off your body before you even realized he was there. I personally got great enjoyment out of walking through a crowd with him just to see how much loot he'd have picked from the nobles' overly heavy pockets by the end. He was also an expert at getting past locks of any kind: essential for an assassination mission.
In addition to Bruce, Ralf and myself, the team would also include a newbie named Clyde. To this day I'm not sure why. Maybe he was the common case of a newly joined gang youngster who needed to be made familiar with the concept of spilling the enemy's blood. Judging by his appearance and demeanor, it's just as likely that Bruce was his baby-sitter. I swear the kid looked twelve.
It should have been a simple mission. Intelligence reports indicated that the arrogant Giovanni, hating to be surrounded by guards all the time, had very light security in his not-so-humble abode. Prick thought he was untouchable. Heh.
The four of us stood silently in a dark alley near Giovanni's mansion. Bruce whispered the plan to us.
"It's pretty simple. There is only one sentry guarding the door, so we simply take him out and hide the body. Then, Ralf picks the lock and we sneak in. Once we get inside, it's not certain where the guards will be, but there should only be about 8 total."
"Only eight!?" Ralf said in disbelief. "This guy has no gang ties and only eight guards...he suicidal?"
Bruce shrugged. "Not like we care. The point is, this job's simple. Still, it seems a little fishy to me too...keep an eye open."
He nodded to me, and I wordlessly glanced out at the guard, who looked like he was either staring out at the water, trying desperately to stay awake, or both. Sneaking over as quietly as a person my size possibly can, I managed to grab the guy by his armor and slap a hand over his mouth. I then slit his throat with my claw in one swift motion that can only be learned by practice. Keeping my hand over his mouth for the last few moments he was capable of using his vocal cords, I then dragged his body back into the alley and threw it into a corner where no one would find it until it was too late. Meanwhile, Ralf dashed to the door and began to work his magic. As I dragged the dead guard by, I caught a look from the Clyde kid that looked like a combination of shocked horror and sheer awe.
I heard Ralf's triumphant snicker as the lock popped open. "All set, boys. Let's go earn us some money, eh?"
I should have been confident. Security was known to be light. I was with my two most trusted friends and allies in the whole world.
So why couldn't I shake the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach...?
By HighWind
Sorry this one took so much longer to get up...I've had a lot going on lately. Hopefully it's worth the wait...and of course, thanks very much for all the positive reviews so far! It's really encouraging to know someone is actually ENJOYING this little mess of words...
DISCLAIMER: Amarant Coral and any other FFIX characters/locales/references are STILL copyrighted to Square.
Chapter Two: In Cold Blood
It didn't take long for me to rise through the ranks of the Fangs. To this day, I'm not sure if that's due to my own skill or favoritism from Bruce and the others at the top. Regardless, after about a year I was without a doubt the highest ranking of the really young guys.
Naturally, in that time I also grew to have my own little 'clique'. For the first time, I really felt like I had a good bunch of friends I could rely on. Naturally, there was Bruce, who by this point seemed to be my big brother. We almost always worked together when he was handed an assignment: whether it was a raid, burglary, or a professional hit.
And therein lied the first of my problems within the gang: fighting to the death. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I couldn't do it because of moral limitations. I simply wasn't equipped for the job.
You see, up until that point I'd always relied solely on my fists for defense. The way I saw it, they were a weapon that I couldn't lose, and that no one could steal. To me, the knowledge that I defeated someone with my own fist gave me a sense of satisfaction. No one could say that the weapon had made the man; no one could deny that I won solely because of my own strength.
Unfortunately, as much satisfaction as I got for laying an enemy out with a well placed punch, it's hard to kill someone with your knuckles. Most of the gang carried daggers or even swords, but that really wasn't my style.
"How 'bout wrist blades?" Bruce suggested one day.
"Um...wrist blades?"
"Check these out," he'd said, motioning me to join him. What he showed me was a sort of gauntlet with three long metal claws protruding from the front. "It's really pretty simple. You wear these and that knockout punch of yours turns into instant death. I honestly can't think of a more appropriate weapon for you."
I was a bit skeptical at first. But when I wore the claws to my first 'rumble', I knew.
Rumbles...they were what made the war between the Kapps and Fangs what it was. A rumble was simple...a mass free-for-all between the two gangs. Rumbles were infamous for being the time when the men were separated from the boys; the men were the ones who survived. Needless to say, I was nervous as hell when I was told I'd be sent to one, although I didn't admit it then. I'd have to be able to kill to save my own skin. I'd have to try the claws.
It was a thing of beauty. Violent, brutal beauty, but beauty all the same.
It sounds terrible, barbaric. But at the time, there was no greater feeling of triumph then when I first threw my now-legendary punch for the first time with the claws: and to my surprise, the deadly talons slid effortlessly into my opponent's face. It wasn't until I had to roughly yank them back out again that I realized just how much damage they'd done.
The guy was dead, and with three huge gashes in his face to boot. I hadn't stabbed him in the throat or heart, so I was (pleasantly) surprised when he fell dead from one blow. I realized with just a bit of alarm that I must have gone through to his brain.
You read so often about great warriors who were horrified the first time they had to kill. Heroes who almost called it quits when they first saw the light fade from another's eyes. Maybe that's why I'm no hero.
To me, it was bliss.
* * * * *
We won the rumble that day. I honestly couldn't tell you how much of a part I played. All I know is that that was the day I sealed my fate forever. That was the day that I knew I'd never be anything else...never NEED anything else. Gang life was what I was built for. I thought my little display of bloodlust on the battlefield that day proved it.
Bruce didn't seem to disagree.
"To be honest, kid, I didn't know for sure if you had it in ya," he admitted. "I've seen how well you steal. I knew you were made for breaking and entering. And yeah, I knew you were tough..." he paused. "But, the way you fought today...it was amazing. You'll be big kid, you'll be big."
As pitiful as it makes me feel now, Bruce's words that day filled me with greater pride then I'd ever felt in my life.
* * * * *
When I was 15 years old and on my way up the corporate ladder of crime, Anthony Giovanni was one of the richest men in Treno. And, despite having a great name for it, he had no connections at all to the various gangs in the city.
To this day, I think that was his problem.
40,000 gil. That's what Pryce McLane, one of Giovanni's biggest business competitors, was willing to pay to see him dead. We were all too happy to oblige.
Like so many other missions that didn't involve our battle with the Kapps, this job was handed down to Bruce and what had come to be called "his kids". Naturally, he selected me to join the team. Also with us would be a friend of mine named Ralf.
Ralf was about two years my senior, and although he was considerably smaller and not quite as crazy in battle, he was notorious for being a natural born thief if there ever was one. It was a common joke among our ranks that Ralf could probably steal half the clothes off your body before you even realized he was there. I personally got great enjoyment out of walking through a crowd with him just to see how much loot he'd have picked from the nobles' overly heavy pockets by the end. He was also an expert at getting past locks of any kind: essential for an assassination mission.
In addition to Bruce, Ralf and myself, the team would also include a newbie named Clyde. To this day I'm not sure why. Maybe he was the common case of a newly joined gang youngster who needed to be made familiar with the concept of spilling the enemy's blood. Judging by his appearance and demeanor, it's just as likely that Bruce was his baby-sitter. I swear the kid looked twelve.
It should have been a simple mission. Intelligence reports indicated that the arrogant Giovanni, hating to be surrounded by guards all the time, had very light security in his not-so-humble abode. Prick thought he was untouchable. Heh.
The four of us stood silently in a dark alley near Giovanni's mansion. Bruce whispered the plan to us.
"It's pretty simple. There is only one sentry guarding the door, so we simply take him out and hide the body. Then, Ralf picks the lock and we sneak in. Once we get inside, it's not certain where the guards will be, but there should only be about 8 total."
"Only eight!?" Ralf said in disbelief. "This guy has no gang ties and only eight guards...he suicidal?"
Bruce shrugged. "Not like we care. The point is, this job's simple. Still, it seems a little fishy to me too...keep an eye open."
He nodded to me, and I wordlessly glanced out at the guard, who looked like he was either staring out at the water, trying desperately to stay awake, or both. Sneaking over as quietly as a person my size possibly can, I managed to grab the guy by his armor and slap a hand over his mouth. I then slit his throat with my claw in one swift motion that can only be learned by practice. Keeping my hand over his mouth for the last few moments he was capable of using his vocal cords, I then dragged his body back into the alley and threw it into a corner where no one would find it until it was too late. Meanwhile, Ralf dashed to the door and began to work his magic. As I dragged the dead guard by, I caught a look from the Clyde kid that looked like a combination of shocked horror and sheer awe.
I heard Ralf's triumphant snicker as the lock popped open. "All set, boys. Let's go earn us some money, eh?"
I should have been confident. Security was known to be light. I was with my two most trusted friends and allies in the whole world.
So why couldn't I shake the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach...?