Author's Note: Alright. Short note. Yes, Sephiroth is out of character. Didn't know how AU it was going to be until now. Another thing: I plan for this story to drag on for a while, and, as you can probably tell, I move one day at a time in the chapters, usually. It may change, it may not. I'm thinking of things as I type, Folks. I work that way. Anyway, enough of my gibberish. Chapter three lies ahead. . . ( I'll give you candy if you can guess the meaning of the dream. . .electro-candy, of course. . .Easy as hell. . . ) And, for the odd and uneducated: heater=handgun.
Silver Rose
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
October 18, 3076
Early Morning. Pew. Slum Church. 3:45 A.M.
"You know, they say dreams are the gateway to reality. I think there's more to it. But, what do I know? I only have telekenisis and a straight jacket." - Patient 10638, Midgar Asylum
I'm running, and I don't know why. I feel caught. Caught in a giant labrynth of alleyways above the Plate. I look up, and see the clouds, ripping apart, leaving a hole of black until a golden, misty hand reaches down and slams into the Planet. The ground shakes.
Things are moving way too fast.
My hands sweat when I slide them along the alleyway wall. It's like one of those hedge mazes, but too high to climb out of, and too thick to blast through. Red -- yes, blood red, like the color you picture a demon's eyes as -- lightning crashes around me, winds ripping at my clothes, gripping my hair in their journey and trying to halt my progress.
Too fast. . .
I turn corners, scream for help, try to find a way out of the twisting paths. Eyes peer at me from the corners, hatred flashing at me, while shadows rush by with no source. It all makes no sense. No sense at all.
Help me. I scream it over and over again. Until I come to a dead-end.
A. . .thing, stands there, towering at least eight feet tall. Its face is so bad, it looks like someone shoved a knife in its ear and ripped a path across the eyes, turning to get the nose and mouth next and shoving its head into a can of brown paint. It's hideous. Its white robes, ragged, whipping in the wind, while it stands, calm. Looking at me. Sizing me up. Holding a long dagger; trying to pinpoint its target.
It rushes.
I think not. I run for it, the thing, trying to kick it back but only feeling my own leg buckle before it lifts me up and throws me down the path, into a wall. I break it. My back surges in pain, and its tall, lanky form steps easily through the hole.
I look up to see its jagged face as it picks me up by the neck and shoves me against the other wall. My throat tries to swallow itself whole, but the thing speaks.
"Murney de pantra."
Its voice sears in the back of my head, a foreign tongue screaming a warning at me. My tormentor throws me down and steps on my neck, raising the arm with the knife in a backswing. An orb of crimson propels itself from the hole in the clouds, quickly closing on us.
Crushing the labrynth with me inside.
* * * * *
I wake with a start.
Jesus.
That's the worst dream I've ever had, I decide as I open my eyes quickly and look around. I remember this time. I'm in the church, under the blanket. Something screams a ways away and I shove my gun back into my pocket, before I stand up and walk quickly away from the building.
Aeris was nice enough to let me sleep there for a night, I know, but I want to leave as quickly as possible; as well as it grows flowers, it spawns torture.
The pillar pulses 6:59.
I head for the free-food place on the other side of the Sector, all the while trying to rid myself of the memory of the jagged-faced monster. Something seems off the entire walk, but I complete my journey without incident or accident. As usual, Turner's at his table with a cup of coffee and newspaper, this time apparently waiting for me, because he puts his paper away when I walk in and shifts after I get a muffin and sit down.
"Problems with Old Man ShinRa, still?"
How'd you guess? "He fired me," is all I say, rubbing my hands together in the cold air of the restaurant. His eyes look a bit red, but his coffee cup is full. Something's up. "What the hell's with you?"
He sighs. Just as I figured. Something's wrong, and he's out to fix it. Lawyers are like that. "Somebody got shot on the other end of the Sector last night, by the church. Nobody got a description of the killer, though, so I've gotta help Miklen with that." Miklen doubles as an investigator when he has time. Quite the fucking value pack. I hate him. "Wonderin' if you might be able to help us out, too."
Funny. . . I didn't hear a thing last night, and I woke up on my own. "I guess, if I can find the time." My usual answer. I used to be a busy person, and now I have to go to Wall Market and check with the old guy in the weapon shop about a job. Things come up, Turner, you know that feeling. "Weird-ass dream last night. . .doesn't feel right. . . Do you know if Miklen knows any higher-ups that know anything about that type of stuff?" I take a bite of my muffin. Good today.
He holds his hands up suddenly. "I actually heard about that from somebody. Forget who, right now" -- great -- "but it'll come back to me in a while." A forgetful lawyer. Shit. Note to Self: Shop around next time.
"Fine, fine," I sigh. Better than running around blindly, right? Well, maybe. "Anyway, you know if the old guy at the weapon shop's still looking for help?"
He starts to stand up, pauses, and shrugs uncaringly. "I live above the Plate, Sephster." Watch it, Blondie. "Good luck with whatever it is." He aims his path for the door, but stops as soon as he has it open and looks sideways with a grin at me. Disturbing. "I remembered who it was now."
"Who's that?" We're getting a few odd looks.
"Patient 10638, Cell Block C in the old Asylum. Have fun," he chuckles, then steps out and hops into his own car to drive the rest of the way.
That reminds me. My old Cougar is still probably sitting in my driveway at my old house. Hopefully. I grab the pen Turner left on the paper -- aww, he was only halfway through the crossword puzzle -- and jot down on my arm:
Patient 10638
CBC
Midgar Asy
It's enough of a note for me. I steal his pen and paper and walk from the coffee shop-like place, staring at the clock again. I always seem to only spend about half an hour in there. I'm starting off to Wall Market, when, just as expected. . .
"How'd ya sleep?"
I shrug it off and keep walking, letting her tag along. People could pass us off for a couple, I bet. "Better than a dumpster, thanks. Hear anything about a shooting last night?" It's good to know what kind of killer is stalking around your bed while you're dreaming of fighting off an eight-foot demon who doesn't know English. "Murney de pantra" still echoes in my mind.
Aeris half-smiles and nods, without the usual basket today. "Yeah. Nobody saw who did it, though." So I've heard. "Might be better to stay somewhere else tonight?"
What are you getting at? I lift a brow at her and narrow the other eye. A trick I learned in college to scare people off, or just to look overly-curious. "What, back in the dumpster? And remember, they kicked me out of my house." Our shadows hesitate in their following, but we drag them along over our footsteps.
She laughs, not the annoying giggle I might've expected, and shakes her head. "Of course not. I meant my place."
Yeeerrk! Hold on here. I stop and turn to completely face her, seeing the look of surprise in her face. "Your. . .place?" I'm not one to stutter, you know. But this one would slap anybody down. I half-expect my shadow to ditch me here and now, like it does under the lamp posts. Wind howls a warning around me to just listen to her. I pay it no heed. "Listen. Aeris, you've been nice and all that, but. . ." But, what? I don't want to be a burden? I'd feel uncomfortable? I'm an asshole not up for taking a chance?
"You're one of the homeless people around here!" she huffs. Yeah, well, that, too. I suppose I could always sleep in my car. I should have let her know that a few seconds ago. Anyway, continuing. . . "And a nice one, at that. I'm not gonna stand back and watch you be the next one to get gunned down in the back alleyways!" Damn, she can be pissy when she needs to. "So, either" -- a deal. Fun. -- "you stay at my place, or I send someone out to kill you myself!"
From the look on her face, she's either serious about being this caring, or just really wants to get me into bed with her. I'll go with the former, the way she comes off. "Fine, fine." Angry woman. Never disobey. "Settle down for a second, and I'll lay it down for you. I've gotta run to Wall Market and do a few things. Should be back around. . ." I stare at the big Pillar clock. I have a feeling the landlord won't be too happy about me being there. "Give me three hours or so, then I'll jump back over here. We'll go from there, alright?" Ease her into it. She seems short-fused enough already,
She smiles. Dear God, she's a two-face. "Okay. Later, Seph." She bounds off into the snow, disappearing down one of the alleys. Probably the one she didn't want me going into.
I shake my head, sigh, and aim myself for Wall Market. That was quite an event to start off the day. Well, no more fretting about where to stay the next night, I guess, and even if she did just want to sleep with me or something. . . I sneak a glance back the way I came and see the footsteps between the buildings. I try and hide a grin. Why do I have this sudden feeling in the pit of my stomach is might've happened anyway?
The paths in Wall Market are always busy and littered with shopping bags, ice cream cones, and soda bottles. But everyone goes along, buying whatever they need, and then high-tailing it out of there. It's the business district inside the slums, so there, naturally, are a lot of shoplifters hiding in the cracks of the place. Which is probably one of the reasons I pack heat.
Clumps of muddy grass jolt out from place to place, though most are sick, dying, dead, while a number seem to be all three at once. Some are just covered with plastic bags, preventing an actual life from touching the plants. Although I'm no saint myself, this place looks like shit.
I pass most of the shops, including Fat-Fuck Corneo's -- thank you, Heideggar -- Honey Bee Inn, and step into the weapon's shop without knocking. A SOLDIER-uniformed man stands guard with a loaded twelve-gauge in plain sight next to the door, and he half-smiles at me when I walk in. He's probably seen me walking around the building.
The man who runs the place looks up and grins widely. "I remember you!" What a shock. Old people tend to forget me. Oh, wait. I mean people in general. "You came in about the clean-up job, right?"
I nod. He probably wouldn't hear me anyway. You know how old people get when thier hair goes white.
His smile disappears. Dammit. I know what's coming. "Sorry 'bout that, Son, but a guy turned his in before yours." He coughs for a moment, clears his throat, and goes on. He could've been hiding something in there, but I'm not really listening now. "Check back next year, eh, Kid? Boy, I run through these kids like potato chips. Shit, just the other day, I had a little kid runnin' about in the junk, and --"
"Will do." He calls out another 'Eh?' before I'm out the door, but I head straight for the properties just outside Sector Five. I hadn't really expected to get the job, anyway, but the gil would've been nice to pocket.
Next stop: Pick up the Cougar. I take the back alleys and about half my time, coming into a clump of properties in a semi-circle. A few people are out shovelling their driveways, just to make sure they can get out. The landlord's house sits on a small hill, and he stands on the porch smoking a cigarette. I'm not really surprised to see him start walking toward me, but it pisses me off to be delayed again, to say the least.
"Boy, I thought I told you to stay the hell away from here," he drawls. He was born and raised in Midgar, as far as I can tell, and if he pooled his resources, he could take out Kalm. He's high-rung of the major turf gang around here; the one I got stuck opposing. And now that he's not my landlord. . .
I hold my hands up, as Turner had done, and glimpse the jagged 10638 scrawled down. I completely forgot about that. I'll check it later; Aeris seems to be in search-and-terminate mode. "Just here for my car. Not up for startin' anything with you guys today."
"Fuck you," he bursts out. "It's not a matter of whether or not you wanna start somethin'. It's a matter of whether or not we're gonna start it. You make no decisions, Little Man. You're on our turf now."
If things could get any worse. . . Three of his lackeys are ambling this way from different directions. I grip for my gun in my pocket and get ready to let the bullets fly. "Well, then. Let's just get it over with." I can finally see why no one knows his name; he's a gang-leader.
I fire twice. The landlord hits the ground, shocked and cold, in a pool of red, sticky liquid. The second shot hits air. I'm surprised when the next guy only comes at me with a snow shovel. I wrench it from his grip, whack him over the back of the head, and thrust the handle into the neck of the next man in line.
I was taught to use any weapon available.
The next move is just for kicks. I scoop up a ball of snow and force it into the third's eyes, then swing him round and plow him into a trash can. These three were weaklings, and the landlord was the only real challenge, but they aren't exactly dead yet. My little stunt just proved I wasn't stupid. I haul ass behind a large van in the nearest garage as two handguns and a semi-automatic rifle come out and let loose. Metal hits metal in an abnoxious clanking noise inside the frame of the truck.
The heaters both run out about the same time and I make a mad dash for my Cougar. The rifle only makes a dull slapping sound when its shots go through the back of my tailing cloak. I can run like hell. The other two have chosen to lay off and watch me speed out of the complex, and the third follows after a moment. That was just a small rumble, letting me know to stay away.
The Cougar is a new-model sports car, low to the ground, close-to-streamlined, with barely enough head room to look around. It's got easy voice-activation, for easy getaways, and a stereo system that could stop the human heart if pushed far enough.
I'm a regular walking billboard.
Father bought it for me on my sixteenth birthday, and I haven't crashed it in the four years I've had it. My Mako Dreams CD remains untouched and starts in where I left off last time I drove this. I tap the wheel and mutter along out of habit.
Then I proceed to flip the heat system on and adjust the seat so I can see over the dash board. Somebody was in here, trying to take something, but it all seems intact. They just wanted the car. I disappear into the tunnel bordering the city made for getting places quickly and ease down on the gas.
No one really street-runs Cougars, but I can still find a few makeshift races with others inside the tunnel on my way, lightening my mood up a bit. Midgar is always up for fun.
I pull up next to a cop at one of the few stoplights in the tunnel and put my crazy face on, staring wide-eyed at him while I ease the volume to ear-blasting. Mako Dreams keeps their music full of guitars and drums, while their speech is screeching into the microphone like looneys. The cop eyes me cautiously. This is very close to illegal in a Cougar, but I'm in the mood for fun.
There comes a break in the song. You know, the ones that are filled with the building-up drum banging, cymbals and growls thrown in here and there to catch you off guard. I bang my hands, eye-catchingly fast, against the wheel at this time, capturing the cop's full attention.
Then comes the two bangs on the big drum. My head bounces off the steering wheel twice, I stick my tongue out and scream, and I repeat the actions the next time it comes around. I feel. . .very young and very immature. . .but a lot better.
As soon as the light turns green, though, I turn the music down to background level and drive off as stoicly as ever, leaving him stumped as a tree while I try not to run off the road laughing. I feel so, so much better now.
A faceless Grim Reaper stares at me from the window, my dashboard ornament with the usual, huge bobble-head. It came with the car, a little prank from my father, but it's good for nothing, except getting the old man in the red pick-up next to me to chuckle, tap his wife, and point at it. As expected, of course.
I finally make it back to Sector Seven, stash the alley in a public parking garage, and head back into Wall Market, going straight to the bar to argue with the waiter, like I always do. He's a thin, pale man with a lazy eye and a slacked posture, but a bitter attitude that could put out fire. "I'm not giving you a free drink, Sir," he growls.
I wave it off. It's only worked twice. "Ah, well. Then give me some information." I lean on my elbow all secret agent-like. He's got that 'What the fuck are you doing?' look on his face. "What do the numbers. . .10638. . .mean to you?" I hiss lowly. God, he's fun to toy with.
"Patient 10638, Midgar Asylum. How's my aim, Thief?"
Quite good. About the last thing I really had expected to fly out of your mouth. "Yeah, that's the one. What do you know about him?" Play it cool. Act like you meant to do this all along, and you knew he'd say that. And whatever you do, don't let slip that you thought he was an idiot. There you go. . .
He sits down, surprising me, and leans over the table. He's mocking me, the bastard. I will have revenge. "They say he's a real nutjob. Tortured child, like most of 'em are. Really bad pay on his first job, picked on all the way through school. Drove himself mad. Practiced a lot of psychic techniques. Starts bendin' spoons and shit, then got into explosions and such. Blew up a few apples, had a good time, got a good audience.
"Then he got fired. Went on a fucking rampage. Literally ran from the cops. Taunts 'em by bending their bullets back and aimin' 'em at innocents. What really got him in the jacket was when he blew up the cop car."
I blink. The workers are more informed than the bigs around here, I guess. "With a gun?"
The pale man just taps his temple and stands back up, walking off to get his next order.
I'm not so sure I want to go meet this guy. . .
* * * * *
Aeris waits for me in our usual meeting place in the plaza. Most of the day, I've been running from Midgar to Kalm, just for something to do. I really need a job, I decided earlier. The pink-dressed flower girl seems to be in a better mood than she had been, but I'm still going to have to watch myself. For more than just an attack.
"You ready?"
I've come to notice she never gives a real greeting when she approaches someone. It's dark again; there was a power failure in the ShinRa Building, so all we have it the dim light filtered in through the holes in the Plate. They need to touch this place up a bit. Maybe they'll get Mr. Urban Development on it soon. I almost snort; Reeve does nothing to benefit the slummers. "Yeah, I guess." As you can tell, this didn't sppeal to me as much as it would the normal person. I mean. . .she was a stranger, and here I was, accepting a bed from her. She could be dragging me into a warehouse to face the Hellions, those stupid fucks I'd shot one of earlier.
Shot. . .
I'd never killed anyone before. . .
I smack myself awake mentally and follow her through the winding passages of the Sector Seven alleys. This is the quickest route on foot, but undoubtedly the most dangerous, of course. We make it without incident, though. Her house is a bit on the large side, but the garden blows it all to dust. Flora creeps up the fences and soft sun actually shines down on the garden, from one of the large, ironically-placed gaps in the Plate.
"How the hell. . .?"
"It just happens." She's like an echo from the church last night. She walks right in the door, only pausing to call out "Mom, I'm home!"
Oh, shit. Her mother lives here, and I doubt she'll be too thrilled about her daughter taking in a homeless man who was rejected by ShinRa and his landlord. Well, ex-landlord, in two senses of the word. I wonder if the other Hellions bothered to hide the body and try to whack me later, or left it there, gave my name, and are going to let the authorities deal with me. Either way, I'm a stubborn bastard, and I don't budge too well. They'll kill me before I get taken in.
The old woman, presumably Aeris' mother, gasps when she sees me. This can't be good. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Aeris! He's Shinra!" Forgot about the logo on my jacket pocket. Whoops. "Did he follow you home? What's he want? Why isn't Tseng here this time?" I half-expect her to grab a broom and promptly smack me in the teeth with the handle. Her face loses some color when she meets my eyes; I tend to have that effect on people.
"Relax, Mom." For once, I'm glad Aeris is so calm like this. "He's a. . .friend of mine. He got fired and kicked out of his house, so he just needs a place to stay for a few days." Her mother doesn't look convinced, but murder's not in her eyes yet. "Can he just use the spare room until he gets a place?"
Okay. Let's freeze. One, she called me her friend. I'm only a mild acquaintance, as far as I remember, who she's subtly making sure stays in-line. Two, I have no fucking clue how long it'll be before I get a place. Neither does she, unless she's a weirdo like the crazies. Now, let's continue on. . . "You know Tseng." I ask very few questions, and usually only state the should-be-questions when I know they're true.
The old woman, the mother, squeaks in surprise. As if she thought I couldn't speak; the homeless may have their hinderances, but we aren't incoherent, Woman. "I. . .we. . . We've had our problems with ShinRa, Incorporated in the past," she spits at me, "and I, for one, am not the forgiving-on-a-moment's-notice type. So, you, ShinRa, should leave before things get ug --"
"Mom." Aeris' voice pierces our soon-to-be-debate like a torpedo through water. We both have enough sense to listen to her. See, Woman, we're not stupid, either. I want to chuckle, but Aeris is still waiting for the smoke to clear between us, and her mother's eyes to stop smoldering. "Can we just sit down and talk about this? How. . .how about over some tea or something?"
I wait for the old bat to speak, but she just stares at me, jaw set, eyes sending me a warning to watch my ass when I turn around. I don't want to fuck with this one. "Sounds wonderful, Aeris," I say, a bit overly-cheery, for the oldest in the room nearly swoons as she grabs her daughter's sleeve and tries to whisper, though I hear her plainly:
"You told another ShinRa your name?!"
"Ex-ShinRa," I correct from the sidelines, but Aeris overlaps me and gets the attention.
She sighs, and speaks in a normal tone. "Relax, Mom. He's perfectly safe. Why, I let him stay at the church last night and he didn't do a thing to harm me or it." Except for dream about a ball of fire coming to kill us all from splitting clouds, but, hey, who cares about that one? "He's not like Tseng was. He doesn't even work for them anymore." See, SHE listened to me. "And I'm sure he won't come at me with a gun while I sleep. Are you reassured yet?" I can hear her losing patience, but she sounds like this happens a lot. I feel sorry for her. For some reason.
Her mother stands stone-still. Her eyes search Aeris', then move to mine, trying to find that shred of insincerity she's looking for. They've had quite the shit-run, as I like to call it, with Tseng, haven't they? Her lips shift as she debates her words, then open and give her verdict. "I think we have some tea bags in in my room, in my drawer."
I've just scored the first trust point with Mommy-Dearest. My silent touchdown dance is a smile of grim victory flashing over my face before Aeris smiles widely back and hurries to grab the tea bags.
Her mother turns to bitch mode. She grabs me roughly by the collar, hisses between her teeth, and stabs me with jagged knives from her pupils. "Boy, Fate as my witness, if you so much as lay a bad finger on my daughter, so help me God, I will find you and strike you down with my bare hands. I will rip you limb from limb and send you back to the hellhole you came from, piece by piece, organ by organ! Do I make myself clear as crystal?"
I'm too smart to jack off here. She means what she says, and being able to rip me down to four-foot-six is a feat proving she won't hesitate to keep her promise. I would applaud her if my air supply weren't slowly depleting. "Yes, Ma'am." I strain to keep the sarcasm hidden beneath faulty lairs of promise. She stares at me for a moment more, then abruptly shoves me at the table and goes back to the stove, muttering something beneath her breath. She calls out to Aeris now.
"I found the tea bags, Dear! I seem to be forgetting more and more in my old age." She let loose a half-chuckle and shook her head with a grandmother-like smile, shopping a few more onions and tossing them into the pot. It was all a ploy to lay her rules down to me. I like this one. Smells like she makes a mighty-fine stew, too.
Dinner begins and finishes mostly in silence. The old woman, whose name turns up to be Elmyra, keeps eyeing me as if I'm going to leap from my chair and skin them both alive, while Aeris tries to defend me anytime her mother makes an offensive comment toward me. I shut up and mostly keep my eyes on the stew. Tastes as good as it smelled.
Compliments to the Easy-Stew box, recipe on the side, trying to hide out in the trash can.
As soon as we finish, Elmyra lets me off with a glared warning after telling Aeris to show me my room. I'm still not on level ground enough to bitch at her that I don't have a bedtime. I hate this part. I sit on the bed for a moment, trying to get used to sleeping in a strange house.
Aeris smiles softly at me. "I'm sorry for the way Mom's acting. . .but we've had problems with ShinRa for a while. . ." She'd been trying to avoid this one last night, but now she jumps into it, though reluctant. "The Turks are after me. I'm. . ." She sighs. A heavily-guarded secret, I can tell, but she seems to feel she owes me something. Proceed, Flower Girl. . . "I'm the last surviving Ancient, or Cetra, on the Planet, and the professor at ShinRa wants me for his experiments." She blinks at herself. "Felt good to let all that out. . ."
I add to the blinking, propped up on my elbows. I'm about to speak when she silences me by standing up. "Well, I'm right in the next room if you need anything. Wake up call?"
"Eight-thirty." All the hotels on the ShinRa trips ask for a wake-up call time, and I have a feeling I'll be sleeping in tonight, now that I have a bed around. She nods and wlks to the door, half-way out, before I do it again. "Thanks."
She pops her head back in, grins lightly, and gives me a wave before closing my door and submerging me in the void-like darkness. I pull my boots off, toss my jacket to the floor, and slip beneath the covers, already hushed by the pulling of fatigue holding my worries in its lap and letting me drift off, smoothing back my sins for the day so I can rest without consequence.
The second rung is in sight.
Silver Rose
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
October 18, 3076
Early Morning. Pew. Slum Church. 3:45 A.M.
"You know, they say dreams are the gateway to reality. I think there's more to it. But, what do I know? I only have telekenisis and a straight jacket." - Patient 10638, Midgar Asylum
I'm running, and I don't know why. I feel caught. Caught in a giant labrynth of alleyways above the Plate. I look up, and see the clouds, ripping apart, leaving a hole of black until a golden, misty hand reaches down and slams into the Planet. The ground shakes.
Things are moving way too fast.
My hands sweat when I slide them along the alleyway wall. It's like one of those hedge mazes, but too high to climb out of, and too thick to blast through. Red -- yes, blood red, like the color you picture a demon's eyes as -- lightning crashes around me, winds ripping at my clothes, gripping my hair in their journey and trying to halt my progress.
Too fast. . .
I turn corners, scream for help, try to find a way out of the twisting paths. Eyes peer at me from the corners, hatred flashing at me, while shadows rush by with no source. It all makes no sense. No sense at all.
Help me. I scream it over and over again. Until I come to a dead-end.
A. . .thing, stands there, towering at least eight feet tall. Its face is so bad, it looks like someone shoved a knife in its ear and ripped a path across the eyes, turning to get the nose and mouth next and shoving its head into a can of brown paint. It's hideous. Its white robes, ragged, whipping in the wind, while it stands, calm. Looking at me. Sizing me up. Holding a long dagger; trying to pinpoint its target.
It rushes.
I think not. I run for it, the thing, trying to kick it back but only feeling my own leg buckle before it lifts me up and throws me down the path, into a wall. I break it. My back surges in pain, and its tall, lanky form steps easily through the hole.
I look up to see its jagged face as it picks me up by the neck and shoves me against the other wall. My throat tries to swallow itself whole, but the thing speaks.
"Murney de pantra."
Its voice sears in the back of my head, a foreign tongue screaming a warning at me. My tormentor throws me down and steps on my neck, raising the arm with the knife in a backswing. An orb of crimson propels itself from the hole in the clouds, quickly closing on us.
Crushing the labrynth with me inside.
* * * * *
I wake with a start.
Jesus.
That's the worst dream I've ever had, I decide as I open my eyes quickly and look around. I remember this time. I'm in the church, under the blanket. Something screams a ways away and I shove my gun back into my pocket, before I stand up and walk quickly away from the building.
Aeris was nice enough to let me sleep there for a night, I know, but I want to leave as quickly as possible; as well as it grows flowers, it spawns torture.
The pillar pulses 6:59.
I head for the free-food place on the other side of the Sector, all the while trying to rid myself of the memory of the jagged-faced monster. Something seems off the entire walk, but I complete my journey without incident or accident. As usual, Turner's at his table with a cup of coffee and newspaper, this time apparently waiting for me, because he puts his paper away when I walk in and shifts after I get a muffin and sit down.
"Problems with Old Man ShinRa, still?"
How'd you guess? "He fired me," is all I say, rubbing my hands together in the cold air of the restaurant. His eyes look a bit red, but his coffee cup is full. Something's up. "What the hell's with you?"
He sighs. Just as I figured. Something's wrong, and he's out to fix it. Lawyers are like that. "Somebody got shot on the other end of the Sector last night, by the church. Nobody got a description of the killer, though, so I've gotta help Miklen with that." Miklen doubles as an investigator when he has time. Quite the fucking value pack. I hate him. "Wonderin' if you might be able to help us out, too."
Funny. . . I didn't hear a thing last night, and I woke up on my own. "I guess, if I can find the time." My usual answer. I used to be a busy person, and now I have to go to Wall Market and check with the old guy in the weapon shop about a job. Things come up, Turner, you know that feeling. "Weird-ass dream last night. . .doesn't feel right. . . Do you know if Miklen knows any higher-ups that know anything about that type of stuff?" I take a bite of my muffin. Good today.
He holds his hands up suddenly. "I actually heard about that from somebody. Forget who, right now" -- great -- "but it'll come back to me in a while." A forgetful lawyer. Shit. Note to Self: Shop around next time.
"Fine, fine," I sigh. Better than running around blindly, right? Well, maybe. "Anyway, you know if the old guy at the weapon shop's still looking for help?"
He starts to stand up, pauses, and shrugs uncaringly. "I live above the Plate, Sephster." Watch it, Blondie. "Good luck with whatever it is." He aims his path for the door, but stops as soon as he has it open and looks sideways with a grin at me. Disturbing. "I remembered who it was now."
"Who's that?" We're getting a few odd looks.
"Patient 10638, Cell Block C in the old Asylum. Have fun," he chuckles, then steps out and hops into his own car to drive the rest of the way.
That reminds me. My old Cougar is still probably sitting in my driveway at my old house. Hopefully. I grab the pen Turner left on the paper -- aww, he was only halfway through the crossword puzzle -- and jot down on my arm:
Patient 10638
CBC
Midgar Asy
It's enough of a note for me. I steal his pen and paper and walk from the coffee shop-like place, staring at the clock again. I always seem to only spend about half an hour in there. I'm starting off to Wall Market, when, just as expected. . .
"How'd ya sleep?"
I shrug it off and keep walking, letting her tag along. People could pass us off for a couple, I bet. "Better than a dumpster, thanks. Hear anything about a shooting last night?" It's good to know what kind of killer is stalking around your bed while you're dreaming of fighting off an eight-foot demon who doesn't know English. "Murney de pantra" still echoes in my mind.
Aeris half-smiles and nods, without the usual basket today. "Yeah. Nobody saw who did it, though." So I've heard. "Might be better to stay somewhere else tonight?"
What are you getting at? I lift a brow at her and narrow the other eye. A trick I learned in college to scare people off, or just to look overly-curious. "What, back in the dumpster? And remember, they kicked me out of my house." Our shadows hesitate in their following, but we drag them along over our footsteps.
She laughs, not the annoying giggle I might've expected, and shakes her head. "Of course not. I meant my place."
Yeeerrk! Hold on here. I stop and turn to completely face her, seeing the look of surprise in her face. "Your. . .place?" I'm not one to stutter, you know. But this one would slap anybody down. I half-expect my shadow to ditch me here and now, like it does under the lamp posts. Wind howls a warning around me to just listen to her. I pay it no heed. "Listen. Aeris, you've been nice and all that, but. . ." But, what? I don't want to be a burden? I'd feel uncomfortable? I'm an asshole not up for taking a chance?
"You're one of the homeless people around here!" she huffs. Yeah, well, that, too. I suppose I could always sleep in my car. I should have let her know that a few seconds ago. Anyway, continuing. . . "And a nice one, at that. I'm not gonna stand back and watch you be the next one to get gunned down in the back alleyways!" Damn, she can be pissy when she needs to. "So, either" -- a deal. Fun. -- "you stay at my place, or I send someone out to kill you myself!"
From the look on her face, she's either serious about being this caring, or just really wants to get me into bed with her. I'll go with the former, the way she comes off. "Fine, fine." Angry woman. Never disobey. "Settle down for a second, and I'll lay it down for you. I've gotta run to Wall Market and do a few things. Should be back around. . ." I stare at the big Pillar clock. I have a feeling the landlord won't be too happy about me being there. "Give me three hours or so, then I'll jump back over here. We'll go from there, alright?" Ease her into it. She seems short-fused enough already,
She smiles. Dear God, she's a two-face. "Okay. Later, Seph." She bounds off into the snow, disappearing down one of the alleys. Probably the one she didn't want me going into.
I shake my head, sigh, and aim myself for Wall Market. That was quite an event to start off the day. Well, no more fretting about where to stay the next night, I guess, and even if she did just want to sleep with me or something. . . I sneak a glance back the way I came and see the footsteps between the buildings. I try and hide a grin. Why do I have this sudden feeling in the pit of my stomach is might've happened anyway?
The paths in Wall Market are always busy and littered with shopping bags, ice cream cones, and soda bottles. But everyone goes along, buying whatever they need, and then high-tailing it out of there. It's the business district inside the slums, so there, naturally, are a lot of shoplifters hiding in the cracks of the place. Which is probably one of the reasons I pack heat.
Clumps of muddy grass jolt out from place to place, though most are sick, dying, dead, while a number seem to be all three at once. Some are just covered with plastic bags, preventing an actual life from touching the plants. Although I'm no saint myself, this place looks like shit.
I pass most of the shops, including Fat-Fuck Corneo's -- thank you, Heideggar -- Honey Bee Inn, and step into the weapon's shop without knocking. A SOLDIER-uniformed man stands guard with a loaded twelve-gauge in plain sight next to the door, and he half-smiles at me when I walk in. He's probably seen me walking around the building.
The man who runs the place looks up and grins widely. "I remember you!" What a shock. Old people tend to forget me. Oh, wait. I mean people in general. "You came in about the clean-up job, right?"
I nod. He probably wouldn't hear me anyway. You know how old people get when thier hair goes white.
His smile disappears. Dammit. I know what's coming. "Sorry 'bout that, Son, but a guy turned his in before yours." He coughs for a moment, clears his throat, and goes on. He could've been hiding something in there, but I'm not really listening now. "Check back next year, eh, Kid? Boy, I run through these kids like potato chips. Shit, just the other day, I had a little kid runnin' about in the junk, and --"
"Will do." He calls out another 'Eh?' before I'm out the door, but I head straight for the properties just outside Sector Five. I hadn't really expected to get the job, anyway, but the gil would've been nice to pocket.
Next stop: Pick up the Cougar. I take the back alleys and about half my time, coming into a clump of properties in a semi-circle. A few people are out shovelling their driveways, just to make sure they can get out. The landlord's house sits on a small hill, and he stands on the porch smoking a cigarette. I'm not really surprised to see him start walking toward me, but it pisses me off to be delayed again, to say the least.
"Boy, I thought I told you to stay the hell away from here," he drawls. He was born and raised in Midgar, as far as I can tell, and if he pooled his resources, he could take out Kalm. He's high-rung of the major turf gang around here; the one I got stuck opposing. And now that he's not my landlord. . .
I hold my hands up, as Turner had done, and glimpse the jagged 10638 scrawled down. I completely forgot about that. I'll check it later; Aeris seems to be in search-and-terminate mode. "Just here for my car. Not up for startin' anything with you guys today."
"Fuck you," he bursts out. "It's not a matter of whether or not you wanna start somethin'. It's a matter of whether or not we're gonna start it. You make no decisions, Little Man. You're on our turf now."
If things could get any worse. . . Three of his lackeys are ambling this way from different directions. I grip for my gun in my pocket and get ready to let the bullets fly. "Well, then. Let's just get it over with." I can finally see why no one knows his name; he's a gang-leader.
I fire twice. The landlord hits the ground, shocked and cold, in a pool of red, sticky liquid. The second shot hits air. I'm surprised when the next guy only comes at me with a snow shovel. I wrench it from his grip, whack him over the back of the head, and thrust the handle into the neck of the next man in line.
I was taught to use any weapon available.
The next move is just for kicks. I scoop up a ball of snow and force it into the third's eyes, then swing him round and plow him into a trash can. These three were weaklings, and the landlord was the only real challenge, but they aren't exactly dead yet. My little stunt just proved I wasn't stupid. I haul ass behind a large van in the nearest garage as two handguns and a semi-automatic rifle come out and let loose. Metal hits metal in an abnoxious clanking noise inside the frame of the truck.
The heaters both run out about the same time and I make a mad dash for my Cougar. The rifle only makes a dull slapping sound when its shots go through the back of my tailing cloak. I can run like hell. The other two have chosen to lay off and watch me speed out of the complex, and the third follows after a moment. That was just a small rumble, letting me know to stay away.
The Cougar is a new-model sports car, low to the ground, close-to-streamlined, with barely enough head room to look around. It's got easy voice-activation, for easy getaways, and a stereo system that could stop the human heart if pushed far enough.
I'm a regular walking billboard.
Father bought it for me on my sixteenth birthday, and I haven't crashed it in the four years I've had it. My Mako Dreams CD remains untouched and starts in where I left off last time I drove this. I tap the wheel and mutter along out of habit.
Then I proceed to flip the heat system on and adjust the seat so I can see over the dash board. Somebody was in here, trying to take something, but it all seems intact. They just wanted the car. I disappear into the tunnel bordering the city made for getting places quickly and ease down on the gas.
No one really street-runs Cougars, but I can still find a few makeshift races with others inside the tunnel on my way, lightening my mood up a bit. Midgar is always up for fun.
I pull up next to a cop at one of the few stoplights in the tunnel and put my crazy face on, staring wide-eyed at him while I ease the volume to ear-blasting. Mako Dreams keeps their music full of guitars and drums, while their speech is screeching into the microphone like looneys. The cop eyes me cautiously. This is very close to illegal in a Cougar, but I'm in the mood for fun.
There comes a break in the song. You know, the ones that are filled with the building-up drum banging, cymbals and growls thrown in here and there to catch you off guard. I bang my hands, eye-catchingly fast, against the wheel at this time, capturing the cop's full attention.
Then comes the two bangs on the big drum. My head bounces off the steering wheel twice, I stick my tongue out and scream, and I repeat the actions the next time it comes around. I feel. . .very young and very immature. . .but a lot better.
As soon as the light turns green, though, I turn the music down to background level and drive off as stoicly as ever, leaving him stumped as a tree while I try not to run off the road laughing. I feel so, so much better now.
A faceless Grim Reaper stares at me from the window, my dashboard ornament with the usual, huge bobble-head. It came with the car, a little prank from my father, but it's good for nothing, except getting the old man in the red pick-up next to me to chuckle, tap his wife, and point at it. As expected, of course.
I finally make it back to Sector Seven, stash the alley in a public parking garage, and head back into Wall Market, going straight to the bar to argue with the waiter, like I always do. He's a thin, pale man with a lazy eye and a slacked posture, but a bitter attitude that could put out fire. "I'm not giving you a free drink, Sir," he growls.
I wave it off. It's only worked twice. "Ah, well. Then give me some information." I lean on my elbow all secret agent-like. He's got that 'What the fuck are you doing?' look on his face. "What do the numbers. . .10638. . .mean to you?" I hiss lowly. God, he's fun to toy with.
"Patient 10638, Midgar Asylum. How's my aim, Thief?"
Quite good. About the last thing I really had expected to fly out of your mouth. "Yeah, that's the one. What do you know about him?" Play it cool. Act like you meant to do this all along, and you knew he'd say that. And whatever you do, don't let slip that you thought he was an idiot. There you go. . .
He sits down, surprising me, and leans over the table. He's mocking me, the bastard. I will have revenge. "They say he's a real nutjob. Tortured child, like most of 'em are. Really bad pay on his first job, picked on all the way through school. Drove himself mad. Practiced a lot of psychic techniques. Starts bendin' spoons and shit, then got into explosions and such. Blew up a few apples, had a good time, got a good audience.
"Then he got fired. Went on a fucking rampage. Literally ran from the cops. Taunts 'em by bending their bullets back and aimin' 'em at innocents. What really got him in the jacket was when he blew up the cop car."
I blink. The workers are more informed than the bigs around here, I guess. "With a gun?"
The pale man just taps his temple and stands back up, walking off to get his next order.
I'm not so sure I want to go meet this guy. . .
* * * * *
Aeris waits for me in our usual meeting place in the plaza. Most of the day, I've been running from Midgar to Kalm, just for something to do. I really need a job, I decided earlier. The pink-dressed flower girl seems to be in a better mood than she had been, but I'm still going to have to watch myself. For more than just an attack.
"You ready?"
I've come to notice she never gives a real greeting when she approaches someone. It's dark again; there was a power failure in the ShinRa Building, so all we have it the dim light filtered in through the holes in the Plate. They need to touch this place up a bit. Maybe they'll get Mr. Urban Development on it soon. I almost snort; Reeve does nothing to benefit the slummers. "Yeah, I guess." As you can tell, this didn't sppeal to me as much as it would the normal person. I mean. . .she was a stranger, and here I was, accepting a bed from her. She could be dragging me into a warehouse to face the Hellions, those stupid fucks I'd shot one of earlier.
Shot. . .
I'd never killed anyone before. . .
I smack myself awake mentally and follow her through the winding passages of the Sector Seven alleys. This is the quickest route on foot, but undoubtedly the most dangerous, of course. We make it without incident, though. Her house is a bit on the large side, but the garden blows it all to dust. Flora creeps up the fences and soft sun actually shines down on the garden, from one of the large, ironically-placed gaps in the Plate.
"How the hell. . .?"
"It just happens." She's like an echo from the church last night. She walks right in the door, only pausing to call out "Mom, I'm home!"
Oh, shit. Her mother lives here, and I doubt she'll be too thrilled about her daughter taking in a homeless man who was rejected by ShinRa and his landlord. Well, ex-landlord, in two senses of the word. I wonder if the other Hellions bothered to hide the body and try to whack me later, or left it there, gave my name, and are going to let the authorities deal with me. Either way, I'm a stubborn bastard, and I don't budge too well. They'll kill me before I get taken in.
The old woman, presumably Aeris' mother, gasps when she sees me. This can't be good. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Aeris! He's Shinra!" Forgot about the logo on my jacket pocket. Whoops. "Did he follow you home? What's he want? Why isn't Tseng here this time?" I half-expect her to grab a broom and promptly smack me in the teeth with the handle. Her face loses some color when she meets my eyes; I tend to have that effect on people.
"Relax, Mom." For once, I'm glad Aeris is so calm like this. "He's a. . .friend of mine. He got fired and kicked out of his house, so he just needs a place to stay for a few days." Her mother doesn't look convinced, but murder's not in her eyes yet. "Can he just use the spare room until he gets a place?"
Okay. Let's freeze. One, she called me her friend. I'm only a mild acquaintance, as far as I remember, who she's subtly making sure stays in-line. Two, I have no fucking clue how long it'll be before I get a place. Neither does she, unless she's a weirdo like the crazies. Now, let's continue on. . . "You know Tseng." I ask very few questions, and usually only state the should-be-questions when I know they're true.
The old woman, the mother, squeaks in surprise. As if she thought I couldn't speak; the homeless may have their hinderances, but we aren't incoherent, Woman. "I. . .we. . . We've had our problems with ShinRa, Incorporated in the past," she spits at me, "and I, for one, am not the forgiving-on-a-moment's-notice type. So, you, ShinRa, should leave before things get ug --"
"Mom." Aeris' voice pierces our soon-to-be-debate like a torpedo through water. We both have enough sense to listen to her. See, Woman, we're not stupid, either. I want to chuckle, but Aeris is still waiting for the smoke to clear between us, and her mother's eyes to stop smoldering. "Can we just sit down and talk about this? How. . .how about over some tea or something?"
I wait for the old bat to speak, but she just stares at me, jaw set, eyes sending me a warning to watch my ass when I turn around. I don't want to fuck with this one. "Sounds wonderful, Aeris," I say, a bit overly-cheery, for the oldest in the room nearly swoons as she grabs her daughter's sleeve and tries to whisper, though I hear her plainly:
"You told another ShinRa your name?!"
"Ex-ShinRa," I correct from the sidelines, but Aeris overlaps me and gets the attention.
She sighs, and speaks in a normal tone. "Relax, Mom. He's perfectly safe. Why, I let him stay at the church last night and he didn't do a thing to harm me or it." Except for dream about a ball of fire coming to kill us all from splitting clouds, but, hey, who cares about that one? "He's not like Tseng was. He doesn't even work for them anymore." See, SHE listened to me. "And I'm sure he won't come at me with a gun while I sleep. Are you reassured yet?" I can hear her losing patience, but she sounds like this happens a lot. I feel sorry for her. For some reason.
Her mother stands stone-still. Her eyes search Aeris', then move to mine, trying to find that shred of insincerity she's looking for. They've had quite the shit-run, as I like to call it, with Tseng, haven't they? Her lips shift as she debates her words, then open and give her verdict. "I think we have some tea bags in in my room, in my drawer."
I've just scored the first trust point with Mommy-Dearest. My silent touchdown dance is a smile of grim victory flashing over my face before Aeris smiles widely back and hurries to grab the tea bags.
Her mother turns to bitch mode. She grabs me roughly by the collar, hisses between her teeth, and stabs me with jagged knives from her pupils. "Boy, Fate as my witness, if you so much as lay a bad finger on my daughter, so help me God, I will find you and strike you down with my bare hands. I will rip you limb from limb and send you back to the hellhole you came from, piece by piece, organ by organ! Do I make myself clear as crystal?"
I'm too smart to jack off here. She means what she says, and being able to rip me down to four-foot-six is a feat proving she won't hesitate to keep her promise. I would applaud her if my air supply weren't slowly depleting. "Yes, Ma'am." I strain to keep the sarcasm hidden beneath faulty lairs of promise. She stares at me for a moment more, then abruptly shoves me at the table and goes back to the stove, muttering something beneath her breath. She calls out to Aeris now.
"I found the tea bags, Dear! I seem to be forgetting more and more in my old age." She let loose a half-chuckle and shook her head with a grandmother-like smile, shopping a few more onions and tossing them into the pot. It was all a ploy to lay her rules down to me. I like this one. Smells like she makes a mighty-fine stew, too.
Dinner begins and finishes mostly in silence. The old woman, whose name turns up to be Elmyra, keeps eyeing me as if I'm going to leap from my chair and skin them both alive, while Aeris tries to defend me anytime her mother makes an offensive comment toward me. I shut up and mostly keep my eyes on the stew. Tastes as good as it smelled.
Compliments to the Easy-Stew box, recipe on the side, trying to hide out in the trash can.
As soon as we finish, Elmyra lets me off with a glared warning after telling Aeris to show me my room. I'm still not on level ground enough to bitch at her that I don't have a bedtime. I hate this part. I sit on the bed for a moment, trying to get used to sleeping in a strange house.
Aeris smiles softly at me. "I'm sorry for the way Mom's acting. . .but we've had problems with ShinRa for a while. . ." She'd been trying to avoid this one last night, but now she jumps into it, though reluctant. "The Turks are after me. I'm. . ." She sighs. A heavily-guarded secret, I can tell, but she seems to feel she owes me something. Proceed, Flower Girl. . . "I'm the last surviving Ancient, or Cetra, on the Planet, and the professor at ShinRa wants me for his experiments." She blinks at herself. "Felt good to let all that out. . ."
I add to the blinking, propped up on my elbows. I'm about to speak when she silences me by standing up. "Well, I'm right in the next room if you need anything. Wake up call?"
"Eight-thirty." All the hotels on the ShinRa trips ask for a wake-up call time, and I have a feeling I'll be sleeping in tonight, now that I have a bed around. She nods and wlks to the door, half-way out, before I do it again. "Thanks."
She pops her head back in, grins lightly, and gives me a wave before closing my door and submerging me in the void-like darkness. I pull my boots off, toss my jacket to the floor, and slip beneath the covers, already hushed by the pulling of fatigue holding my worries in its lap and letting me drift off, smoothing back my sins for the day so I can rest without consequence.
The second rung is in sight.