Author's Note: Damn. I got into Habbo Hotel the other day and forgot all about my stories. Bad author, bad author. So, sorry to keep a few people in wait, so here it is.
Silver Rose
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
October 23, 3076
Evening. Room 208. Hospital. 6:30 P.M.
"You're too young for one of these." - Doctor Charlindon, Junon Hospital
". . .Severe. . ."
". . .Heart attack. . ."
". . .Shock. . ."
". . .Doing all we can. . ."
I am Sephiroth. A self-appointed enigma wrapped in a blanket of lies, floating through a fantasy void of my own mind. I'm afraid, if I pull out for too long, I'll see the shithole the Planet has turned into. And I'll be pulled along with the current, degrading me to the really low-level people. Seeing as how I say this, a heart attack will not be the cause of death in my paper article, if they give me one.
I stay in the blackness for now, waiting for a good time to break out and shout to them I'm alive and well. Listening to their slurred and blurred speech as it goes in one ear and out the other. I was always a good listener, but I can't grasp the concept of much right now. All I know is that there was a severe heart attack. I know, because I feel.
Beeping machines. Squeaking nurse shoes. Doctors jabbering and phones ringing. But I'm trying to find a familiar voice in the jumble. There!
"Goddammit, you stupid mother fuckers! Let me talk to my damn cousin!" Tseng's lies are up in the air again. He's in another room. They still have no idea where I am in all this. Neither do I. It feels like I just woke up from a really long nap, but not completely. I've still got ties to the dreamland, and could go back immediately if desired. Probably this goddamn tube in my arm.
My eyes pop open. No one's around to see it, unfortunately. I wonder what they would've looked like? I try to sit up and spit out words in the process: "I'm -- aah! -- just -- fine." Pain slams into me like waves. I can feel a massive headache weighing on my neck, and the doctor immediately rushes over, Tseng on his coattails, trying to ease me back down into bed, repeating over and over how I shouldn't be moving.
Just --
"SHUT UP!" Now, all I hear are the echoes of the head Turk's cry, heart monitors, and ringing phones. No one dares to breathe. I can't breathe. My heart leaped into my throat way too tight to leave me breathing room.
This goes on until he speaks up again.
"I want him released now."
The doctor looks appaled. I'm sure my face doesn't differ too much. Even for Tseng, this is a ballsy order. But a Turk sticks to both his metal and physical guns. This is not a man to deny power. The doctors and nurses must be oblivious. "That's insane, Sir." Yep. They don't call him Tseng. They don't know him. "He wouldn't make it down the stairs, let alone all the way to Midgar. He needs at least another week -- week and a half in here."
I do want to get out of here, though.
The doctor and Tseng exchange words on this for a good three minutes, capturing everyone's attention, before a gun whips out. I'm off the bed and out the door with a bottle of medicine on crutches -- I don't know why -- in moments. He has the official Turk van double-parked in the handicap zone. No one even dares to question it. I turn to look back at the door once we get off the steps, and find a large mural just about them; Scarlet standing infront of the Sister Ray, smiling like a school girl.
Maybe a school girl that lost her virginity at nine?
Now I remember. She's the weapons specialist and inventor of the Sister Ray, a two-hundred foot cannon aimed out to sea from Junon Harbor. Where I am now, I guess. Tseng's got the 'Who's the man?' pose up and a cocky smirk on his face. I should knock out a few of his teeth. At least then he'd be able to make a logical decision.
Instead, I give him a thumbs up and switch to another finger when he turns around, spinning his keys and whistling, and heads for the van. Paint chips flake off of this thing like the leaves from the atop-the-Plate trees in autumn, and the exhaust, filling a room, could leave you guessing at what color the floor was. It's been in the business for years is my guess; I mean, no one drives a manual shift anymore, and this monstrosity could've been the first with a stick.
As soon as it's started and I'm yelling over the motor, I start asking questions. "Why the hell did you do that?"
He kind of shrugs at me as we back out of the parking lot and haul ass onto the road that heads down to the docks; there's a Turk ship, too. These guys have everything, but they update absolutely nothing. The S.S. Kickass -- compliments of Reno -- is an old battlecruiser that wouldn't stand a chance against some of the new ones. But they always know there's a Turk inside, so they don't dare touch it.
Because some people actually stand up for the blue-suits.
He decides to answer me only after we have clearance to board the boat. "Reno mentioned you keeled over in the asylum and they took you here for some damn heart attack. He wanted to come with, but he's been a bit. . .busy. . .lately." Something's wrong. He's playing Mako Dreams. One thing we don't have in common is that he hates the Mako Dreams, and usually only plays them when easing me down into something.
He's easing his way up the ramp connected to his big blue ship. It's meant for bicycles, not thousand-year-old vans. "This is Blacklist. What's goin' on?" He twitches and guns it the rest of the way up the ramp. Something's very, very wrong. I know this for sure when he gets out, turns around, and makes a mighty-fine dent in the side of the Big Blue Machine. Careful. Wouldn't want to hurt the ancient piece of shit, right? "Dammit, Seph!" he screams through the open window. "They sent me out here to kill you, that's what!"
My spine turns to a column of ice, and my hands lock around the tattered and town armrests like vices. Kill me? Kill me?! That's all he's here for?! I lurch out of the vehicle, leaving the crutches, as the boat hauls forward. As soon as the weight of the van is over the ramp, its "auto-pilot" orders it to head back to Midgar, or to Junon from the Midgar docks. The thing has some speed, too. If the van isn't around, there's a button to press on your way to the deck. ShinRa technology is kind of funny. It relies all on the hope that the procedure is the same every time. But, back to the real matter at hand. "Kill me?! You fucking idiot! I'm one of your best friends, and you're just gonna fucking kill me?!!"
He looks shocked, as if I suggested it in the first place. "C'mon, Man! It's Turk business! I could lose my job if they found you still alive!" He turns around and throws his hands up, bending over ever so slightly so his shirt rides up his back a bit. "They could kill ME if they found out y --"
BANGBANG.
He staggers forward, head marred in a cloud of smoke, and turns around, his eyes showing surprise but his mouth with a smile of pure triumph. I know he wanted it. But. . .he's a Turk. And now he's a Turk, face-down with two holes at the base of his spine on the deck of an old battleship, while I have a hot handgun gripped in my fingers, smoke rolling out of the barrel like it does from an old Indian fire. I've killed two people before. The Hellion warlord, and the guy I hit with the pipe. But never one of my best friends. But there he is, dead as anything, with my face behind the barrel.
We're too far out for anyone to see me, but I still crouch low, put the gun away, and shuffle over to him. He has no last words for me, just keeps the smile on when I strip off his Turk suit. No, I'm not funny like that, but it's a dead giveaway as to who he is, and I'll need it to be able to get off the boat without questions. I'll say I'm a rookie. I don't know what it is, but something tells me to grab the knife from his belt. I do so, then jam it into his forehead and slide it all the way down to his throat. Good and dead. And it looks like more than one person.
I then haul his body over the side of the ship and let the corpse belly-flop into the rolling waves. I brace myself against the side as the ship picks up speed. He floats. Always knew his head was hollow. They'll probably find him out fishing one day, identify the body, but have no suspects. Turks are supposed to get their jobs done, so they'll figure he was a really good shot to take down Tseng.
I look at the near-perfect Turk suit bundle I have in my hand, and get back into the van to put it on. He did me a favor, bending like that. Now no one will suspect I killed him and took his identity.
I'll be hiding out in Kalm or something for a few years.
But first. . .
* * * * *
Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam!!
I drove all the way to Midgar from Junon, stopping twice to get gas and just using my death-look to silence any questions tossed at me. Any official-looking people in Midgar or the cities that asked where my supervisor was: I used the quivering rookie voice and told them Tseng was to be undisturbed in the back of the van.
But Aeris hasn't answered her door the whole three minutes I've been banging on it, but I hear music inside, so I know someone's in there. It's loud, though. They probably can't hear me. It's not exactly soft, so I doubt she's alone. I dread what I might be welcomed by.
So, if that's the case. . .
The door's unlocked, so I help myself in. I immediately regret it; the smell of beer and smoke make me gag and grip the medication bottle on my pocket. I would've broken the knob off for a flashy entrance, but it hurts to lift my leg that high right now and I'm out of bullets. The music's blaring, yes, but I can still hear laughing. At least it's not from the bedroom; that wouldn't be good. Instead, and here's what I feared, Reno and Aeris are sitting on the couch -- him with a beer on the table and a cigarette in his hand, and she with nothing visible, and looking mighty sober -- chatting their heads off at one another, breaking into simultanious giggles and chuckles.
Why am I so disgusted that they don't even hear me walk in? I trudge over and kick the boombox on the floor into about five pieces, an audible crack coming from under the lid of the disc chamber. That got Reno up; he's looking like a cornered Chocobo, and his cigarette's somewhere amongst the couch cushions. Aeris is wide-eyed. The Turk stares at me. He's scared again, but he tries to put on a false face. "Fuck you. My best stereo. If you're gonna be like that. . ." Shivering, and not from the cold, his shadow sweeps across the floor when he picks his blazer back up and slams out the door.
That was damn easy. I guess I won't yell "By the way, I killed Tseng" after him, just to save myself. I storm to the kitchen, looking in the mirror on the wall, and grab the scissors from the counter. Dammit, if this doesn't grow back, I'll kill. Again. Snip. I'm down to shoulder-length hair, the rest left ignored on the floor, and more flaking off when I jut my hands through it. Aeris looks appaled.
"Sephiroth, what the HELL are you doing here?!" she screams, practically blowing out my right ear. I turn and jab a finger at her, the medication bottle rattling in my closed fist as I do.
Here's what I'd like to know: "What the FUCK is he doing here?" No reason to get stingy on the explicits, am I right? "Dammit, Aeris, I just shot his brother and took his clothes! The real Turks'll be here in minutes! And unless you wanna meet up with 'em, I recommend you do as I say." She doesn't look persuaded. I'm shooting in the dark with this one. "And the only thing they'll do is take you right into the lab!" Hojo's lab. . .my father's lab. . .dear God, she's the one. I could earn a lot of gil turning her in.
This has her mind clicked. Her eyes narrow and she tries to crack her knuckles in frustration. I don't move. I'm getting the impression she'll leap out and bite off my arm if I try. "We. . .we at least have to wait for Elmyra."
"No!" That came out a bit heated, ne? But shouting gets points across. "How do you think she'll react, really? She already hates me, and now she knows I'm a killer, if we stay and wait. Worse yet, I got rid of Tseng, the one person you figured you could trust in ShinRa. Men like Tseng are few and far between, Aeris. They won't be as nice anymore; they'll bring you home in pieces if possible. You've gotta trust me on this. We need to go into hiding somewhere, and I need your help to stay that way." Sniff, sniff. I'd like to thank the Academy. . .
She's still not convinced. "Oh, yeah? Well, what makes you so sure I don't hate you? That I want to go through with this? Hell, for all you know, I could be as bad as those people up at ShinRa, and I could kill you as soon as you turn around!"
"You won't."
"How d'you know?!"
I stare directly at her, to get my point across. "Because the rifie's right behind you, you know it, and I'm still breathing. C'mon, Aeris, we both know you don't have nearly enough gall to shoot me dead. Not like it's a bad thing." In fact, it works quite well for me. Har har. "Now get your coat, anything you might want, and come out to the car." And I'm out the door. I'm not too shocked to see someone already jacked the Turk van. That's what happens down here.
I'm inside the Cougar before I know it, turning the music back down but keeping a steady beat with my foot. I'm staring at the front door from over the steering wheel, and I realize, were I to wreck, the wheel would probably pop off and the column would go through my neck like a stake through air.
Was I too demanding with her? I mean it, I need her help. Reno will be out for blood when he hears about Tseng, and with me wearing the suit, he'll know exactly where to come. Well, after me, anyway. He won't know where I am, though. It All Ends Tonight screams at me from the speaker down near my feet, but the door is my target.
It opens and she walks out. I have to smile; because she has a bag over her shoulder, a coat over her dress, and an "if this doesn't work, I'll actually kill you" look on. I know what this means even before she gets in the car and gives me the finger.
This'll be one helluva trip.
Author's Note: Special, late thanks to Chocobo Goddess. Would never have gotten this one off if not for you.
Silver Rose
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
October 23, 3076
Evening. Room 208. Hospital. 6:30 P.M.
"You're too young for one of these." - Doctor Charlindon, Junon Hospital
". . .Severe. . ."
". . .Heart attack. . ."
". . .Shock. . ."
". . .Doing all we can. . ."
I am Sephiroth. A self-appointed enigma wrapped in a blanket of lies, floating through a fantasy void of my own mind. I'm afraid, if I pull out for too long, I'll see the shithole the Planet has turned into. And I'll be pulled along with the current, degrading me to the really low-level people. Seeing as how I say this, a heart attack will not be the cause of death in my paper article, if they give me one.
I stay in the blackness for now, waiting for a good time to break out and shout to them I'm alive and well. Listening to their slurred and blurred speech as it goes in one ear and out the other. I was always a good listener, but I can't grasp the concept of much right now. All I know is that there was a severe heart attack. I know, because I feel.
Beeping machines. Squeaking nurse shoes. Doctors jabbering and phones ringing. But I'm trying to find a familiar voice in the jumble. There!
"Goddammit, you stupid mother fuckers! Let me talk to my damn cousin!" Tseng's lies are up in the air again. He's in another room. They still have no idea where I am in all this. Neither do I. It feels like I just woke up from a really long nap, but not completely. I've still got ties to the dreamland, and could go back immediately if desired. Probably this goddamn tube in my arm.
My eyes pop open. No one's around to see it, unfortunately. I wonder what they would've looked like? I try to sit up and spit out words in the process: "I'm -- aah! -- just -- fine." Pain slams into me like waves. I can feel a massive headache weighing on my neck, and the doctor immediately rushes over, Tseng on his coattails, trying to ease me back down into bed, repeating over and over how I shouldn't be moving.
Just --
"SHUT UP!" Now, all I hear are the echoes of the head Turk's cry, heart monitors, and ringing phones. No one dares to breathe. I can't breathe. My heart leaped into my throat way too tight to leave me breathing room.
This goes on until he speaks up again.
"I want him released now."
The doctor looks appaled. I'm sure my face doesn't differ too much. Even for Tseng, this is a ballsy order. But a Turk sticks to both his metal and physical guns. This is not a man to deny power. The doctors and nurses must be oblivious. "That's insane, Sir." Yep. They don't call him Tseng. They don't know him. "He wouldn't make it down the stairs, let alone all the way to Midgar. He needs at least another week -- week and a half in here."
I do want to get out of here, though.
The doctor and Tseng exchange words on this for a good three minutes, capturing everyone's attention, before a gun whips out. I'm off the bed and out the door with a bottle of medicine on crutches -- I don't know why -- in moments. He has the official Turk van double-parked in the handicap zone. No one even dares to question it. I turn to look back at the door once we get off the steps, and find a large mural just about them; Scarlet standing infront of the Sister Ray, smiling like a school girl.
Maybe a school girl that lost her virginity at nine?
Now I remember. She's the weapons specialist and inventor of the Sister Ray, a two-hundred foot cannon aimed out to sea from Junon Harbor. Where I am now, I guess. Tseng's got the 'Who's the man?' pose up and a cocky smirk on his face. I should knock out a few of his teeth. At least then he'd be able to make a logical decision.
Instead, I give him a thumbs up and switch to another finger when he turns around, spinning his keys and whistling, and heads for the van. Paint chips flake off of this thing like the leaves from the atop-the-Plate trees in autumn, and the exhaust, filling a room, could leave you guessing at what color the floor was. It's been in the business for years is my guess; I mean, no one drives a manual shift anymore, and this monstrosity could've been the first with a stick.
As soon as it's started and I'm yelling over the motor, I start asking questions. "Why the hell did you do that?"
He kind of shrugs at me as we back out of the parking lot and haul ass onto the road that heads down to the docks; there's a Turk ship, too. These guys have everything, but they update absolutely nothing. The S.S. Kickass -- compliments of Reno -- is an old battlecruiser that wouldn't stand a chance against some of the new ones. But they always know there's a Turk inside, so they don't dare touch it.
Because some people actually stand up for the blue-suits.
He decides to answer me only after we have clearance to board the boat. "Reno mentioned you keeled over in the asylum and they took you here for some damn heart attack. He wanted to come with, but he's been a bit. . .busy. . .lately." Something's wrong. He's playing Mako Dreams. One thing we don't have in common is that he hates the Mako Dreams, and usually only plays them when easing me down into something.
He's easing his way up the ramp connected to his big blue ship. It's meant for bicycles, not thousand-year-old vans. "This is Blacklist. What's goin' on?" He twitches and guns it the rest of the way up the ramp. Something's very, very wrong. I know this for sure when he gets out, turns around, and makes a mighty-fine dent in the side of the Big Blue Machine. Careful. Wouldn't want to hurt the ancient piece of shit, right? "Dammit, Seph!" he screams through the open window. "They sent me out here to kill you, that's what!"
My spine turns to a column of ice, and my hands lock around the tattered and town armrests like vices. Kill me? Kill me?! That's all he's here for?! I lurch out of the vehicle, leaving the crutches, as the boat hauls forward. As soon as the weight of the van is over the ramp, its "auto-pilot" orders it to head back to Midgar, or to Junon from the Midgar docks. The thing has some speed, too. If the van isn't around, there's a button to press on your way to the deck. ShinRa technology is kind of funny. It relies all on the hope that the procedure is the same every time. But, back to the real matter at hand. "Kill me?! You fucking idiot! I'm one of your best friends, and you're just gonna fucking kill me?!!"
He looks shocked, as if I suggested it in the first place. "C'mon, Man! It's Turk business! I could lose my job if they found you still alive!" He turns around and throws his hands up, bending over ever so slightly so his shirt rides up his back a bit. "They could kill ME if they found out y --"
BANGBANG.
He staggers forward, head marred in a cloud of smoke, and turns around, his eyes showing surprise but his mouth with a smile of pure triumph. I know he wanted it. But. . .he's a Turk. And now he's a Turk, face-down with two holes at the base of his spine on the deck of an old battleship, while I have a hot handgun gripped in my fingers, smoke rolling out of the barrel like it does from an old Indian fire. I've killed two people before. The Hellion warlord, and the guy I hit with the pipe. But never one of my best friends. But there he is, dead as anything, with my face behind the barrel.
We're too far out for anyone to see me, but I still crouch low, put the gun away, and shuffle over to him. He has no last words for me, just keeps the smile on when I strip off his Turk suit. No, I'm not funny like that, but it's a dead giveaway as to who he is, and I'll need it to be able to get off the boat without questions. I'll say I'm a rookie. I don't know what it is, but something tells me to grab the knife from his belt. I do so, then jam it into his forehead and slide it all the way down to his throat. Good and dead. And it looks like more than one person.
I then haul his body over the side of the ship and let the corpse belly-flop into the rolling waves. I brace myself against the side as the ship picks up speed. He floats. Always knew his head was hollow. They'll probably find him out fishing one day, identify the body, but have no suspects. Turks are supposed to get their jobs done, so they'll figure he was a really good shot to take down Tseng.
I look at the near-perfect Turk suit bundle I have in my hand, and get back into the van to put it on. He did me a favor, bending like that. Now no one will suspect I killed him and took his identity.
I'll be hiding out in Kalm or something for a few years.
But first. . .
* * * * *
Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam!!
I drove all the way to Midgar from Junon, stopping twice to get gas and just using my death-look to silence any questions tossed at me. Any official-looking people in Midgar or the cities that asked where my supervisor was: I used the quivering rookie voice and told them Tseng was to be undisturbed in the back of the van.
But Aeris hasn't answered her door the whole three minutes I've been banging on it, but I hear music inside, so I know someone's in there. It's loud, though. They probably can't hear me. It's not exactly soft, so I doubt she's alone. I dread what I might be welcomed by.
So, if that's the case. . .
The door's unlocked, so I help myself in. I immediately regret it; the smell of beer and smoke make me gag and grip the medication bottle on my pocket. I would've broken the knob off for a flashy entrance, but it hurts to lift my leg that high right now and I'm out of bullets. The music's blaring, yes, but I can still hear laughing. At least it's not from the bedroom; that wouldn't be good. Instead, and here's what I feared, Reno and Aeris are sitting on the couch -- him with a beer on the table and a cigarette in his hand, and she with nothing visible, and looking mighty sober -- chatting their heads off at one another, breaking into simultanious giggles and chuckles.
Why am I so disgusted that they don't even hear me walk in? I trudge over and kick the boombox on the floor into about five pieces, an audible crack coming from under the lid of the disc chamber. That got Reno up; he's looking like a cornered Chocobo, and his cigarette's somewhere amongst the couch cushions. Aeris is wide-eyed. The Turk stares at me. He's scared again, but he tries to put on a false face. "Fuck you. My best stereo. If you're gonna be like that. . ." Shivering, and not from the cold, his shadow sweeps across the floor when he picks his blazer back up and slams out the door.
That was damn easy. I guess I won't yell "By the way, I killed Tseng" after him, just to save myself. I storm to the kitchen, looking in the mirror on the wall, and grab the scissors from the counter. Dammit, if this doesn't grow back, I'll kill. Again. Snip. I'm down to shoulder-length hair, the rest left ignored on the floor, and more flaking off when I jut my hands through it. Aeris looks appaled.
"Sephiroth, what the HELL are you doing here?!" she screams, practically blowing out my right ear. I turn and jab a finger at her, the medication bottle rattling in my closed fist as I do.
Here's what I'd like to know: "What the FUCK is he doing here?" No reason to get stingy on the explicits, am I right? "Dammit, Aeris, I just shot his brother and took his clothes! The real Turks'll be here in minutes! And unless you wanna meet up with 'em, I recommend you do as I say." She doesn't look persuaded. I'm shooting in the dark with this one. "And the only thing they'll do is take you right into the lab!" Hojo's lab. . .my father's lab. . .dear God, she's the one. I could earn a lot of gil turning her in.
This has her mind clicked. Her eyes narrow and she tries to crack her knuckles in frustration. I don't move. I'm getting the impression she'll leap out and bite off my arm if I try. "We. . .we at least have to wait for Elmyra."
"No!" That came out a bit heated, ne? But shouting gets points across. "How do you think she'll react, really? She already hates me, and now she knows I'm a killer, if we stay and wait. Worse yet, I got rid of Tseng, the one person you figured you could trust in ShinRa. Men like Tseng are few and far between, Aeris. They won't be as nice anymore; they'll bring you home in pieces if possible. You've gotta trust me on this. We need to go into hiding somewhere, and I need your help to stay that way." Sniff, sniff. I'd like to thank the Academy. . .
She's still not convinced. "Oh, yeah? Well, what makes you so sure I don't hate you? That I want to go through with this? Hell, for all you know, I could be as bad as those people up at ShinRa, and I could kill you as soon as you turn around!"
"You won't."
"How d'you know?!"
I stare directly at her, to get my point across. "Because the rifie's right behind you, you know it, and I'm still breathing. C'mon, Aeris, we both know you don't have nearly enough gall to shoot me dead. Not like it's a bad thing." In fact, it works quite well for me. Har har. "Now get your coat, anything you might want, and come out to the car." And I'm out the door. I'm not too shocked to see someone already jacked the Turk van. That's what happens down here.
I'm inside the Cougar before I know it, turning the music back down but keeping a steady beat with my foot. I'm staring at the front door from over the steering wheel, and I realize, were I to wreck, the wheel would probably pop off and the column would go through my neck like a stake through air.
Was I too demanding with her? I mean it, I need her help. Reno will be out for blood when he hears about Tseng, and with me wearing the suit, he'll know exactly where to come. Well, after me, anyway. He won't know where I am, though. It All Ends Tonight screams at me from the speaker down near my feet, but the door is my target.
It opens and she walks out. I have to smile; because she has a bag over her shoulder, a coat over her dress, and an "if this doesn't work, I'll actually kill you" look on. I know what this means even before she gets in the car and gives me the finger.
This'll be one helluva trip.
Author's Note: Special, late thanks to Chocobo Goddess. Would never have gotten this one off if not for you.