Heidegger's office, like most offices of higher Shinra personnel, has furnished simply.  He had a fairly large desk and one of those chairs on rolling wheels.  He had a few windows along the back and a few sullen drapes covered them.  Upon entering, Reno could tell that his new boss was not in the best of moods.  The other three of the blue suited Shinra workers were standing around the desk.  Rude had taken his place beside a slightly shorter man with a slight air of the Orient.  This, by all guesses, was Tseng.  On the other side of the desk was a grave looking twenty-something with shoulder length black hair.  It fell in soft waves around his face and seemed a little heavier on the left.  He seemed to be the oldest, save Heidegger himself, and therefore would probably be Vincent.

            "This is what you were so eager to accept?" Heidegger questioned skeptically.  His beady eyes slowly panned to his left to pin upon the dark skinned Turk.  Rude turned a little, his eyes hidden behind his olive coloured sunglasses.  He nodded a little, turning back to look at Reno.  "What is he?  It is a he, right?" the bearded man continued, also reverting to look at the redhead.

            "Damn right I am.  What, need proof?" Reno demanded.  All of the Turks seemed in shock at this with the exception of Rude.  He'd already been adequately exposed to the scarlet haired man's uncanny wit and humour and was fairly unfazed.

            Heidegger took a moment to collect himself and stood.  He was undoubtedly shorter than all of his employees and any one of them could've fit into one of his extra-large pant legs.  He was, to say the least, sturdy.  Reno found himself comparing him to not only a Cossack but then also to one of those blow up dolls that you can punch into eternity and not have them stay fallen over.

            "What are you worth to the Shinra Manufacturing Department in Administrative Research?" he grunted, walking around his desk and the blue suited men beside it.  He had a peculiar strut that made his rounded gut stick out in a humourous manner.  Reno couldn't help but laugh.  Heidegger grunted irritatedly.  "What's so funny?" he demanded.

            The newest of the Turks stifled his laughter.  "What?  What would make me a good Turks?  Is that what you're askin'?" he cooed, tilting his head to the side until it cracked.  Heidegger grunted again with a sharp little nod.  Reno shifted his weight and looked at the ceiling.  "Well, I dunno.  Ask the bald guy," he replied after a moment's thought.

            The bearded department head turned back towards his desk.  Rude cleared his throat, waiting to be called upon.  "Well?" Heidegger growled.  The shaded Turk nodded slightly.

            "I saw him while I was off-duty last night.  He was in a bar, pretending to be old enough to legally drink.  That, in itself, proved that he could handle any sort of espionage assignment.  I watched him as he left when he got into a fight with the bouncers.  He skillfully took them down on his own while only using what was available.  I admit that I wouldn't have prevailed any more easily than he did.  In short, good for assignment work."

            Heidegger blinked unconvincedly.  "You're saying that this little punk took out a few bouncers?  That's all?  You judged him worthy of the Turks for a brawl at some local tavern?" he rumbled, his voice steadily growing in volume.  "That scrawny little so-and-so!?"

            Reno had about all he could take.  "Hey, you don't think I'm that good?  Take me on yourself then!  See just how fast I plant your ass!" he snapped, tossing the navy coloured jacket to the ground.  He tossed his head, the wild strands of red hair gracing his face momentarily leaving his accusing aquamarine eyes unobstructed.  "Come on then, you fat Cossack."

            There was a part of the Shinra Building that few knew about.  Most of the regular employees had no clue that some branches of the company existed though they weren't even hidden in the least.  The fact that there was an entire basement floor that they had never seen or heard of before wasn't a surprise at all.  It was used for training.  Not just any training, but instead the training for Shinra's crossbreed of Mafia hitmen and Secret Service.  This was the birthplace of the Turks.

            It was a wide open space with moveable walls marking it every few feet.  They were set up like a hallway with doors every few feet, all looking just sturdy enough to keep out a draft.  There was a constant hum of machinery and across the corners of the room, tubes of glow green goo hung in the shadows.  It seemed that some of the Mako from the reactors traveled through here on its way to whatever destination within the city limits it needed to go.  The redhead mused to himself how simple the destruction of the city would be if a few of these tubes were taken care of.

            The Cossack, as Reno had dubbed him, was waddling self-importantly before him, the other Turks following behind.  He could hear the conversation between Tseng and Rude, if Rude could carry a conversation, and Tseng was obviously not happy.  He assumed it were Tseng, as Vincent appeared as quiet as Rude, if not more so at times.  Plus, the man with the short sable-coloured hair was  walking more beside him than behind and he wasn't visually speaking to any length.

            Heidegger stopped abruptly, grunting to a couple of Shinra guards that blocked his path.  They were guarding a door of some sort, something that sectioned off part of the room.  It took a threatening bout of arm waving to send them away and then the Turks were alone with their boss.

            "You get twenty minutes in here, punk." he grunted, blinking his beady eyes from below furrowed furry brows.  His stumpy arm pointed at the door.  "Be resourceful or whatever you want to be.  If you live, we'll move on to other things.  If you don't, good riddance."

            Any retaliation to being shoved inside was cut off with the air-lock.  Reno growled to himself, shoving up one of the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt.  He surveyed the room briefly, trying to get a feel of it.

            "Asshole..." he muttered, turning and kicking the door a sharp kick.  He stalked along the edge of the room, looking about on the ground.  The area seemed to be set up like most of Sector 8, full of ladders and platforms and, of course, piles of scrap metal.  One of the platforms above him groaned as if refusing to bear any weight.  The redhead jerked his vision upwards, following a faint movement above.  "Show me what ya got..." he dared, a smirk glancing his lips as he swooped upon a two foot pipe.  "...if ya got anythin' worth it."