Author's Note: Spike Highwind, thanks for the motivation. It'll get me working, don't worry about that. I appreciate the reviews, solely for the fact that I know not everyone has given up on me just yet, despite how much I've been neglecting this. No matter; my main focus right now is Silver Rose. It's likely this will be a long story, but if anyone wants me to end it soon, let me know.
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Author's Note 2: As uncaring as I may seem, I ask everyone to observe a request. Take a moment out of your day, now or later, and pay respects to the love-song legend Barry White, who passed away on July 4, 2003, due to kidney failures, at the age of fifty-nine. Being the mildly-closet White fan I am, I dedicate the rest of this story to him. Rest in peace.
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Silver Rose 2
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
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March 7, 3078
Afternoon. Food Court. Midgar Shopping Mall. 12:11 P.M.
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"Elmyra's son-in-law? Well, I suppose I should listen. . ." Keeve, Hellfire
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"Death By Doctor
This morning, tragedy struck in the Junon laboratory,
as the computers decided to rebel. Upon walking into
the office of Professor Gast, his secretary dropped her
coffee and dialed the police. When they arrived, they
found Gast, speaker cords wrapped around his neck,
dead, with the words 'BUZZ OFF' stamped into his fore-
head by the keyboard. On the screen, they noticed the
flickering screensaver -- Hojo Novehar with his center
finger raised. Police are still looking for suspects."
Amazing what I can write when cooped up, even so out of practice. I'm not entirely sure why, but I have an urge to rewind time and end my father's life like that. Dais came and woke me up, as Reno had promised, and we stuck around the hotel room to discuss the agenda of the day for about an hour. Then, deciding I was too hungry and depressed to stay inside, he dragged me out to the car and bought me lunch at the shopping mall they'd put up a few months ago.
Surprisingly, he's a very careful driver, even in my car, though I'd left my favorite CD back at the hotel.
I decided on pizza, while Dais opted for an expensive-looking sandwich. I say expensive-looking, because it seems as if everything was laid on just right. I'm almost sure it's one of the ten-gil roast beef sandwiches they have over at the. . . Well, the sandwich place. Hell if I know the name of it.
One thing you should know about Dais that no one gives him credit for, is that he's not afraid to buy the most extravagant thing in the store while dressed like a bum. He's not concerned about his image, in other words, and he'll do anything for quality, and yet he's far from one of the fatcat snots up at ShinRa. Shockingly, I respect him.
He takes a giant bite from his sandwich, glancing around at others as he swallows it. I didn't change my clothes since last night. Black jeans, white shirt without sleeves, hair frazzled, no coat despite the oddly-cold weather. Dais has shed his Devil jacket for the day as well, dressed in heavy dark red jeans with straps running across the back of the knees, and a thick, knit, black sweater, with holes where he puts his thumbs out. And, as always, his sunglasses he says he's had since he was very young. Nightclub attire.
Dais is looking back at me with mild interest when I come to reality again. He lifts a brow. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were checking me out." I fling a pepperoni at him and it sticks to his forehead. He crosses his eyes, looks up, peels it off, and eats it, wiping away the tomato sauce in a moment. "Look, I know what's gnawing at you, and I'll say what I have to say on it. If I had a guess, I'd say whoever has Aeris has no intention of harming her. If anything, it's ShinRa trying to lure you into the open for a clear shot. With Reno and Cloud on it, I don't think you'll have any problem."
I look at him strangely. Calm, cool advice from a man who shoots security without breaking a sweat.
Well, it IS better than drowning in depression.
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-=-=-=-
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Eleven o' clock that same night, I'm sitting inside my parked car, Dais in the passanger seat, looking up at the big neon letters on the building infront of us.
Hellfire.
There's no doubt in my mind, this is the largest gathering point of Hellions in Midgar. They probably bribed the Force -- police -- before they opened it, just so they could all come and discuss plans. Screaming girls for the band are outside, of course, begging to get past the bouncer. But these girls are pierced out the asshole -- literally to some, I'm sure -- and have tribe-like tattoos and paintings all over their bodies. Odd band, or odd fans?
We get out of the car, and a few heads turn our way when we turn the engine off. The place has gotten a lot quieter. I'm sure some of them know my face, and I'm sure Dais is involved with their dealings in one way or another. I'd like to slit some of their damn throats, but I'll hold myself back. I look for the bouncer. He's not as big as I'd expected, but he's got that "don't fuck with me" aura. The one where you can almost feel the air shift when he flexes. Dais and I, with no word from any official -- just screaming chicks -- pass up the entire line and walk straight to the bouncer.
Dais speaks first. "We're friends of Elmyra Gainsborough. You're being summoned for that task you said you'd fufill for her."
It takes the bouncer a moment of thought to remember, but then he nods and flips his sunglasses into his messy brown hair. He has Mako eyes, or else he just wants it to appear that way. "Come find me after the show, I'll be standing out here waiting for my ride. We'll discuss business then," he says in a hushed tone, then waves us through to the inside of the nightclub.
The band's set up already, but there are no members of it around there. There aren't many people here yet, either, meaning it must have just opened. The usual party-like lights flicker on and off everywhere, a shallow pit dug around the wall with fire shooting up from it once in awhile. Reno had called us earlier, knowing where the club was, and told us to watch our backs. He knew Hellions and how violent they could be even having fun in his early years as a Turk, and he knows how popular I am these days.
I told him to eat shit and hung up.
Dais slugs me in the shoulder and shoves me toward the bar. He's not aiming to get me drunk, but if we stand there looking at the set for the band, we'll look like dumbasses. I order a screwdriver for each of us, pay the bartender extra, and hand Dais his. About this time, as we walk for one of the booths along the wall, I look up and see the roof is completely glass. I jab Dais in the back of the neck and show him, too, as we sit down.
He takes note of it, then slides his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. I sigh heavily and give up. "Alright. Everytime you see the sky, you do that. What the hell, is it some voodoo gang ritual?"
Dais smiles and tilts his head back. His hair follows, rolling down his back like a log down a steep hill. He smiles, then laughs lightly, and looks back to me, eyes boring into my soul. "My parents left town when I was very young, leaving me with my grandmother. Well, they never came back and there was never another report of them, so I grew up with her. I would always run around with these same sunglasses on -- they were always too big for me until about ten years ago -- and one time we were outside in the garden and she scooped me up into her arms. She put my glasses just like they are now and told me something. She said to wear them like that at night, because it leaves just enough room to see the stars real clear.
"Her reasoning was that in Midgar it was easy to get lost in the mix of good and evil, but if I always looked at life like that, shading out the bad parts of the city and keeping even the smallest view clearly on the stars, nothing could ever hurt me. Wear them completely up and the line disappears. People get confused when there's no distinction. You should keep that in mind."
As if summoned, we simultaneously take a drink. I brood on that for a moment, and he just grins, as if he's fooled me yet again. We set our drinks down, and I give my opinion. "You're one psychotic fucker."
He shrugs and takes another drink, then we both just laugh at ourselves. I stand up and walk toward the bar, Dais knowing what's up and not following. I look the tender sraight in the eyes and ask where the band is. He tries the old "We can't give you that information" bullshit, and I ask again, this time with a bit of edge to my tone. Deciding it's better to listen to me, rather than end up with a hole in his hand like the one I have in mine, he kicks his right leg back and opens the door behind him. I slide over the bar, nod a thanks, and walk down the hallway the door leads to.
Putting on my best business face, I close the barman's door behind me and knock on the one to the band's room. Rustling, probably either hiding groupies or drugs, and the door flings open. A man with his hair -- at least one and a half times the length of mine before I cut it two years ago -- folded over to the left peers at me from behind it. Seems to me like he has it held infront of his eyes with some extremely good hairgel. He's wearing a very loose, white, jumpsuit-looking getup, hanging off of him like Old Man ShinRa's sweater would have hung off my daughter, no exaggeration. He looks me in the eyes with his own, beady and squinty , and I somehow know this is the guy I'm looking for. "You seem familiar," he rasps. His voice is soft, but like really strong sandpaper. It almost hurts the ears.
I make it fast. "Keeve? Elmyra gave me your name."
He stares at me from behind that length of hair again, then flips a business card into my hand, glancing around to make sure no one had seen it. On the back is a note that says to meet him after the show in the band room. I just nod. Someone must have told him I was coming. He closes the door and I turn around, walking back out to the bar and nodding another thanks to the man behind it. The fangirls are now inside, and it seems one of the better-looking ones has found Dais and taken my seat. Not to mention my drink. Face-painting bitch.
I give him a two-finger wave, then jerk them across the club. He nods, subtley, and I walk over there, seating myself in a chair, close to the band's set but against the wall. I flip my sunglasses down over my eyes and begin my inspection. A few suits are in the corner, probably an allied gang looking around for rivals and troublemakers. One of them keeps glancing my way, and I recognize him, though barely. He was there when I shot their gangleader. The one with the rifle.
I take a shotglass from some guy sitting next to me -- currently sucking face and exchanging make-up with his girlfriend, looking like a mashed beetle on the bottom of a flatbed truck's front tire -- and tip it to the man with a taunting smile, downing it and slamming it on the table. The guy I stole it from barely notices, because I leave him three gil in the glass. The guy I tipped it at snarls and turns his lip up at me. Good. Pissed the bastard off. I see him tapping his friends and pointing as I turn my head back toward Dais. He saw none of it. Too busy working on the girl.
About this time, I really wish Aeris was still here. Standing up, I walk around the seats beside me and walk out the door, nodding to the bouncer as he gives the "You coming back in?" smile. I lean against the building and take a cigarette out of the pack in my pocket, lighting it up with the lighter I got when I became a Turk. I cross my arms over my chest after putting the lighter back, then take a long drag and even longer exhale around the cigarette. I smoke when I'm stressed. Right now, I could wrap my lips around a tree and be perfectly content.
I look down the line waiting to get in. It's not too long, about twenty-five people, men and women alike now. At the end it something that makes my eyes go wide and the cigarette nearly drop from my mouth. There, standing in a big black suit, hair nice and looking like he's just come out of a new-man factory, is. . .
"SEPH!!"
. . .Mills fucking O'Donnel, straight out of the box. I haven't seen him since my last day at ShinRa, and haven't heard a thing on him since. Haven't been reading the papers lately. Only panic and depression in black-and-white to ease the blow of reality. He's lost, by eyes' guess, over a hundred-and-fifty pounds, and looks much more respectable. I have a feeling he dropped the lisp, too. Still has a lot of weight on my skinny ass. He hurries past the line, just like I did. The bouncer doesn't look twice.
"Mills, long time no see. And you're looking great. What happened with you?" I ask. He gives me a wide, shiny-toothed smile. I can tell he's either really excited to see me or this is a good story. Probably both, so I take another drag and listen to him.
And the lisp, apparently, is long gone. "Well, after Old Man Palmer died of a heart-attack, they went looking for a replacement" Oh. . . "and put an ad in the paper. You went in, had an interview about how much you knew about the Space Program, and they said yes or no to you." . . .my. . . "Well, I guess I know a lot more than they thought, because a week after the interview, the promoted me to the Head of the ShinRa Space Department!" . . .God. The fat man had it coming. "Of course, they cleaned me up a bit, but I've been on it for a year. Here tonight to work out some protection deals with the Hellions."
I had never expected to see Mills O'Donnel as one of the most respectable men in Midgar. In good spirit, I give him a handshake and a sincere smile. As annoying as he was, he was indeed one of the most loyal people I'd ever talked to. "Well, man, congratulations and good luck with the negotiations. I'm with the band, though, so I've gotta run inside." I hear the girls screaming. The band must have just come out.
He gives me another Mills-Loves-You smile and says thanks, then I follow him inside. The band is just saying a few words about how glad they are to be back in Midgar. They've been playing clubs in Junon for the past four months -- now I remember, I went to one of their first shows as a Turk to offer them bodyguard services via order of Rufus, but they refused, saying their did their own bodyguard work. Speaking of... I glance toward the table where the suits were, Mills headed for it. They're still there, all except for the guy I was being oh-so polite to earlier. And he's nowhere to be seen.
Am I wrong to have a bad feeling? I think not, unless he's in the shitter.
Just before the band starts up, I hear Dais' unmistakeable whistle from across the club, not catching anyone else's attention in the crowded place. I turn my head. The girl he was making "friends" with earlier is still there, seated on his lap now -- he'll give her one night of blinding pleasure and leave her naked and cold in the hotel hallway tomorrow morning if anything for some useless street scum to oggle at -- but he's beckoning me over. I put on my "Guess what I just did!" smile and stride over casually.
He looks confused as hell as I sit down -- dammit, nothing to drink -- and then looks with those questioning eyes to the band. I follow said eyes, and just in time to see all the lights in the club go out, besides the fire ring around the walls. The band's set lights up in neon colors, and blacklights come on from the ceiling, and some from the floors, under the triple-pane glass the club-venturers are jumping around on in anticipation. I basically look at the drummer, Keeve, who looks like a giant lightbulb with lime-green drumsticks and a purple set. I see the reason for the jumpsuit. I just nod, knowing what he wants. The band looks as odd as Keeve, dressed as loosely as he is for the most part, all with hair about three feet long and made into the oddest forms.
To make it short, the band sounded like shit, the vocalist anyway. His voice was too trying, like he was a machine singing out nonsense phrases only said to make you think. I have about two more drinks and some small-talk with Dais and his new friend in the time it takes them to perform the whole set. Dais himself downs three Mideel Ices -- a margarita with a twist, renamed with that twist kept a secret -- without seeming like he feels it. The bitch hanging on him has about four vodkas and can barely see straight.
Christ. HOJO could drink more than that.
And then the songs end, the band gives a final "Thank you, Midgar!" and they're headed back to their little room behind the bar. But it's then that the first scream of someone having a gun comes out. Keeve, mostly, spins quickly and draws a derringer from his pocket in his jumpsuit, holding it out stiffly toward the scream. Dais and I are up instantly, leaving paint-girl on the floor wondering why her head hurts. All havoc erupts, and the drummer pushes his way through thr crowd to end up next to us, all three of us now with our guns out.
Soon the club is almost-fully cleaned out, and it's the three of us holding measley handguns at three Hellions, two with rifles and one with what looks like a crowbar. From this distance, it could be anything, though. I'd been checking out the club after I'd irritated that guy, and I know that with a good second of sprinting, we could vault over some tables and dash straight out the door.
I bolt.
I hoist myself off of the stairs going up to the outer lip of the club, where all the booths are, and land on a table, shattering a glass that I came down on wrong. Not even landing fully, I leap to the next table, but that one slips from under me and I just barely jump enough to land in a roll on the other lip of the club, right next to the door. I roll on my shoulders and fire a shot at one of the men with a rifle, clipping him in the knee, and then I get to my feet and dash out the door. From the shouts behind me and my voice recognition, I know Dais is behind me, but Keeve is unknown. For all I know, the second voice is a Hellion.
Dais has caught up with me by now, and grabs my neck, lightly tossing me toward a jet-black pickup truck with a tarp over the back, something large beneath it. He passes me and rips off the tarp as he goes by, throwing himself gracefully into the open window and into the cab. Hey, where's my car... I briefly wonder this, then I leap into the back of the truck, Keeve rolling over the hood to get in the door Dais threw open from inside.
Lucky for me, under the tarp is a mounted gattling gun, looking fully-loaded and brand-new. The Hellions have gotten in their own cars and started them up, both as white as snow and looking powerful from even here. My comrade starts the engine and we roll out, into the major part of town. Through the open window connecting the cab to the back, I hear Dais asking Keeve directions, the quickest route to the hide-out. The drummer knows the place, and tries to give him coherent directions.
Tries, because behind us the cars have just rounded a corner and out of the sunroofs are two men with their sub-machineguns. Shit. I start blasting away with the gattler, but the two duck inside and the cars seem to be bullet-proof. I try to aim for the windshields, but it's hard to miss the civilians going through the central part of a Sector. We go for about five minutes of this, myself getting hit by one bullet in the shoulder, not at all aiding my gun problems, and then I become aware of Dais shouting at me to grab this.
Apparently, "this" is the shell of a high-powered missile that fits easily into the gattler. I grin as I load it in, ducking low and avoiding the shots from the Hellions. We're blowing through traffic, Dais eternally holding down the horn to alert people to pull over. One shot, just one shot. I look behind me, which is infront of the truck, and spot a tanker truck just ahead, moved to the side because of our excellent road-rage.
My shoulder better not be too fucked up...
"Speed this piece of shit up, Dais!" I cry, turning the gun sharply and mentally chanting my mantra -- no pain, no pain, there is no pain -- and read the side of the truck as we pass, going about ninety-five in a residential area with very helpful people. Junon Propane. Dais obeys and shifts or something and the truck pulls ahead just enough. I wait for the cars to get just behind where the truck is, and then fire at it.
The image of the bright white flash, the searing heat, and the blue flames and explode into the night sky, sending glass and debris high into the air to rain down upon the high-level executives for almost a day, will be forever burned into my mind. The Hellions are found the next day in their mass of twisted metal with no identification marks on them. Only the three of us know who they were. The truck leaves, for the love of the Cetram a crater where it was, that too blown high into the air, and almost all the houses and buildings around it are torn apart instantly. Somehow, it just speeds up the truck, though I do hit my head and crack the glass behind me. Over one-hundred will be reported dead tomorrow morning on the early news, broadcasted Planet-wide. The faces of Dais, Keeve, and I will be shown with a high amount of gil for our capture, too.
Tonight, I cry myself to sleep on my cot in the cold, abandoned bathroom.
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Author's Note 2: As uncaring as I may seem, I ask everyone to observe a request. Take a moment out of your day, now or later, and pay respects to the love-song legend Barry White, who passed away on July 4, 2003, due to kidney failures, at the age of fifty-nine. Being the mildly-closet White fan I am, I dedicate the rest of this story to him. Rest in peace.
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Silver Rose 2
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
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March 7, 3078
Afternoon. Food Court. Midgar Shopping Mall. 12:11 P.M.
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"Elmyra's son-in-law? Well, I suppose I should listen. . ." Keeve, Hellfire
.
.
"Death By Doctor
This morning, tragedy struck in the Junon laboratory,
as the computers decided to rebel. Upon walking into
the office of Professor Gast, his secretary dropped her
coffee and dialed the police. When they arrived, they
found Gast, speaker cords wrapped around his neck,
dead, with the words 'BUZZ OFF' stamped into his fore-
head by the keyboard. On the screen, they noticed the
flickering screensaver -- Hojo Novehar with his center
finger raised. Police are still looking for suspects."
Amazing what I can write when cooped up, even so out of practice. I'm not entirely sure why, but I have an urge to rewind time and end my father's life like that. Dais came and woke me up, as Reno had promised, and we stuck around the hotel room to discuss the agenda of the day for about an hour. Then, deciding I was too hungry and depressed to stay inside, he dragged me out to the car and bought me lunch at the shopping mall they'd put up a few months ago.
Surprisingly, he's a very careful driver, even in my car, though I'd left my favorite CD back at the hotel.
I decided on pizza, while Dais opted for an expensive-looking sandwich. I say expensive-looking, because it seems as if everything was laid on just right. I'm almost sure it's one of the ten-gil roast beef sandwiches they have over at the. . . Well, the sandwich place. Hell if I know the name of it.
One thing you should know about Dais that no one gives him credit for, is that he's not afraid to buy the most extravagant thing in the store while dressed like a bum. He's not concerned about his image, in other words, and he'll do anything for quality, and yet he's far from one of the fatcat snots up at ShinRa. Shockingly, I respect him.
He takes a giant bite from his sandwich, glancing around at others as he swallows it. I didn't change my clothes since last night. Black jeans, white shirt without sleeves, hair frazzled, no coat despite the oddly-cold weather. Dais has shed his Devil jacket for the day as well, dressed in heavy dark red jeans with straps running across the back of the knees, and a thick, knit, black sweater, with holes where he puts his thumbs out. And, as always, his sunglasses he says he's had since he was very young. Nightclub attire.
Dais is looking back at me with mild interest when I come to reality again. He lifts a brow. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were checking me out." I fling a pepperoni at him and it sticks to his forehead. He crosses his eyes, looks up, peels it off, and eats it, wiping away the tomato sauce in a moment. "Look, I know what's gnawing at you, and I'll say what I have to say on it. If I had a guess, I'd say whoever has Aeris has no intention of harming her. If anything, it's ShinRa trying to lure you into the open for a clear shot. With Reno and Cloud on it, I don't think you'll have any problem."
I look at him strangely. Calm, cool advice from a man who shoots security without breaking a sweat.
Well, it IS better than drowning in depression.
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-=-=-=-
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Eleven o' clock that same night, I'm sitting inside my parked car, Dais in the passanger seat, looking up at the big neon letters on the building infront of us.
Hellfire.
There's no doubt in my mind, this is the largest gathering point of Hellions in Midgar. They probably bribed the Force -- police -- before they opened it, just so they could all come and discuss plans. Screaming girls for the band are outside, of course, begging to get past the bouncer. But these girls are pierced out the asshole -- literally to some, I'm sure -- and have tribe-like tattoos and paintings all over their bodies. Odd band, or odd fans?
We get out of the car, and a few heads turn our way when we turn the engine off. The place has gotten a lot quieter. I'm sure some of them know my face, and I'm sure Dais is involved with their dealings in one way or another. I'd like to slit some of their damn throats, but I'll hold myself back. I look for the bouncer. He's not as big as I'd expected, but he's got that "don't fuck with me" aura. The one where you can almost feel the air shift when he flexes. Dais and I, with no word from any official -- just screaming chicks -- pass up the entire line and walk straight to the bouncer.
Dais speaks first. "We're friends of Elmyra Gainsborough. You're being summoned for that task you said you'd fufill for her."
It takes the bouncer a moment of thought to remember, but then he nods and flips his sunglasses into his messy brown hair. He has Mako eyes, or else he just wants it to appear that way. "Come find me after the show, I'll be standing out here waiting for my ride. We'll discuss business then," he says in a hushed tone, then waves us through to the inside of the nightclub.
The band's set up already, but there are no members of it around there. There aren't many people here yet, either, meaning it must have just opened. The usual party-like lights flicker on and off everywhere, a shallow pit dug around the wall with fire shooting up from it once in awhile. Reno had called us earlier, knowing where the club was, and told us to watch our backs. He knew Hellions and how violent they could be even having fun in his early years as a Turk, and he knows how popular I am these days.
I told him to eat shit and hung up.
Dais slugs me in the shoulder and shoves me toward the bar. He's not aiming to get me drunk, but if we stand there looking at the set for the band, we'll look like dumbasses. I order a screwdriver for each of us, pay the bartender extra, and hand Dais his. About this time, as we walk for one of the booths along the wall, I look up and see the roof is completely glass. I jab Dais in the back of the neck and show him, too, as we sit down.
He takes note of it, then slides his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. I sigh heavily and give up. "Alright. Everytime you see the sky, you do that. What the hell, is it some voodoo gang ritual?"
Dais smiles and tilts his head back. His hair follows, rolling down his back like a log down a steep hill. He smiles, then laughs lightly, and looks back to me, eyes boring into my soul. "My parents left town when I was very young, leaving me with my grandmother. Well, they never came back and there was never another report of them, so I grew up with her. I would always run around with these same sunglasses on -- they were always too big for me until about ten years ago -- and one time we were outside in the garden and she scooped me up into her arms. She put my glasses just like they are now and told me something. She said to wear them like that at night, because it leaves just enough room to see the stars real clear.
"Her reasoning was that in Midgar it was easy to get lost in the mix of good and evil, but if I always looked at life like that, shading out the bad parts of the city and keeping even the smallest view clearly on the stars, nothing could ever hurt me. Wear them completely up and the line disappears. People get confused when there's no distinction. You should keep that in mind."
As if summoned, we simultaneously take a drink. I brood on that for a moment, and he just grins, as if he's fooled me yet again. We set our drinks down, and I give my opinion. "You're one psychotic fucker."
He shrugs and takes another drink, then we both just laugh at ourselves. I stand up and walk toward the bar, Dais knowing what's up and not following. I look the tender sraight in the eyes and ask where the band is. He tries the old "We can't give you that information" bullshit, and I ask again, this time with a bit of edge to my tone. Deciding it's better to listen to me, rather than end up with a hole in his hand like the one I have in mine, he kicks his right leg back and opens the door behind him. I slide over the bar, nod a thanks, and walk down the hallway the door leads to.
Putting on my best business face, I close the barman's door behind me and knock on the one to the band's room. Rustling, probably either hiding groupies or drugs, and the door flings open. A man with his hair -- at least one and a half times the length of mine before I cut it two years ago -- folded over to the left peers at me from behind it. Seems to me like he has it held infront of his eyes with some extremely good hairgel. He's wearing a very loose, white, jumpsuit-looking getup, hanging off of him like Old Man ShinRa's sweater would have hung off my daughter, no exaggeration. He looks me in the eyes with his own, beady and squinty , and I somehow know this is the guy I'm looking for. "You seem familiar," he rasps. His voice is soft, but like really strong sandpaper. It almost hurts the ears.
I make it fast. "Keeve? Elmyra gave me your name."
He stares at me from behind that length of hair again, then flips a business card into my hand, glancing around to make sure no one had seen it. On the back is a note that says to meet him after the show in the band room. I just nod. Someone must have told him I was coming. He closes the door and I turn around, walking back out to the bar and nodding another thanks to the man behind it. The fangirls are now inside, and it seems one of the better-looking ones has found Dais and taken my seat. Not to mention my drink. Face-painting bitch.
I give him a two-finger wave, then jerk them across the club. He nods, subtley, and I walk over there, seating myself in a chair, close to the band's set but against the wall. I flip my sunglasses down over my eyes and begin my inspection. A few suits are in the corner, probably an allied gang looking around for rivals and troublemakers. One of them keeps glancing my way, and I recognize him, though barely. He was there when I shot their gangleader. The one with the rifle.
I take a shotglass from some guy sitting next to me -- currently sucking face and exchanging make-up with his girlfriend, looking like a mashed beetle on the bottom of a flatbed truck's front tire -- and tip it to the man with a taunting smile, downing it and slamming it on the table. The guy I stole it from barely notices, because I leave him three gil in the glass. The guy I tipped it at snarls and turns his lip up at me. Good. Pissed the bastard off. I see him tapping his friends and pointing as I turn my head back toward Dais. He saw none of it. Too busy working on the girl.
About this time, I really wish Aeris was still here. Standing up, I walk around the seats beside me and walk out the door, nodding to the bouncer as he gives the "You coming back in?" smile. I lean against the building and take a cigarette out of the pack in my pocket, lighting it up with the lighter I got when I became a Turk. I cross my arms over my chest after putting the lighter back, then take a long drag and even longer exhale around the cigarette. I smoke when I'm stressed. Right now, I could wrap my lips around a tree and be perfectly content.
I look down the line waiting to get in. It's not too long, about twenty-five people, men and women alike now. At the end it something that makes my eyes go wide and the cigarette nearly drop from my mouth. There, standing in a big black suit, hair nice and looking like he's just come out of a new-man factory, is. . .
"SEPH!!"
. . .Mills fucking O'Donnel, straight out of the box. I haven't seen him since my last day at ShinRa, and haven't heard a thing on him since. Haven't been reading the papers lately. Only panic and depression in black-and-white to ease the blow of reality. He's lost, by eyes' guess, over a hundred-and-fifty pounds, and looks much more respectable. I have a feeling he dropped the lisp, too. Still has a lot of weight on my skinny ass. He hurries past the line, just like I did. The bouncer doesn't look twice.
"Mills, long time no see. And you're looking great. What happened with you?" I ask. He gives me a wide, shiny-toothed smile. I can tell he's either really excited to see me or this is a good story. Probably both, so I take another drag and listen to him.
And the lisp, apparently, is long gone. "Well, after Old Man Palmer died of a heart-attack, they went looking for a replacement" Oh. . . "and put an ad in the paper. You went in, had an interview about how much you knew about the Space Program, and they said yes or no to you." . . .my. . . "Well, I guess I know a lot more than they thought, because a week after the interview, the promoted me to the Head of the ShinRa Space Department!" . . .God. The fat man had it coming. "Of course, they cleaned me up a bit, but I've been on it for a year. Here tonight to work out some protection deals with the Hellions."
I had never expected to see Mills O'Donnel as one of the most respectable men in Midgar. In good spirit, I give him a handshake and a sincere smile. As annoying as he was, he was indeed one of the most loyal people I'd ever talked to. "Well, man, congratulations and good luck with the negotiations. I'm with the band, though, so I've gotta run inside." I hear the girls screaming. The band must have just come out.
He gives me another Mills-Loves-You smile and says thanks, then I follow him inside. The band is just saying a few words about how glad they are to be back in Midgar. They've been playing clubs in Junon for the past four months -- now I remember, I went to one of their first shows as a Turk to offer them bodyguard services via order of Rufus, but they refused, saying their did their own bodyguard work. Speaking of... I glance toward the table where the suits were, Mills headed for it. They're still there, all except for the guy I was being oh-so polite to earlier. And he's nowhere to be seen.
Am I wrong to have a bad feeling? I think not, unless he's in the shitter.
Just before the band starts up, I hear Dais' unmistakeable whistle from across the club, not catching anyone else's attention in the crowded place. I turn my head. The girl he was making "friends" with earlier is still there, seated on his lap now -- he'll give her one night of blinding pleasure and leave her naked and cold in the hotel hallway tomorrow morning if anything for some useless street scum to oggle at -- but he's beckoning me over. I put on my "Guess what I just did!" smile and stride over casually.
He looks confused as hell as I sit down -- dammit, nothing to drink -- and then looks with those questioning eyes to the band. I follow said eyes, and just in time to see all the lights in the club go out, besides the fire ring around the walls. The band's set lights up in neon colors, and blacklights come on from the ceiling, and some from the floors, under the triple-pane glass the club-venturers are jumping around on in anticipation. I basically look at the drummer, Keeve, who looks like a giant lightbulb with lime-green drumsticks and a purple set. I see the reason for the jumpsuit. I just nod, knowing what he wants. The band looks as odd as Keeve, dressed as loosely as he is for the most part, all with hair about three feet long and made into the oddest forms.
To make it short, the band sounded like shit, the vocalist anyway. His voice was too trying, like he was a machine singing out nonsense phrases only said to make you think. I have about two more drinks and some small-talk with Dais and his new friend in the time it takes them to perform the whole set. Dais himself downs three Mideel Ices -- a margarita with a twist, renamed with that twist kept a secret -- without seeming like he feels it. The bitch hanging on him has about four vodkas and can barely see straight.
Christ. HOJO could drink more than that.
And then the songs end, the band gives a final "Thank you, Midgar!" and they're headed back to their little room behind the bar. But it's then that the first scream of someone having a gun comes out. Keeve, mostly, spins quickly and draws a derringer from his pocket in his jumpsuit, holding it out stiffly toward the scream. Dais and I are up instantly, leaving paint-girl on the floor wondering why her head hurts. All havoc erupts, and the drummer pushes his way through thr crowd to end up next to us, all three of us now with our guns out.
Soon the club is almost-fully cleaned out, and it's the three of us holding measley handguns at three Hellions, two with rifles and one with what looks like a crowbar. From this distance, it could be anything, though. I'd been checking out the club after I'd irritated that guy, and I know that with a good second of sprinting, we could vault over some tables and dash straight out the door.
I bolt.
I hoist myself off of the stairs going up to the outer lip of the club, where all the booths are, and land on a table, shattering a glass that I came down on wrong. Not even landing fully, I leap to the next table, but that one slips from under me and I just barely jump enough to land in a roll on the other lip of the club, right next to the door. I roll on my shoulders and fire a shot at one of the men with a rifle, clipping him in the knee, and then I get to my feet and dash out the door. From the shouts behind me and my voice recognition, I know Dais is behind me, but Keeve is unknown. For all I know, the second voice is a Hellion.
Dais has caught up with me by now, and grabs my neck, lightly tossing me toward a jet-black pickup truck with a tarp over the back, something large beneath it. He passes me and rips off the tarp as he goes by, throwing himself gracefully into the open window and into the cab. Hey, where's my car... I briefly wonder this, then I leap into the back of the truck, Keeve rolling over the hood to get in the door Dais threw open from inside.
Lucky for me, under the tarp is a mounted gattling gun, looking fully-loaded and brand-new. The Hellions have gotten in their own cars and started them up, both as white as snow and looking powerful from even here. My comrade starts the engine and we roll out, into the major part of town. Through the open window connecting the cab to the back, I hear Dais asking Keeve directions, the quickest route to the hide-out. The drummer knows the place, and tries to give him coherent directions.
Tries, because behind us the cars have just rounded a corner and out of the sunroofs are two men with their sub-machineguns. Shit. I start blasting away with the gattler, but the two duck inside and the cars seem to be bullet-proof. I try to aim for the windshields, but it's hard to miss the civilians going through the central part of a Sector. We go for about five minutes of this, myself getting hit by one bullet in the shoulder, not at all aiding my gun problems, and then I become aware of Dais shouting at me to grab this.
Apparently, "this" is the shell of a high-powered missile that fits easily into the gattler. I grin as I load it in, ducking low and avoiding the shots from the Hellions. We're blowing through traffic, Dais eternally holding down the horn to alert people to pull over. One shot, just one shot. I look behind me, which is infront of the truck, and spot a tanker truck just ahead, moved to the side because of our excellent road-rage.
My shoulder better not be too fucked up...
"Speed this piece of shit up, Dais!" I cry, turning the gun sharply and mentally chanting my mantra -- no pain, no pain, there is no pain -- and read the side of the truck as we pass, going about ninety-five in a residential area with very helpful people. Junon Propane. Dais obeys and shifts or something and the truck pulls ahead just enough. I wait for the cars to get just behind where the truck is, and then fire at it.
The image of the bright white flash, the searing heat, and the blue flames and explode into the night sky, sending glass and debris high into the air to rain down upon the high-level executives for almost a day, will be forever burned into my mind. The Hellions are found the next day in their mass of twisted metal with no identification marks on them. Only the three of us know who they were. The truck leaves, for the love of the Cetram a crater where it was, that too blown high into the air, and almost all the houses and buildings around it are torn apart instantly. Somehow, it just speeds up the truck, though I do hit my head and crack the glass behind me. Over one-hundred will be reported dead tomorrow morning on the early news, broadcasted Planet-wide. The faces of Dais, Keeve, and I will be shown with a high amount of gil for our capture, too.
Tonight, I cry myself to sleep on my cot in the cold, abandoned bathroom.