Author's Note: After rereading my own story, I was unhappy with the way it was headed, so I decided to start the whole thing over. This is the rewrite of chapter one. As you can see, if you read this story before, some of the plot has been changed a bit, but it won't differ too much from the basic original story. I hope you can enjoy this story and I want to thank all those who have reviewed.
With his hand feeling along the concrete wall as a guide, Reno trudged groggily through Junon. The unsteadiness of his feet led him to stumble a few times; it was becoming a real chore for him just to maintain his balance. His eyelids draped halfway down so that his vision was limited to only the road and the bottom portions of the wall. Once in a while an open doorway or alleyway took away his guide, forcing him to struggle for a few agonizing seconds of aimless navigation before his hand met another solid surface again. His breathing was labored and he was nauseous; sometimes he would have to stop moving in order to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. It was clear that Reno was sweating. His dark red hair was soaked and his bangs adhered to his forehead. The white shirt, underneath his navy blue uniform stuck to his body as if it were an extra layer of skin. The gleam from the light of the apartment windows and the moon would have reflected off of his face, had his head been held up. But with his tired gaze fixed on the ground ahead of him, the light had to settle with illuminating his red hair.
A glass beer bottle rolled straight down Reno's path, and his foot stepped on it. As his foot flew back with unanticipated speed, his upper body lurched forward in response. With his current lack of coordination, it took much of his concentration to keep from falling on to his face.
"Hey boys, look, it's a drunk Turk – namely, Reno," spoke a raspy voice.
"How can you tell that?" asked a second voice, in a much deeper tone.
"Well," replied the first voice, in a conceited tone. "His red hair gives him away as Reno. And look at his clothes; it's a fancy silk suit that only the Turks and other rich Shinra ex-employees would have. On top of that, he's wearing sunglasses up on his forehead; only Reno does that."
"The suit looks pretty scuffed up to me," muttered the deeper voice. "Doesn't look worth much."
"Trust me, it's silk. He just doesn't take good care of it, that's all."
Reno lifted his head as he receded back so that he was on his knees, ready to stand up. He tried to see who was in his way. His blurred vision made it difficult for him to estimate whether or not these people would pose a threat to him. Their size and faces were indistinguishable as well as their numbers.
"This is a rare chance. Let's take his wallet."
"Nah, don't bother. Look how wasted he is; he probably ain't got much left on him. Instead let's take his clothes. His watch should be worth a great deal, too."
"Don't forget the boots and shades," added another voice.
Reno now stood with his back facing the wall. A man approached on his right. Without bothering to turn around, Reno shot out his right arm in his general direction. His fist connected with the man's gut. Even when lacking control of his body, the former Turk was a somewhat competent brawler. His many past experiences of fighting thugs, after drinking, attributed to this. To him, this encounter was not anything out of the ordinary. After coughing off blood and moaning, the man collapsed on the ground. Reno sensed no effort in the fallen to get back up. This battle may not be such a hard one after all.
A second man approached Reno more cautiously. The redhead stared at him with his half-opened eyes. From his point of view, there were three heads, and he had two right fists. Trying to determine what to aim for, he finally decided on using his right right fist on the center head. Unfortunately, the attack missed. The man grabbed Reno's shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Grunting, the ex-Turk felt that he could take no more. His attacker advanced to punch, positioning his fist right under the chin of his target. However, he was stopped by a nasty surprise of vomit being retched all over his arm. The man screamed out in disgust but was soon silenced by Reno who then aimed with his left right fist this time.
Based on the voices that he had heard earlier, Reno judged that there should be only one more left. The sound of rapid footsteps rapped against the ground. The redhead only had enough time to look in the attacker's direction before a wooden staff came down on his forehead. Luckily the durable frame of his sunglasses managed to absorb enough shock so that Reno was not seriously injured. Nevertheless, the impact still caused Reno a lot of pain, even in his intoxicated state. Angrily he reached out and grasped the end of the weapon, swung his body around, and, using the momentum of his spin, slammed his opponent into the wall. Taking advantage of the stunned man's loosened grip, Reno wrenched the stick out of his hands. He was about to finish the fight when his broken sunglasses fell down from his forehead to perch annoyingly on the end of his nose, further obscuring his already dulled sense of sight.
He pulled away the bent frame with his left hand. His enemy quickly knocked the weapon out of the ex-Turk's hand and pushed him backward. Reno landed with a painful thud on the ground. Part of the reason for the pain was that his rear end had landed on top of the nightstick that hung on his belt. For the first time during the fight, he remembered that he had his nightstick. There was the sound of glass scraping against tar; the beer bottle was being picked up. The redhead scooted over to his right to avoid the attack, but not without leaving an inconveniently extended leg for the attacker to trip over. The "smack" of the man hitting to pavement followed by the "smash" of glass, was satisfying for Reno. Before the man could do anything else, Reno pulled his nightstick off of his belt and brought it down on the mugger's head. He then stood up to leave.
Interestingly, his drunkenness seemed to have worn off a bit from the fight. If he wanted to, now, he could get a good look at the men. But seeing as there was no longer any point, he didn't bother. Also, he didn't bother to look for his sunglasses, since the frame was bent and the lens were probably cracked.
After walking a while, Reno leaned against the cement wall of another building and took a good look at the night. There were few clouds to block the view of the moon. It was beautiful; almost a full moon. The ex-Turk suddenly felt content. Even with his life lingering in an unchanging pattern of seal-and-get-chased, he felt trouble-free at that moment. The serene breeze cooled his sweat drenched body as he watched the moon float over the water. Once every few moments, a piece of trash, such as a scrap of newspaper, or an empty aluminum can, would pass through the scene. Yet, to Reno that only enhanced the relaxing effect, along with the soft sound of gentle ocean waves.
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. No longer were the occasional pieces of trash being blown across the road, but off of it, into the ocean. The wind was getting stronger. Laundry, that was hung outside of apartment windows to dry, flapped toward the sea. Store signs were shaking in the same direction. So was Reno's hair and clothing. The redhead had a funny idea that the wind was not blowing, anymore, but rather everything was being sucked into the sea. The wind felt wrong to him, and soon he saw why.
A huge wall of water rose from the ocean, threatening to demolish the lower leveled sections of Junon. The sound of the water was a harsh and loud rumble now. People were awake in their homes, screaming. Warning bells rang loudly to signal evacuations. Police ran back and forth between stations in an attempt to direct traffic and erect the protective walls of Junon, hoping to keep the water from gushing into the city. Behind the large wave emerged a creature that Reno could not describe...
Except with the words: big, scary, and ugly.