"So what happened?"
Vincent was standing in a hospital corridor, livid. Normally a reasonably calm man, his nerves had been stretched taut by tonight's' events, and watching Linden, his arm in a sling, pacing up and down was doing nothing to soothe his rapidly worsening temper. The other Turk stopped his pacing for a minute to stare daggers at his superior.
"What happened? It was a fucking set up, that's what happened!" He jammed his un-damaged hand into his trouser pocket and resumed his furious pacing. "This op was planned to perfection, the date, the time, everything! We didn't do anything wrong!"
"Not good enough" Vincent snapped. "I want to know why I've got one Turk with a broken arm and another in there practically bleeding to death!" He gestured towards a door opposite. Linden followed the movement, and for a moment a brief look of pain flashed across his face. Almost too quick to be noticed, but Vincent's' sharp eyes saw. And he understood.
Linden let out a loud sigh and leaned against the wall. He awkwardly lit himself a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "We knew he was going to make the drop tonight. Anonymous tip, but we tracked it to the source." Vincent nodded impatiently. Of course they would, this was standard procedure and his Turks were well trained. "Turned out to be an old friend of ours, Mak Xu." He held up his hands to forestall any forthcoming protests. "Yeah yeah, I know his record. Treacherous bastard. We figured he'd try to cross us, so we took a few liberties with his person, shook him up a bit."
"I trust Xu as far as I can throw him" Vincent interjected. "That lowlife shit is loyal just to the gil in his pocket and his own miserable hide."
Linden allowed himself a quick snigger. "That 'miserable hide' is now residing in a dumpster across town and loyal only to Deacons' big dude in the sky" he answered. "We cut a deal with Xu, or so he thought, not that we gave him much of a choice. Then we left, Deac doubled back and put the bugger out of his misery." Another smile crossed his features for a second. "That was a sweet moment. But anyway, yeah, we traced down the others involved with the drop. All checked out. Right names, right guys, they had the target…" He took another draw on the cigarette before continuing. "Didn't leave any stone unturned, you know?"
The leader of the Turks nodded again, trying to calm down a little. "I know. You're good Turks, you wouldn't have done anything completely stupid. You may be a womanising, arrogant little son of a bitch, but I trust you."
Linden smirked. "Whoa, careful boss, that was almost a compliment. Looks like you could be getting a sense of humour there."
"Now is not the time" Vincent replied, unmoved by the attempt at brevity. "Go on."
Another sigh. "You know the rest. We arrived a couple of hours before the drop was meant to be made and scouted round to double check. Waited for them to turn up. First guy gets there, sits on the bench as expected. Ten minutes later, the second guy shows. They make the exchange, we've got the proof we need. We're about to move, when the next thing we know, we're getting shot at from all angles. I dunno where they came from, but they were all over us. Did the best we could, but got ambushed by a handful of goons at the end of the street. Didn't go down without a fight, which is how I got this." He held up his plastered arm. "Deacon wasn't so lucky. He nailed two of 'em before they stuck a bullet through him. Then this big black saloon pulled up and the whole lot legged it into the night. That's when I called you and here we are."
"Here we are indeed." Vincent scowled, angry once again. "I'm not happy about this…" He was broken off mid sentence by a white coated doctor stepping out of the opposite door. The man immediately noticed the two Turks, and stepped straight over to Vincent. "Well?"
The doctor coughed slightly, more than a little intimidated by having the leader of the Turks towering over him. "Um… Well, Mr Jeffers suffered a severe bullet wound to the chest…"
"Of course he did!" barked Vincent. "He was shot with a fucking gun! Now tell me how he is!"
Shrinking back, the doctor decided to skip the medical jargon and cut to the chase. "He'll… he'll be fine!" he blurted quickly. "We've managed to extract the bullet and close the wound. He'll be on his feet in a week or so."
Vincents' hackles lowered a little, mollified by the welcome news. "A week? He's going to be alright?"
"Yes… After all, this is Midgar, we're used to dealing with gunshot wounds." In spite of the looming suits around him, the good doctors' voice had a definite 'tone' about it.
Sadly that was probably true, reflected Vincent. And he didn't even want to speculate on how many of the injuries that came through the hospital were because someone had irritated one of his own men. He watched the doctor retreat down the corridor, before turning to Linden. "I'm not happy about this" he repeated. "I've had two Turks hit and I don't know why. I am now in the mood for some creative revenge."
Linden saw a deadly look begin to glimmer in his superiors' eyes. If that look had been directed at him, then he would have wilted. "Creative revenge, boss?"
"Who was in charge of the drop?"
"Elton Sullivan."
"Then let us just say that Mr Sullivan has just forfeited any chance he had of fathering children."
Linden couldn't help but feel a flash of sympathy for the man. But not much. Sullivan's' henchmen had broken his arm and put a sliver of lead through his best buddy. As far as he was concerned, he deserved everything he had coming.
"Go home" Vincent instructed in a voice that brooked no argument. "Go home and rest. If Deacons' going to be out for a while then I need you back to health as soon as possible. I'm also going to have to recall Preston from Wutai to cover…" He started running through in his head all the things he was going to have to arrange. "Anyway, just get out of here. I expect to see you in my office on Thursday, 9am. Now scoot."
Grateful, Linden mooched away and out of the building, leaving Vincent standing in the corridor. He was not in a good mood. He was fed up, he was tired, and now he was going to have to go and sort out Elton Sullivan. The Turks as a whole just couldn't ignore a jibe like this. If they let it go then people might take it as a sign they were getting soft. Their whole purpose revolved around the fact that they would not stand for any disrespect and that there was always a price for stepping out of line. If people started thinking they could get away with this kind of stunt…
Vincent picked up his jacket and strode out into the night.
oOo
Three years previously
"Gentlemen." Shinra looked at the line of three Turks in front of him. Each standing to attention, dressed in identical blue suits, eyes fixed on a point a few inches above the Presidents' head. "I've called you all here to tell you that there has been an accident. Forlan Grisham was killed last night on assignment in Junon."
Collectively, the gathered Turks all drew sharp intakes of breath. This was not what they had expected at all. Grisham was practically untouchable; the leader of the Turks would not be an easy person to dispose of. They all held their ground though. Being a Turk carried with it a shortened life expectancy, and they were all trained to accept this fact. They knew it could be any one of them next. Not many Turks survived long in this business, but Grisham had lasted longer than most.
"The details will be made clear to you in the next few days" the President continued, "and appropriate action will be taken, to be determined by Grishams' replacement." At this, three pairs of ears perked up, despite the somewhat morbid circumstances; leader of the Turks was a coveted position. "The instructions left by your predecessor indicate that as of now, this… vacancy… will be filled by Vincent Valentine."
In spite of all his training and discipline, Vincent couldn't help but gasp, surprised. Him? But he was the youngest, surely the honour should have gone to Osborn, the most experienced of the group? He was about to protest, but never got the chance.
"Congratulations Valentine. You now have thirty minutes to issue your orders to your fellows before you will report back to me with a plan for action. Dismissed."
The three men filed out of the office, all mildly shell shocked. None more so than their new leader. Only twenty three years of age, Vincent had been a Turk for two years working under Grisham, his mentor; the man who had plucked him from University to a prime position in the elite unit. Said he had the makings of one of the best Turks ever.
"Well... Fuck."
Although maybe he still had a few rough edges.
Once the door behind them was closed, Osborn and Preston, the other two Turks, turned round to him. Vincent was expecting anger, especially from the former, and was surprised not to find it in their faces. Still, a Turk was trained not to show emotion, they could just be hiding it…
"Well done, man" offered Preston, a tall wiry man who offered his hand to the younger Turk. "Grisham made a good choice."
Vincent automatically took the outstretched hand and shook it mechanically. "But…"
"Don't argue" interrupted Osborn. "Whoever Grisham chose, you can be damn sure he had his reasons for it. We all respected him, and we respect his decision now. Just make sure you live up to it." The two men smiled before straightening themselves up formally. "Now sir, what are your orders?"
oOo
"So you see, I'm not particularly happy with you at the moment, Mr Sullivan."
Elton Sullivan was in no fit state to dispute this fact. Stripped of his dashing pinstripe suit, he was securely tied, hands and feet bound behind his back, kneeling on the floor while the Turk paced round him. His tie, a very expensive silk one from far away Wutai, was expertly converted into use as a gag, effectively keeping him silent, apart from the odd muffled groan and shriek. Vincent continued to walk around the room, talking. He held no visible weapon, although the prostrate man on the floor was sure he wouldn't have come unarmed. And quite frankly, considering the damage that had been wrought so far without any mechanical assistance, Sullivan was worried what could happen should a weapon suddenly appear.
"You know where I've spent the last four hours?" the Turk enquired. Sullivan shook his head vigorously. No, he did not know. "I've spent them in Midgars' hospital. And do you know why I have spent them in Midgars' hospital?" More rapid shaking. "I spent them there because your hired guns put a bullet through one of my men." Vincent stopped walking round the kneeling man, coming to a halt in front of him. He crouched down, putting his face level with the cowering prisoner. Sullivan looked up at the Turk and did not like what he saw.
Sullivan considered himself to be a hardened man, one who made his own rules. Owner of a successful weapons factory, he had plenty of power, contacts and money. He was also a liar, a cheat and a fraud, and a successful one at that. He ran a ring of dealers, and when the need has arisen, he had acted forcefully. Terminally, on occasions. But looking into the eyes of the Turk, he felt truly afraid. There was no rage in those crystalline brown eyes. No madness or anger. Just pure, clear sanity and the promise that someone was going to be in for a very unpleasant night.
"I don't like it when people think they can pull this sort of job against my Turks" Vincent said softly. "It makes me very angry. It means that I have to waste my time teaching you a lesson." His captive tried to indicate that really, Vincent didn't have to waste his precious time with him. "What's that? I can't understand you…" Sullivan struggled madly at his bonds, but they were too well tied. "I want to know why you ordered the hit" Vincent said, standing up and walking over to Sullivan's' desk, where he perched on the edge. "Talk to me, Sullivan."
The restrained man shuffled forward on his knees, trying to speak behind the gag. All that emerged were strangled sounds, nothing coherent. Vincent shook his head sadly.
"You're not being very helpful tonight." He slowly and deliberately reached inside his jacket, pulling out one of his guns. Making a large show of turning off the safety, he looked once more down at the man on the floor. "I'll repeat my question" he said calmly. "Why did you order the hit?"
Sullivan's eyes bulged in fear, sweat dripping down his face. "Mmphf!" he shrieked, but the gag held firmly in place, and his attempts were still muffled. Frantically trying to make himself understood, Vincent watched placidly as the man humiliated himself, throwing his body against the floor and pleading wretchedly.
After a suitable amount of time had elapsed, Vincent raised an eyebrow. "No?" He shrugged, and seemingly without looking or bothering to aim, raised the gun and shot off one of Sullivan's kneecaps. Thankfully the man's cries of pain were subdued by the gag, but he rolled over on the carpet, obviously in agony and leaking vital fluids all over his floor. "I don't have time for this" Vincent said sternly. "I want your co-operation and I want it now. I've already wasted enough time with you." A second shot rang out, shattering the prone man's other knee. He watched the poor victim struggle helplessly for a few moments, before hopping off the desk and bending down to untie the gag. As soon as he did so, Sullivan exploded into a series of groans and whines. Vincent grabbed hold of the mans' chin with one hand, forcing him to look up, while the other directed the gun at a yet un-injured part of his anatomy. "Shut up. Give me names or the next bullet goes into your balls."
Faced with such grim determination, Sullivan gave in to the only option available, and spilled his guts. Vincent listened patiently as the man grovelled and crawled, citing several people known to be enemies of the Shinra Corporation, as well as some new names which the Turk immediately committed to memory.
Once done, Sullivan collapsed on his back weeping, clearly exhausted. Vincent, unruffled by the scene in front of him, stood up and walked toward the door. There was a form of poetic justice at work here he thought, since he was about to send more work the way of the harassed Midgar doctors. Just before he left the room, he turned to regard the oozing shell behind him. "You've inconvenienced me, Sullivan" he said. "If that ever happens again, I'll be paying you another visit. And so you don't forget this valuable piece of information, I have something to make sure you remember…"
The third and final bullet fulfilled Vincent's promise of 'creative revenge', sending Elton Sullivan curling into a screaming, pathetic foetal ball.
