To say that Vincent mellowed over the next few months wouldn't be entirely accurate. Although the introduction of the petite scientist into his life had indeed seemed to open up a whole new side to the leader of the Turks, on duty he seemed to have become even more ruthless than ever.

This may of course have had something to do with an incident once again involving the unfortunate Elton Sullivan. Having been content to lay low after his last run-in with the Turks, eventually he had recuperated enough to decide that he wanted a taste of revenge and that the man who'd inflicted a large amount of physical harm to his person was the target.

He hired a succession of hit men to try and eliminate the Turk, all of whom failed. Only one ever made it back to Sullivan's office alive enough to give a report, and even then he'd only managed to get halfway through before expiring in a messy heap on the floor.

Sullivan made his next major mistake with his fourth (and it turned out to be final) effort, when he employed a man who just happened to be firmly in Vincent's pocket. The Turk underground network was extensive, far greater than was generally accepted, so a simple game of numbers meant it was only a matter of time before Sullivan made contact with one of them. Upon receiving his assignment, the man had pocketed the money and come running to Shinra, knowing full well which side of the fence he preferred to be on.

For his part, Vincent was used to attempts on his life. Ever since he'd joined the group, it had been an accepted risk, though more so for the man in command. Turks simply didn't die peacefully in their beds (there was an incident where one had died in someone elses, but they refused to talk about that). By staying alert, honing his senses and varying his routines, he'd made it as difficult as humanly possible for a would-be killer to predict his movements and finish him off. There had been a few close calls over the years and he'd got the scars to show for the near-misses, but so far he'd outwitted every potential assassin sent after him.

Normally he remained relatively unconcerned with the attacks, but he'd noticed the sudden spate of interest in his untimely demise, and decided to root out what was going on. It was possible that all the hit men were working for different people, but his professional logic highly doubted it. Evidently someone wanted him dead. More than usual, anyway. He had just started to put out feelers when knife-for-hire Korey Laine made contact and divulged the perpetrator, effectively solving the mystery in one fell swoop.

From that moment on, Elton Sullivan was a marked man.

Resisting the urge to act on impulse and simply shoot the man on the spot, Vincent decided that he was going to have to put a stop to this once and for all. Continuing his own schedule uninterrupted so as to avoid suspicion, he sent a newly recovered Deacon out on surveillance, to study the movements and habits of the target. Arrogantly self-assured, the double dealing businessman took few precautions with regard to his personal information, certainly nothing that a well trained Turk couldn't circumnavigate.

He had acquired a small squad of bouncers to ensure his own safety, hurriedly employed after his last brush with Vincent. A little careful probing by Deacon revealed their identities, and he was confident that whilst they had all the look of professionals, they were in fact of minimal worry. Still, they were another factor to take into account.

A week after starting his new campaign, Vincent found the opening he was looking for. His own grasses had also been set to work furtively hunting for information, and one of them came up trumps. Sullivan had organised a get-together for himself and his business partners in two days time, the perfect opportunity for a little lesson in manners.

oOo

"I'd like to see Mr Sullivan, please."

The building's receptionist glanced up from her paperwork at the tall businessman standing in front of the desk. "Do you have an appointment?" she enquired, in clipped tones.

"No."

She gave a small sigh. "Then I'm afraid Mr Sullivan won't be able to see you. He doesn't see anyone without an appointment. Good day."

Her gaze returned firmly to her work, effectively dismissing the new arrival. She carried on for a few minutes before she noticed that the man was still standing at the desk, and hadn't moved so much as a muscle. This time her sigh was louder, more irritable. "I said that Mr Sullivan won't see you unless you have an appointment" she reiterated. "I can make one for you, but it would be for sometime next week." Leaning over to one side, the woman pulled out a folder and opened it.

The man shook his head slightly as she flicked through the pages. "I don't want an appointment" he said calmly, "I want to see Mr Sullivan. Now please." He looked around quickly, taking in the entrance hall. This late in the evening, most of the employees had gone home, and the reception was deserted save for the woman behind the desk and himself.

Running a well manicured finger down a page in the file, the receptionist tapped at a free space. "I can fit you in at 3pm next Friday" she said, pointedly ignoring his repeated request. "There's nothing earlier than that, he's a very busy man." Picking up a pen, her hand hovered over the gap in the calendar. "I'll pencil you in shall I, Mr…?"

"Valentine. Vincent Valentine."

The strange feeling of cold metal pressed against her forehead made her look upwards, and the sickening sound of a safety catch being released confirmed her worst fears.

Vincent coolly regarded her, staring down the barrel of his revolver. "They say third time's the charm" he said flatly. "Do I have to ask again?"

The woman shook her head. It was now beginning to sink in that the businessman in front of her wasn't quite what she expected. The name clinched it, if nothing else. There couldn't be two Vincent Valentine's in the world, certainly there was only one that would hold you at gunpoint over not having made an appointment.

"Good. Now, where can I find Sullivan?"

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his implacable stare. "Up… Up on the fifth floor… His office" she stammered. "He's in an… important meeting…"

None of this was new information to the leader of the Turks. "I know" he stated. "My invitation got lost in the post." He almost twitched a smile at that, but the humour was evidently lost on the receptionist, who by now was a rather fetching shade of green. "Now go home. I don't think Sullivan will be in a position to object to your having the night off."

He inclined his head in the direction of the door, though the gun remained firmly in place. Swallowing nervously, the receptionist plucked her handbag from the desk and backed out from behind it. All the time keeping an eye on the weapon that followed her every move. Scurrying the last few metres, she flew out the door, which closed with a bang.

As soon as she was outside, Vincent exchanged the gun in his hand for a PHS and quickly dialled whilst walking towards the lift. "Deacon?" he said briskly. "There's a young lady leaving the building, make sure she doesn't try anything stupid like running to the police, will you? Then follow me up to the fifth." He didn't bother to wait for a reply. As the lift arrived, he pushed the button and stepped inside. Checking the time, he figured that Preston and Linden should both be in position by now, ready and waiting. Deacon would be ten minutes or so once he'd dealt with the girl… He called a second number on the PHS, and was rewarded almost instantly by Linden on the other end.

"Boss?"

"He's in his office on the fifth" said Vincent brusquely. "I'm on my way there now. Deacon is taking care of a young lady."

The disappointment was evident in the junior Turk's tone. "Awww, how come he gets the cushy numbers and I'm sitting on a roof in the cold?"

"Next time" promised Vincent. "Now I want you and Preston stationed outside, ready for my signal."

"Will do."

A ping announced that the lift reached its destination, and the doors swooshed open smoothly. Vincent pocketed the PHS and emerged into a panelled corridor, not completely dissimilar to those inside the Shinra building.

This being his second visit, he knew where he was going. Sullivan had obviously decided to have his meeting in the same room that Vincent had found him in last time, which made things easier for the Turk all round.

It was a large building, and it took him a few minutes to reach the office. He paid no attention to the surveillance cameras that monitored his movements. Deacon's technological skills had ensured that the security officers would be watching endless reruns of blank corridors for the next few hours. Vincent had also instructed his colleague to disconnect the internal alarms, so there would be no alerting the authorities during the course of the evening. Nonetheless, he was on guard, and made not a sound as he stalked through the corporate corridors.

He soon arrived at a corner near to the office. If the Turks intelligence reports were anything to go by, then there would be two guards posted outside the main entrance to Sullivan's office, new additions since Vincent's first visit. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a second gun, this one pre-prepared with a silencer attached. Edging up to the corner, he listened out for the telltale sounds of guards. Sure enough, after a short while, one coughed, and the other muttered something under his breath.

Using the sounds to gauge their relative positions, he paused for a moment to collect himself. Through the thin black gloves that he wore, he could feel the cold, hard presence of his gun, perfectly moulded to fit his hand. So perfect, that when he walked round the corner and levelled the weapon at the first guard's head it wasn't a gun at all, merely an extension of his arm. His finger had squeezed the trigger twice before the two dumbstruck men had a chance to fumble their own weapons.

A few more strides took him up to the large mahogany door. Delicately he stepped over the bodies of the two goons, each of whom had a virtually identical, bullet shaped hole in their foreheads. This time his lips did curve into a slight smile. Most gunmen went straight for the heart, but he shunned the idea. Too messy that way, and if you missed the precise spot (not that he ever did), then your target was still left alive. A bullet to the brain however, was almost instantly fatal.

He deftly removed the silencer from the gun barrel and replaced it in his jacket pocket. Reaching inside, he drew out the gun's twin from its holster round his chest and checked it, all the while keeping an ear out for any signs that the people inside the office had heard the disturbance. None. So far the heavy wooden door had effectively muffled any noise the guards had made on their final descent to the floor.

Satisfied that all was going according to plan, he put phase two into action. There were times when a Turk needed to be stealthy, needed to remain hidden and concealed.

This was not one of those times.

oOo

The building that housed Elton Sullivan's small empire was reasonably new. It was also situated in a busy district, with plenty of smaller outbuildings all packed closely together. It was from a vantage point on one of these, that Preston and Linden watched as their superior made his entrance.

They had been watching proceedings in the office for a while. A quick head count showed six people inside. Sullivan himself had naturally taken the plush seat behind his desk and even put his feet up on it, while the subordinates were scattered round the room in various chairs. Closer inspection showed that at least two of these henchmen were also wanted by the Turks for assorted reasons. Double payday, as Linden remarked.

Inside, conversation appeared to be getting a little heated. Thanks to a specially installed wiretap (courtesy of Deacon disguised as an electrician), the pair were able to listen in to the discussion. It appeared that all was not well inside the Sullivan camp. One of the subordinates, identified by Preston as one Nikos Oakley, was clearly unhappy, indicating that he wanted more money for doing whatever his hazardous job might be. He was in the middle of a particularly vicious harangue when the twin doors burst open, revealing none other than the leader of the Turks. No-one could loom quite like Vincent, and he made full use of the ability, simply standing in the doorway, guns in hand, staring at the occupants of the room, each of whom were frozen in place with shock at the sight of the Turk and the two dead bodies behind him.

"What the hell is he doing?" muttered Linden, as Vincent stood there being intimidating. "I thought we normally went for a more subtle approach?" Preston cracked a smile in response.

"He's enjoying himself" the Turk replied knowingly. "In spite of all he's moaned about having to do this, he's actually enjoying it."

Framed in the doorway, Vincent was certainly an imposing sight. He stepped forward a few paces before coming to a halt, looking round and meeting the gaze of every other man in the room. A loud slam echoed round the now silent office, as he kicked the doors shut behind him. Sullivan visibly jumped at the noise.

"I think you forgot to invite me." Vincent sauntered into the centre of the room, never taking his eyes off the man behind the desk. The object of his attention remained dumbstruck. His mouth opened as if to speak but no words were forthcoming. The Turk came to stand directly in front of the table and regarded the seated man with distaste. "Get your feet off that desk" he ordered brusquely, "you're not a complete animal." Sullivan hurriedly complied. "And straighten your tie for Shiva's sake, it's a bloody mess."

The businessman's hand was already halfway to the offending article of clothing before his stubborn streak kicked in and he left the tie as it was. Alright, so he might have probably the most dangerous man in the world standing before him, but that man was outnumbered six to one. A little of his arrogant confidence returned.

"What do you want?" he huffed, sure that the odds were tipped in his favour.

Linden shook his head in disbelief as Vincent lazily raised one his firearms and expertly shot Elton Sullivan through the foot. His leader was alone in the room with six men, all of whom were more than likely heavily armed. There was no way that Vincent should even be alive at this point, let alone still standing, but none of the other men had moved. "How does he do it?" he asked his companion softly. "If any of us tried that, we'd be stone cold on the floor already."

Seeing Sullivan recoil in agony and the five other men still refusing to budge, Preston could only agree. Their leader had an undeniable flair for the dramatic, however much he usually hid it behind an unemotional exterior. The older Turk had seen Vincent in action too many times to count now, and reasoned that the unpredictability of these flamboyant episodes was one of the reasons they worked so effectively. The leader was known to be cool, calm and lethally efficient, so when he started acting differently it threw people off their guard.

Whatever the logic behind his actions, Vincent was to intents and purposes, enjoying himself. Having given Sullivan a limp for whatever remained of his life, he turned his attention to other extremities of the now cowering businessman.

"I assume you know why I'm here" he said, chatting almost amiably. "You've done something very stupid, haven't you?" Sullivan nodded rapidly, then changed his mind, in a vain attempt to play innocent. He cowered down in his chair, and noticed to his palpable relief that three of his henchmen had got over their initial apprehension and were co-ordinating some kind of rescue attempt behind his attacker's back. The trio were subtly moving into a new position, ready to ambush the towering Turk, hands inching towards concealed weapons.

Preston and Linden observed this development with growing concern. "Do you think he knows?" whispered Linden urgently. "If we move now…"

"He hasn't given the signal" answered Preston, though his face was drawn into a grimace. "We can't move without compromising his position. But if they get any closer…" His frown deepened. "Get ready."

Inside, Vincent was still lecturing Sullivan on the wrongness of his actions. "For a start, you tried to kill me in my own apartment! I mean, how stupid do you think I am? Everyone tries there! And your shoddy hire traipsed mud all over my carpet, which I was not at all happy about…"

The businessman held up his hands to stop the tirade. By now, the henchmen had manoeuvred themselves into a favourable position, and the Turk hadn't noticed. Six men could easily overpower one, even if one of the six had an oozing hole in his foot. Sullivan felt the ball was now firmly in his court. "Just hold it there" he said, hoping to keep Vincent distracted long enough for the men to make their move. "I admit I might have been a little over enthusiastic…"

"You tried to kill me."

"Forgive and forget, that's what I say…"

"Four times."

"But don't you think we could work something out here?" His eyes flickered momentarily to the five men grouped behind the Turk. Just a few seconds longer… He tried to draw himself up in his chair. "I mean, we wouldn't want anything to happen to that lovely young lady of yours, would we?"

Of all the things he could have said, that was the only thing that could have possibly made his situation worse. Vincent had already realised long ago that any woman he became associated with was in danger, simply because of who he was. Therefore he tried to keep any such relationships as quiet as possible. He'd rather vainly hoped that Lucrecia would be spared this, but it was inevitable that the seedier elements of Midgar would find out eventually. To hear the threat coming from a lowlife Elton Sullivan however, was the last straw as far as he was concerned.

From their perch outside, Linden and Preston also caught the thinly veiled threat, and exchanged knowing glances. "Well, that's torn it" commented Preston. "Come on, let's move. We're going to have a lot of clearing up to do."

Vincent betrayed no outward display of his seething rage for a couple of seconds, just long enough to make Sullivan think he had him over a barrel, and just as the five lurking henchmen sprang into action.

Contrary to all appearances, Vincent was well aware that they were creeping up on him. Aside from the fact that they had been making an absolute racket to his well trained ears, Sullivan had given the game away numerous times, they way his gaze had kept darting back and forth. All hell broke loose.

As the first man leapt, the leader of the Turks turned on his heel and met him with a devastating fist to the face, knocking him to one side. Combined with the weight of the gun still firmly in his hand, the man staggered back, dazed. Simultaneously, Vincent lashed out with his left foot, catching a second man dead in the stomach.

Loping across the roof, the two backup Turks were in full view of anyone inside the office, though at this point, none of the occupants were in any position to notice, save one, and he was on their side. Having taken care of the initial attack, they saw their leader tackle the rest, only not quite as humanely as he had the first time. Vincent now employed his guns, using them with a deadly accuracy and precision. Drawing their own weapons, Linden and Preston laid down some covering fire as they moved. One Turk was bad enough for the men inside, but coping with another two - and from a different direction – was more than they could handle. Sullivan was forced to watch as his henchmen were reduced to swiss cheese right before his eyes, and all in a matter of seconds. The last man fell, just as the slimy businessman fell off his chair and lurched towards the now shattered window. He managed to haul himself up the frame, only to be faced by the smiling visages of Linden and Preston.

Spinning back, he noticed that Vincent had demolished any form of support Sullivan might have enjoyed, and was even now advancing towards him, a grim expression on his face. Caught, between a rock and a hard place.

"Congratulations" said a stony faced Vincent, all traces of his earlier, more eccentric behaviour completely erased. "I now despise you on more levels than I thought possible." He deftly spun the twin revolvers in his hands and replaced them in their holsters with one fluid movement. Linden rolled his eyes and murmured "show off" - it seemed that not quite all the eccentricities had been buried.

The Turk pulled another gun out from its position on his hip. The Quicksilver was a beautifully crafted silver weapon, handmade to his exact specifications. The only one of its kind in existence, it took also specially made bullets; when this gun was fired, there was no doubt as to who had done it.

"I thought you might have learned your lesson. It seems I was wrong." The gun pointed at Sullivan's forehead. "I don't give second chances."

Elton Sullivan's last mortal words were drowned out by the sound of three shots. The underworld leader toppled backwards, as the unique bullets tore through his body.

As his corpse slumped to the ground, Preston and Linden climbed through the window and into the room, edging round the pile of bodies. For the second time in ten minutes, the main doors burst open to reveal a Turk, this time a hard breathing Deacon.

"Lift… broke" he offered by way of explanation. He suddenly seemed to take in the surroundings, in particular the lifeless form of their main target, precise wounds in the head, neck and heart.

"You're a little late" said Vincent simply, returning his prized weapon to its holder and walking towards him.

Deacon raised an eyebrow. "I can see that" he answered. "What the hell happened?"

"Dumbass threatened the boss's girlfriend" Linden supplied helpfully. "Bet your bottom gil he won't be doing that again in a hurry." He too looked round at the carnage. "You want us to sort this out?" he asked.

Vincent paused for a moment. "No" he decided eventually. "Leave it. I want people to know what's coming if they piss me off anymore." With that he made his exit, every bit as theatrical as his entrance.

The three junior Turks watched him go. No matter how many times they saw Vincent at work, he never ceased to amaze them. Linden summed up their collective feelings as best as he could.

"Bloody drama queen."