Author's Notes: a strange, pointless fic... in other words -- it's rubbish. Look at the rating. Proceed at your own risk. ;)

Climbing up the Stairway to Hell

"Shoot."

No.

I can't. I won't.

Hands trembling. The finger, that should pull the trigger, slips.

"Shoot."

More demanding this time. But I can't. Not like this.

I glance to the side. Tseng still sits in that old armchair, flipping though a magazine he's picked up from the floor. He seems completely uninterested in what I'm doing, but that's just an illusionary impression. He finally looks up.

"Reno," he frowns. "What are you waiting for?"

Papers scattered on the floor. This flat was actually quite nice before we came in and turned it into a mess. A smell of perfume in the air. An expensive one, I guess. Well, I'm not an expert on that.

And there's a gagged woman in front of me, kneeling, with her head hanging low. Nice dress she has. A very sexy one. I can hear her ragged breathing. She's terrified. She would have begged for mercy if only she could, I'm sure of that. I can almost feel her sweat mixing with the sweet odor of her perfume, creating an entirely new scent. It's disgusting.

A shot to the back of her head, that's all.

I pull the trigger.

"Oh, damn, get over it, Reno!" Rude says, sipping his tequila as we sit in some bar about two hours later. "That's the standard test everyone has to go through, and you've just passed it. I would've never thought you were such a sensitive guy--"

"She was pretty," I grin at him. Am I hysterical? …Maybe. "You'd like her. Lots of red hair…"

"Did you saw her breasts?"

"Pervert," I snarl with disgust, turning my head away. "All you can think about is sex."

"Pissed off 'cause you're still a virgin, Reno?"

I groan and try to hit him, but I miss. How come he's still sober, in spite of that tequila? Sometimes, I just hate his comments about sex. Damn, I'm only fifteen. His laughter is so damn annoying. It's not that every fifteen-year-old kid should have lots of chicks on his account.

"My shy, little, puberty boy." Rude continues to tease me, but I don't really care. Not anymore. He's twenty and thinks he can get away with everything. Even with drinking like that. Playing a fucking god and pulling the trigger every time he wants. The almighty Turk. I'm sorry for his miserable ass.

I get up, intending to leave.

"Going back home? Want me to give you a ride?" he inquires, leaning over the table.

"Not really." I shrug my arms. "I have better plans for tonight."

I walk down the street, looking for a girl. Any girl that is hot, young and pretty, and does it for money - not a very rare combination in Midgar.

Maybe tonight I'm gonna do it. Or maybe not. I'm a coward, after all. A damn, pathetic coward who can kill a kneeling woman, but who cannot even sleep with a whore.

A car stops at the end of the street. Two guys get out and walk over to a woman dressed like a bitch, standing in a shadow of a nearby building. Did she hope that they wouldn't notice her? Well, too late. One of the men, the smaller one, yells. I try to listen. What has she done? Betrayed her lower?

Nice girl. I come closer. She looks… twenty-five. Nah, too old.

The smaller one hits her, very hard. Brass knuckles. Her lips explode like red, crushed cherries. The smell of her blood joins the mixture of all Midgarian smells.

She falls to her knees, silently begging for mercy, unable to scream with those massacred lips. She'll be dead before I reach the next crossing. Hands in the pockets of my trenchcoat, I walk away.

Damn. Those glassy, empty eyes reminded me of something. Have they already found her body? Or is she still lying there, in her flat, with a single bullet stuck in her brain? We didn't even take the shell. A warning, Tseng said. The Turks are involved.

A drunken man pukes only a few meters in front of me. Ah, Midgar. Home sweet home.

Just you wait, I recall Tseng's words. A few years and you'll be a Turk. And then you'll experience luxuries you've never dreamt of. You'll move out from here. What if I don't really want to move out...?

Tseng, I smirk, absently kicking some can. The perfect one. A paragon of etiquette. Never cursing. Never smoking or drinking. Says I should follow his example. I try. Will I ever reach his level?

Nah. I seriously doubt it.

I wonder why they keep searching for boys like me, with no education and no social qualities. They told me I have this particular 'gift'. Everyone can make it into SOLDIER, they said. But you have to be really smart in order to become a Turk.

Fuck, I don't feel particularly intelligent. Especially right now.

Of course, I know how to behave. How to tie a bow. How to tie up a man. But I'd rather expect your average upper-plate guy to do this kind of job. Rude's one of them. Tseng is.

Because it's not all about killing.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, a huge advantage of being a paid assassin is that you actually have lots of freedom. You can live wherever you want, date anyone you want, drink whenever you want. And you have money for everything. A bunch of snobbish individuals, that's what the Turks are. Spoilt bastards.

I'm not one of them. Not yet. But I will be.

I lick my lips in anticipation.

Author's Notes: I used to like Reno once -- in fact, I still do. It's the red hair, I guess, that does the trick… well, that and his attitude.

Comments? Well, I don't expect any. Then again, if you feel like giving me a heart attack… review. I'll die on the spot, that's for sure. ;) And yeah, flames are okay with me. I have no delusions about the quality of this fic.