Chapter 1

In the car in front, a man with reflective sunglasses stared out of the tinted window to his left. If a passer-by were to hazard a guess at his age, they would most likely place him in his early thirties. His short brown hair was cut into a fashionable crop and an idle smile played across his lips as he absent-mindedly fiddled with his tie. Combined with the immaculately tailored navy suit he wore, the man looked every inch the successful businessman.

Linden Nelson however, was anything but.

A keen eye might spot the clear, almost invisible headpiece that was nestled inside his left ear, or the microphone pinned to his lapel. An even closer look would reveal that the dark suit covered a multitude of sins, such as a slight rippling where the material flowed over a 9mm handgun in a chest holster, or the two small but powerful grenades strapped to his hip that his jacket didn't quite cover.

Linden Nelson was a Turk.

Just the word 'Turk' was enough to send anyone still in possession of their mental faculties running for cover. Those brave or foolish enough not to take cover probably wouldn't have many faculties remaining to them soon, be they mental or otherwise.

Shinra Electric had a large company of foot soldiers, a general force used for keeping the peace and police work, but most notably there was SOLDIER - a highly trained army graded on three levels, where the best fighters were nurtured. SOLDIER had been a vital part in the company's gradual domination of the world, and where there was fighting to be done, they did it. But what about the other jobs that needed to be done? The not so pleasant ones like surveillance, security, investigation... Assassination?

The current President's father had quickly come to the conclusion that there were some things SOLDIER couldn't do. So he formed the Turks. Put simply, they were the best. The most elite men he could find; skilled, quick-thinking, strong and above all, loyal. Men who wouldn't shirk from going into hostage situations. Who would throw themselves in the line of fire if the Presidents' life was in danger. Men who could kill without question.

When asked, most youngsters dreamed of being a SOLDIER. Rare was the child who wanted to become a Turk.

"Charlie three, this is Charlie two. All clear?" Linden spoke softly into the transmitter attached to his jacket. There was no need to raise his voice, Turks were always equipped with the most up-to-date gadgets and gizmos available and this device was the very latest technology available, straight from the Shinra labs (Linden had always silently maintained the opinion that it was purely because if something went wrong with an operation, the President could blame a man not a machine, and punish him accordingly).

In the rear vehicle, another blue suited man was watching the first of the three cars round a bend in the Midgar street when the message came through. Serving in the Turks for a year and a half now, Deacon Jeffers was the most recent addition to the team, recruited when an older member met with an unfortunate accident. That was generally the way it went; Turks didn't have much of a retirement package since none ever lived that long. Osborn's' end came at the hands of a particularly odious man named Mak Xu, and with his demise a vacancy had opened up for a replacement. Deacon had been the man for the job, and he soon forged a close comradeship with Linden. The two men worked well together, complementing each others' abilities.

Lindens' earpiece fizzed into life with a short, sharp hiss of static before his partner's reply filtered through. "Charlie three confirmed, Charlie two" replied Deacons' voice.

"Fantastic" grinned Linden. "So can we drop all this Charlie shit now?"

The 'Charlie' identification system was designed by the leader of the Turks to fool anyone who might have gained access to their radio frequencies. Instead of calling objects, places and people by their normal names, they were given references instead. In this case, the Presidential car was coded Charlie one and the two escorts Charlie two and three respectively. However, Lindens rebellious nature still bucked against the idea, as ironically it made them sound like (in his own words) "a right lot of Charlies".

"No." A commanding third voice crackled over the airwaves. "Rules exist for a reason, Charlie two." There was a most definite emphasis on those last two words, which didn't go un-noticed by the listeners and effectively silenced any complaints.

The single man capable of having such a drastic effect on the two Turks was their leader, Vincent Valentine. A tall, wiry man, easily topping the six foot mark, his was a formidable presence, even for one of their notorious group. He was also surprisingly young to hold such an auspicious rank; at just past twenty five years of age, only Linden was younger, and that was only by a few months.

Vincent sat in the back of the middle car, next to the President. The front passenger seat was occupied by the fourth and final Turk Preston Drake, whilst the driver was handpicked from the SOLDIER contingent. As far as Shinra's personal security was concerned, the buck stopped with Vincent. No matter who took on the role of bodyguard, if anything untoward should happen, it was the leader who would suffer the consequences. Whenever possible, Vincent took the charge upon himself.

A Presidential trip like this one had to be planned in meticulous detail. Shinra had ridden roughshod over a lot of people to make himself the global power he was today, and that meant he'd also left a lot of enemies behind him. Enemies who wouldn't be too unhappy to see a bullet put through his eyes. It was the Turks (and therefore Vincent's) job to ensure that never happened.

As the cavalcade neared an intersection, the first car pulled off to block the oncoming traffic. The two trailing vehicles continued on their way and once past, the rear car smoothly overtook the Presidential carrier to take the lead. Satisfied that any potential incidents had been avoided, the third car moved away from its station as a roadblock and took up position at the back.

He may not have particularly liked the man, but Vincent took his job of protecting the President very seriously indeed.

He perched an elbow on the miniscule window edge and rested his chin in the palm of his hand to look at the scenery whizzing past. Unfortunately, the movement meant that one of his perfectly polished revolvers now dug into his side, and he shifted again. Usually he preferred to wear his guns in hip holsters for a faster draw, but sitting in the car neccessitated strapping them to his chest. Experience had taught that it was more difficult to draw a pistol whilst seated, and he now insisted on the practice for all the Turks. In addition to those, each man was equipped with a variety of weaponry to cover all circumstances.

In all honesty, Vincent had to admit that hardly anyone would be stupid enough to try and attack the Presidential cars, but he also had no doubt that there were plenty of stupid people in the world he just hadn't got round to killing yet.