Chapter 1

Reno sauntered down the Midgar street, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he hadn't a care. This was a lie of course, but he would never let on. His footsteps rang dully on the grey pavement beneath him, and he padded down the cracked sidewalks with an absent set to his features. He blended in well with his surroundings - tall dark buildings and colorless pavement. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a dark navy blue jacket. The jacket was an odd, almost formal addition, but Reno had never cared what anyone else thought. And he was very fond of that jacket.

His shocking red hair hadn't changed any in the two years that had passed since Meteor's destruction, unruly and lazily tied back in something that could be loosely be called a ponytail. Cool blue eyes still watched the world with humour. Despite his outward appearance, however, Reno had changed a lot.

A lot could happen in two years, and Reno had seen both the best and the worst of it. Even after everything he could still look back and laugh, albeit somewhat bitterly.

After their defeat at the hands of AVALANCHE, the Turks had regrouped in Sector 3, under the plate. They had needed time to think, and to figure out what the world would hold for a group like them after everything that had happened. Reno could remember vividly the dark, grungy, metallic place called an inn where they'd lain low. It had been clear from the start that the Turks were obsolete. But just for a little while they'd tried to hold on, tried to keep it together… But reality can only be held at bay for so long. Rude had friends, and Elena had a family and a place to stay until they found work. Reno had none of the above. Elena had asked both of them to come with her, of course, but only Rude had agreed.

Reno had his people too; they just happened to be the ones he either never wanted to see again or knew he never would. It didn't bother him. If anything really mattered it lived in his memory, and it was better that way. He had no need for an empty past clinging to him until it dragged him back down with it. No, never. After everything that had happened, he'd been left with only the clothes on his back and his last pay check.

He'd told Elena and Rude that he had friends in the area, watched as they'd gotten on to the last train out of the city, and then headed over to the nearest bar for some serious drinking. Life hadn't been kind to him in the past few months. That wasn't to say that he was out in the cold, though; quite the opposite in fact.

There was plenty of work around Midgar, especially for someone with his talents and background. If you wanted a professional, there was no one with better credentials than him. Besides, the pay was very good. He took odd jobs as a bodyguard or, in special cases, a hired assassin. Reno was very, very good at what he did and there would always be people with money who wanted to hire only the best. Thanks to word of mouth, and occasionally a bullet-to-head, he now lived in a spacious apartment that boasted everything an ex-Turk could think to ask for. Everything he had he'd earned from scratch, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Reno had no illusions about his own place in the world, and he knew that his hands were already bloodier than he'd ever be able to make amends for, even if he tried. Why stop now? It wasn't like there was any place to go, except perhaps back down. Reno had been down in the black hellhole before, and he would be damned if he was going back to that place. His life was a comfortable, numb monotony and he was only half conscious that there was any other way to be.

As his feet moved almost by themselves, Reno found himself almost unconsciously slipping back into the rhythm he'd practically become during his long years as a Turk. Silent, seemingly harmless, but entirely focused and deadly. It just sort of… brought him back. Elena and Rude had promised that they'd get together again, that once their lives were more settled they'd come back for him. But Reno was no fool. No one would come back to these memories if they didn't have to. Himself? He got by by drinking until he couldn't remember his own name.

As an acknowledged and completely unrepentant alcoholic, Reno didn't bother to waste any breath trying to pretend otherwise. He'd been told it would kill him one of these days, but knowing the city he'd decided that that was probably the least of his worries. Every night after he returned home from a job he'd pull out a bottle of whatever happened to be on hand and drink until he no longer felt anything. Pain came freely enough, but it was a hell of a lot harder to get rid of.

Midgar itself had changed a lot in the last two years. You only had to look around you to see that it was true. Meteor had crushed the central part of the city and most of the upper plate into jagged, twisted, unrecognizable spikes of steel and debris. It hadn't been long before the Rebuilding had started, led by Reeve, but personally Reno didn't know why they bothered. All they had succeeded in doing was creating a new piece of hell to replace the one they'd lost. It was cleaner now, sure, and superficially you would almost swear that it looked like a nice, wholesome place to live. But once you hit the poorer areas, the new slums, you only had to pull back the curtain to see that it was just as bad, if not worse than ever. More cutthroat, more desperate, more dangerous.

Led by AVALANCHE, the people had banded together to tear down the old Mako reactors to make way for Jiyuu Co.'s new factories. Reno hadn't cared enough to find out how they worked, though he was aware that the information was available to the public. When Reeve had made that announcement, the public that had been afraid of a new Shinra had cheered the whole damn night away. This was supposed to be a new 'safe and efficient' alternative to Mako. Or so he'd been told. He was rather bitter about the whole thing. Everyone was such a damned hypocrite that it made Reno want to pound his head against the nearest wall.

The streets, cobbled in some of the older parts, were beginning to look black in the fading light. Reno remembered the first sunset in Midgar after all of it. It had rained earlier, and when the sun had dipped over the horizon color had spread until the roads themselves were on fire with it. People had called them streets of rainbow; a good omen. That night even Reno had dared to hope. It seemed so fucking long ago now. Now, the buildings rose oppressively around him as he came to the last corner before his own apartment. Shadows played across his face, with its high cheekbones and twin scars, and the evening breeze ruffled his hair. All in all it was a pleasant enough evening, though far too damp and grey for Reno's taste.

Reno thought about a lot of things in his spare time. There wasn't a lot to do when he wasn't working or passed out on his sofa, so he tried to always be doing one or the other. People in the higher districts who recognized him were afraid, and everyone down here either cringed when he walked in or they snickered.

More than anything he wanted to get out of this contemptible city, but that seemed just another pipe dream. This was where he belonged – a city that was so much like him that it was downright sickening. There was no one waiting to save him, and he wasn't going to delude himself into thinking he'd ever earned such a thing. Still, sometimes he liked to think, or maybe to dream. Maybe… maybe one day he'd take a trip up to visit Rude. Or maybe not.

Slowly but surely, the noise began to intrude on him. Midgar was a place where the constant toil and the sounds of daily life were a dull smog in the background. You either learned how to tune it all out or you went insane. This, however, was different. People were shouting to one another and as Reno rounded the corner he could see a large crowd gathered. He was unsurprised to see the usual rabble there, but to his slight astonishment a few of the more 'respectable' stood muttering to themselves as well. Something was really wrong here. Reno swore. That was his building.

The people, all of them dark and grey themselves in the last dregs of light, were bunched around something or someone. They were trying to help from the looks of it, some of them at least, although he quickly surmised they were probably making whatever it was worse. An occasional young child could be seen running back and forth, ferrying in supplies for whatever was in motion.

For some reason, a shiver ran down Reno's neck. The night suddenly felt a lot colder. For a reason he could not place, he felt a sudden and acute sense of dread in that crowd. He knew this situation, had seen it too many times before, and he knew these people. And yet, something felt profoundly wrong here. He broke into a jog, though his face remained carefully impassive. Stoicism was a Turk trademark after all; in his case it was a paradox that Reno found laughable. Hurrying up to the throng, he casually shouldered people aside in an attempt to get a look at what was happening. He pushed a large man aside as he came to the front, quickly reassuring himself that whatever it was it couldn't concern him. Nothing concerned him, after all.

As he looked down though, he froze. For a second he just stopped and stared.

Shaking it off quickly, he side-stepped past a middle-aged woman to the center of the swarm. A young man, no more than sixteen or seventeen, lay sprawled on the pavement, clutching his side with his last, desperate strength. Someone had tried half-heartedly to apply a bandage but the blood had soaked right through. Reno swore and knelt by the boy's head. He clenched his jaw, his face pale.

"Merdan?" He shook the young man's arm in an attempt to get a response. "Merdan! Fuck, kid, come on!"

The boy, as if recognizing the voice or perhaps the name, opened his eyes with a grimace of pain.

"… Reno?"

Reno looked up at the assembled faces, his own grim.

"What happened here?"

A man nearby looked worriedly on. Reno's tone left no room for anything else. He was afraid to speak, but from the look in Reno's narrowed eyes, keeping quiet might prove even more dangerous. He decided to proceed with caution.

"We don't really know, um, sir, you see about ten minutes ago we hears this almighty bang, and we runs over here, you see?"

Reno gave the man an icy glance before turning back to his wounded friend. The young man was lying literally in his own gore, the color of the shirt he'd been wearing lost to an indistinguishable dark red. He'd been shot, and the bullet had gone right through his ribs.

Swearing with no regard for anyone else, Reno carefully raised the boy before looping one arm around his shoulders and slowly lifting him up. Standing cautiously, he pulled the boy to his feet and stopped short only of actually pulling him over his shoulder. Half carrying the young man, he forced his way bodily through the people and up to his apartment while ignoring the stares he felt boring into his back. No one moved to help him, but then again he hadn't expected them to. He smiled cynically.

Reno fumbled with his key before managing to fit it into the lock. It turned easily enough once he got that far. With a sharp kick the door swung open, and Reno helped Merdan inside before closing it again decisively. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the mostly closed windows. He knew where the light switch was of course, he was a Turk, and rule number two was to always know your surroundings. But for now, he was too concerned with the boy he held to worry about anything else. Manoeuvring over towards a chair nearby, Reno carefully levered Merdan down regardless of the thick, dark red blood already staining his hands. Turning sharply, he moved quickly towards the kitchen. He was gone for only a moment, returning hurriedly with some heavy-duty bandages, wire for stitches and rubbing alcohol. He then crouched down in front of the boy and frowned.

"What the hell happened?" Reno asked as his hands flitted through his medical supplies, choosing what looked appropriate. He wasted no time in getting to the point; there was no time to waste.

The boy coughed weakly, blood coming to his lips. The bullet had obviously pierced his lungs.

"I was… wai- waiting for you." He gasped for air. Reno frowned.

"M-message for you… a message…" He sagged down further into the chair, but Reno's hand shot forward and grabbed his arm.

"Come on kid, you can't go out on me like this. What message?"

Merdan was a young kid whose real age Reno had never actually found out. Before Meteor and before Shinra's ruin he had been a wannabe who had spent all his spare time running errands for the Turks. It was painfully obvious that he didn't have what it took to make the cut, but that didn't stop him from trying. He'd even become a friend of sorts, or at least as much of a friend as an outsider and a Turk could be. All of them had looked out for him. For the past six months or so, he had been dropping in occasionally to see Reno, sometimes with messages from the other Turks. Reno had allowed himself the luxury of becoming rather fond of him.

Ex-Turks, Reno corrected himself. He still thought of them as a group. He waited for the boy to collect his strength again.

"Big trouble… down – Rude said… but he's gone."

Reno gritted his teeth.

"What are you saying? Come on, try." Merdan was slipping away, and the practical part of Reno, the part he called Turk, was taking over. There was no time to try to help the kid; it was too late anyway. Any information he had was needed now. The boy's eyes were dulling and his voice fading.

"Rude and Elena are- gone. Taken." Reno stared at the boy in incomprehension.

"Where? What's happened?"

"Gone… Taken." Merdan whispered, trailing off, his head falling to the side as he drew a wracking, shuddering breath. "To… Mideel." His body, stiffened with pain, slowly relaxed. Reno let go of his arm finally, and he slid down in the chair, his eyes now blank and lifeless. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

Reno stared at the dead boy.

He knelt there for a long time, staring at first at Merdan until his eyes blurred beyond vision. As darkness enveloped the apartment, still unmoving from his spot, Reno wiped his eyes angrily. Everything about him was tense, as though ready to uncoil at any second. Nails dug into his palm.

Finally, Reno stood and walked through the dark corridor towards his kitchen. He had just watched a friend die, and part of him wanted to scream. The other part, however, knew that it would do no good. He cursed himself for doing this every time. You couldn't depend on anyone because the second you did they'd drop dead on you, often because of you.

Reno rummaged through a large oak cabinet before heading over to a small desk near the bedroom surmounted with a mirror. In his left hand he held a bottle of cheap wine. Taking a drink, he stared into the mirror as though he could actually see something in the darkness. Opening the desk drawer he drew out a small, black gun. A deft flip of his hand revealed an extra cartridge, which he expertly loaded before snapping the barrel shut once more. He continued to stare into the mirror with empty eyes.

His hand shaking a little, he brought the bottle to his lips and took another long drink. The corpse in his living room demanded justice that only a Turk could give. But before that, Reno knew that he would go through at least this bottle of wine.