Chapter 1

The Turk office was smart, as were all other buildings in the Shinra Headquarters building. Although small, this room held several facilities - six separate desks, a computer, and a fridge as well as a small, solitary sofa in the corner which faced a small television. On one of the desks, an old-fashioned white telephone had been carelessly shoved on top of an amount of paperwork that most would never imagine a Turk would have. Currently, the person who had put the telephone there was shouting into it.

'FIRED!? Are you saying Vince's been fired?'
'Mr Valentine has been dismissed due to incidents regarding an assignment he was given two years ago. I apologise for being unable to disclose any information. Good day.'
'For god's sa-' Dexter was cut short by the flat tone that told him the person on the other side had hung up. He cursed, punching the phone's loudspeaker off, and stood up. He walked to the fridge and allowed himself a can of beer.

Although it was his day off, his two comrades were both out on missions, and the third one, it seemed, had been fired, without any of the other Turks being told why. Johnson is going to be pissed off when I tell him, Dexter thought to himself. Johnson was the current commanding officer of the Turks, and was widely known throughout the Shinra special operations department for his short temper and his rigorously disciplined attitude towards his job. The only emotion the man ever seemed to show was anger, which he showed quite often when some unknowing janitor or unimportant executive caused him inconvenience, or when he was interrupted while working on an assignment; and it was for the latter reason that Dexter didn't even dare calling him. He never drank, smoked or gambled, even during his time off - which he had very little of anyway - and had imposed as a rule that he was only referred to as either "Johnson" or "sir", although, as not even the other Turks knew whether Johnson was his first or last name, nobody had much of a choice.

Dexter secretly hoped that Bryan, his other comrade, would return first and that he would have to tell Johnson about Vincent. Bryan, although a large man, was less formidable than Johnson, and nowhere near as impassive. He was currently out on a mission that involved setting up a bomb at Fort Condor to both put the resistance group at a disadvantage and terrify them. Bryan was good at this sort of thing; he was extremely skilled and knowledgeable on the subject of electronics, mechanics and explosives, and knew a lot about human psychology. Although most of his expertise was not combat-based, he was a very proficient marksman.

None of them, however, had had a shot with any gun like Vincent.

Vincent Valentine had been the youngest member of the Turks, and by far the most unprofessional and immature. He had been hired on account of his skill with a rifle after having saved Dexter from a hijacked battle helicopter by managing to kill its pilot from the ground as it flew above, spraying down a continuous storm of thick bullets from the mounted machinegun onto the surface of the Sector 3 plate. Vincent had then immediately taken Dexter, who had been hit twice in his right arm, to the nearby military infirmary where he had been working as a guard.

Dexter still had the scar from where one of the bullets had hit him in the shoulder, although most of it was obscured by a strikingly feminine tattoo of a rose. Vincent was the reason for this tattoo's existence. Dexter couldn't help laughing to himself as he recalled the memory.

It had been during their February break. While Johnson had opted to spend the day field training, Dexter, Bryan and Vincent had all decided to pay the local bar a visit, and had spent the day listening to Vincent boasting about several accomplishments he had achieved in his past job, each of which grew cornier and harder to believe as he absorbed more alcohol. Then, as Bryan lay asleep as a result of over-drinking, Vincent had proposed a dare to Dexter: they would play a game of old fashioned Midgar-style poker, the loser of which had to get a tattoo of a flower. Dexter, feeling daring in his drunken state, accepted. He lost. Still, it gave him an excuse to give his irritating younger colleague a good kicking the next day, it covered the scar, and, although Dexter didn't like to admit it to even himself, it did look quite stylish.

Dexter looked down at all of the paperwork as the memory faded, and tried to recall the last time they had heard from Vincent. There was that one time... no, that was Bryan, but then... no, that had nothing to do with Vincent... but... ah, screw it. Dexter gave a half-yawn as he got up and was heading towards the filing cabinets when the phone rang again.

'I'll teach that fucking...' He mumbled as he picked up. 'What the fu- Oh, Bryan. Yeah, it should be where I left it. Look, just take the bloody train if it worries you that much. No, Johnson has not returned, and no, the president has not left you a personal message regarding a promotion. Okay, then- no, wait. Bryan...' Dexter lowered his voice as if gossiping about something Johnson in his vicinity. 'When was the last time we heard from Vince?' There was rapid chatter on the other end. 'Wait, slow down. Will it be on file? Let me take this down.' He reached for a pen but misjudged the distance and speed and knocked down the jar and its content onto the carpet. 'Shit, Bryan, hold on a sec.' He dropped off of his chair and reached for a pen when something pink caught his eye. When he looked, there was nothing there. He paused, listening.
'Hello?' Bryan's voice broke the silence and made Dexter jump slightly. He picked up the pen and sat back down.
'Yeah, I'm with you. Okay, details of Vince's last phone call... Yeah... Got that... Shit, Bryan, how can you remember this stuff? Yes... Okay, got it all. What, why do I want to know this? Uh... hold on, the line's going...' Dexter imitated some static interference. 'Listen, I-can't-hear-you... We'll-have-to-discuss-this-later.' He quickly hung up.

How the hell am I going to explain this? He wondered. He hit his palm against the desk, stood up and walked to the computer, looking to his right to admire the pinup girl on the calendar for a moment. He switched it on and sat down, and began to tap his fingers impatiently against the table. Ah, here we are. Dexter looked down at the details Bryan had given him. 'Okay, season H13... Here we are... god damn, this is big.' Dexter spoke aloud as he scrolled down the file containing the text dialogue of Vincent Valentine's last phone call. 'Okay... Nibelheim...' His eyes went down the page. 'Mansion... Experimenting... Gast goes on about some theories... What the fuck is "Jenova"?' He shook his head. 'This is some strange shit. Okay, database, database...' He fiddled with the keyboard and bought the database up. 'J-e-n-o-v-a' Finding nothing, he shook his head and pushed against the desk so his chair wheeled off onto the rug. Shit, I have all this paperwork. No damn time to chase up on fucking science experiments.

The phone rang again.

Shit. Dexter jumped and had to stop himself from punching the phone. He picked up the mouthpiece and cleared his throat.
'Turk office, how may I help you? Oh, good day sir. A letter?' He leaned back and pressed the loudspeaker button and leaned back on his chair. 'Should we have received one?'
'Yes, and our respective employers expected a response today.' Johnson's steel voice emanated clearly from the phone's speaker. 'It's vital.'
'Forgive me for asking, but wouldn't they have phoned?'
'They bloody well did. They called today around nine. They said nobody responded.'
'I've been here all day, and-'
'I've sent co-ordinates. Pick them up on your cell and go there immediately. Important mission. Keep it confidential.'
'Yes, sir.'
Johnson hung up.

Good lord, he sounded pissed off. Dexter reached forward, shuffled through a small pile of papers, and picked out his cell; the Turk communication device. It was a small, hexagonal thing, small enough to fit inside one's suit comfortably and inconspicuously. The cells were used to transmit things like pictures to be analysed, encrypted codes to be translated, recordings to be interpreted and other pieces of mission-related information. They also acted as tracers, allowing the Turk office and their superiors to monitor the location of each Turk officer. For "security reasons", Vincent's cell had been deactivated when he accepted his most recent assignment, the one from which he never returned. Dexter switched on the small device. He quickly found the co-ordinates sent by Johnson.

He read them, looked at the screen questioningly for a few seconds, and read them again. The Turk training programme had taught Dexter how to interpret complex co-ordinates within seconds. These were clear and straightforward, yet the location they referred to was bizarre. Johnson, it seemed, was telling Dexter to go to the Sector 6 mako reactor.

As the suited man closed the office door behind him, something moved. From behind the waste bin, a small moogle raised his head and looked around.

---

A/N: Yay, the first chapter. Sorry this took so long to come out. Yes, you read right, a moogle. Feel free to tell me whether I should start selling signed copies of this (don't get S-E's lawyer's on me, I'm only joking) or be tortured for eternity for writing such a horrible fanfic. In other words, R&R.