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Furious Angels
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Chapter 4
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Blank.
Dead eyes were always blank. Filled with pain, maybe. Sadness. Usually, if it was a job done by the Turks, fear. But it was blank pain. Blank sadness. Unfocused fear.
Dead eyes were always blank.
But then, so were his. Or that was what Rude was shooting for, anyway.
She'd never seen him coming. But then, that had been part of the mission. Find the scientist selling ShinRa's secrets, get her alone, dispose of her. ShinRa didn't care. Short, long, easy, torture. Whatever means necessary.
A single shot through the temple had been all that was required.
Rude had always hated a mess.
Reno would have called it boring. Even though he never meant it. Cracking a joke. Grinning.
They all learned to deal.
Turning her over, checking her pulse, as if the giant hole through her head were invisible. Checking her bag, her pockets, stripping her down. Gloves coming on, a flash of a knife, the woman's stomach spilling open. Searching through warm, slippery entrails for anything that shouldn't belong.
Procedure.
Success.
A small diskette, maybe a centimeter in width. But enough.
Peeling off one glove, Rude reached into his pocket for a small plastic bag, dropping the diskette inside. He peeled off the other glove, tossing them both onto the still semi-recognizable corpse, and stashed the bag away into his jacket, rising to his feet.
All done.
She could rot, now.
Not even worth the trouble to hide.
ShinRa didn't pay for burials. Just death.
ShinRa didn't play for clean-up, either. Blue suits for overt. Black suits for covert. Blood, now, on the knees of his pants. Warm. Sticky. A human life relegated to: annoyance. Annoyance and 50 gil for dry cleaning.
They all learned to deal.
Walking back to his car, now. Walking back, through the slums behind the Train Station, where the dead annoyance probably planned to have a meeting. Junk, everywhere, lining the streets, not caring where the official yards started or ended or died. Kids, gangs, perched atop the dead machinery, staring down at him as he passed.
Whispers.
Turk? Maybe. Lookit. Cool.
Didja see him kill the girl? Who? Who cares? I wanna gun. Sca-ry shit, man.
I'm gunna grow up and work for ShinRa! Yeah my ass. No really.
Bet I can hit 'im. Betcha can't. Betcha can!
A rock, flying toward Rude's head. Stepping sideways, a mere three inches. A clean miss. Continuing on his way.
Whoa, didja see that?
Sca-ry shit.
Awe. Fear. Respect. Grandeur.
It used to feel good.
Back before other people weren't just annoyances.
Other things to worry about, anyway.
Reaching his car, Rude unlocked the door, got in, and immediately reached for his cell phone, turning it back on.
New messages? None.
A soft sigh of relief.
Weeks, now. Three, almost. No sign of Reno.
But the call would come, someday. Maybe when he had his phone with him, maybe when he was off on assignment. A message, signaling Reno's death, waiting patiently for him in his car.
Waiting. Weeks of ceaseless waiting. Twitching at every call on his phone, every building announcement, every time Tseng opened his mouth. Wishing it had never happened. Wishing it were already over. Wishing it never would be.
Thoughts of inevitability. Thoughts of blood, of gunshots, and death. Locked inside the Gates, no one escaped ShinRa for long.
Then, just wanting to see Reno again.
Then, just nothing.
The call would come, someday.
It had to come, one of these days.
Just please not—
Today.
Holding the phone in his hand, staring at it dumbly, sitting in the driver's seat of his car. Door still hanging open, key stuck in the ignition slot, unturned. Tseng's ID popping up on the little white screen.
Urgent. Orders. Urgent.
The call.
Ring. Ring.
Pick up the phone, Rude.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Fingers, edging their way slowly toward the buttons on the phone. Reaching them. Covering them. Afraid to push down.
Hesitation. Fear.
Ring, ring. You have a call.
Metal, beginning to heat up in his hands. Not an unpleasant feeling. A terrible feeling.
Pick up the damn phone.
Closing his eyes. Pressing down. Shoving the phone next to his ear.
"Rude." Tseng's voice. Immediately. "Mission status?"
A nod, before realizing he had no choice but to speak. "Comple—"
Cut off. "No matter. Come back to HQ. Now. Those are orders."
Breathing stopping. Heart starting to pound anyway. Mouth going dry. Feeling his stomach sink into his chair, through the floor of the car, into the asphalt of the ground below. Bleeding onto the street.
Rude couldn't ask.
He didn't have to.
Tseng's voice, covered in a soft layer of static, speaking calmly into his ear.
"They've found Reno."
When?
Where?
Who?
How?
No. Tseng would never tell him. Not while he was alone. Not while he was alone, with no one there to shoot him if he chose the wrong side.
Tseng knew.
Too long of a pause. Obvious. Mental, unspoken curses, hidden behind a dead tone. "…sure."
"Then." Approval, maybe at his lack of response. "Details once you get here."
The murmuring of several voices, maybe several dozen, humming in the background behind Tseng. Sounds of measured footsteps. Elena, yelling over a crowd.
SOLDIER, maybe. Calling the troops. After all, Turks were dangerous, even alone.
A massacre was better than a loss.
So it was really happening.
Words through tight teeth. "Sure."
A sharp exhalation from Tseng. A smirk? A snort? A sigh? Impossible to tell. Maybe all three.
"Expect you in fifteen, Rude. Be here." His voice, as calm as ever. "Time to get to work."
Click.
Connection dying in his ear. Then, only static.
Rude pulled his car door shut, snapping his phone closed and placing it back down next to him.
So this was it.
That was it?
No drama. Only blood, cooling down on his knees. Clammy. Sticking to his legs. Annoying.
Ignored.
Pulling out from the junkyard. Checking behind him. Carefully.
Mechanical motions.
Procedure.
Drive.