Catalysts

"I don't associate with liars." Rinoa said affirmatively, smiling in a way of seduction at the man across the table from her. She was on the sixtieth floor of a corporate newspaper building, in the conference room of Mr. Almasy himself. Her gaze shifted from his piercing green eyes to the glass wall that overlooked the city of Deling.

Seifer Almasy watched the beautiful woman over the rim of his glass of red wine. He smirked wryly, set down his glass and leaned towards her over the table that separated them, "A liar? Now, come on, Rin … I'm no liar. You know that." He was a natural born charmer and women seldom resisted him. However, when they did it just made him more determined to conquer them. Rinoa Heartilly was one of those women.

"I do? Hm, must have slipped from my mind then." She answered with light undertones of sarcasm, "But you've completely lost my point. I don't like to hold up relations with people who affiliate themselves with Quistis Trepe." She pronounced the name with disdain in her voice. It was unintentional but it still revealed a lot.

"Ah yes. Quite possibly the two worst enemies in Deling. Heartilly and Trepe, two fascinating, beautiful women. But you read my intentions wrong … I'm not affiliated with Trepe and to be frank, I'd much rather be associated with you in more than one way." Seifer smirked but Rinoa's amused expression turned cold.

"That was unnecessarily suggestive." She sounded quite annoyed with his flirtatious comportment. It was beginning to grind her nerves down. "Listen, I've got time to waste somewhere else. If you have skeletons in the closet, clean them out. When you've taken care of that, just get me the money I need and we'll talk business. Otherwise, you can go to hell." She got up from her chair and paced towards the door but Seifer caught her.

"Harsh words coming from such beautiful lips." He remarked and opened the door for her; "You'll find us to be quite reliable … you'll be hearing from me soon. Don't worry, Rin … we'll see each other shortly. You'll be pleased to know we have no affiliation with the Trepes and as soon as I'm able to prove that, we'll meet." He guided her down the halls to the elevator. She pressed the down button and the doors instantly swung open.

"Good." Rinoa stated, "But that's only half a mile ran. Get the money to me, Seifer. Without the cash, you're gone from my list." She got in the elevator and pressed the 'Rez-De-Chaussez' button. The doors swung closed before Seifer could say his good-byes.

As soon as she was alone, she flipped open her phone and dialed Irvine's cellular number, "I don't care what you're doing. Get your ass to 'Daily Post Corporation' in a fancy car right now to pick me up … I thought I just told you that I didn't care what you were doing … Then get some pants on." She flipped her phone closed without another word. She got out of the elevator, took out oval framed sunglasses and slipped them on as she stepped out of the skyscraper.

She looked slightly disoriented. A young girl in her mid-twenties, sporting denim jeans and jacket. No briefcase, she lacked the rushed pace. Completely out of place in the Wall Street district of Deling. She crossed her arms and went closer to the edge of the street. Cab drivers were out smoking beside their cabbies. The baby blue sky was dotted with pure white, puffy clouds and the air was fresh and cool. Everywhere around there were towering office buildings.

Rinoa looked at her watch crossly. "Unreliable prick." She uttered and rolled her eyes behind the shades. She observed the pedestrians, rushing in every which direction in their dark suits with perfectly set ties. "The lucky bastards." Is what she identified them as, "Protection of the law … oh, the screwballs."

She waited twenty minutes until finally a black Lexus GS300 pulled up near her, "Your majesty's chariot." Irvine's voice came from the inside as he rolled down the passenger window.

"You're late." She reproached him in an annoyed fashion, "I thought we had agreed on twenty minutes ago."

"Twenty minutes ago, I was busy." Irvine defended his cause valiantly.

"I thought we had established that your sexual needs weren't important or cared about." She replied icily, "Over the phone, remember?"

"Listen." Irvine snapped, "Junior wasn't finished." He pointed at his crotch, "Junior is more important than caddying Ms. Heartilly around town on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, is it somewhat clear to you?" He glared at her when they stopped at a red light.

"If 'Junior' controls everything that goes on around here," She smacked him in the back of the head, "Well then we'll have to cut him off because we can't have a controlling party." Rinoa countered aggressively. "Besides, Almasy is off the chart."

"What?" His jaw dropped, "We can't bump Almasy off that chart! We'll end up on the street as homeless people! He's the only one who's serious about this funding. Narcotics don't pay themselves, Rinoa … fucking cultivators out there in the country are getting difficult. That's half our business and if we-"

"Selling dope isn't going to get us anywhere." She cut him off brusquely, "In fact, I say we drop that completely," His face completely fell, "And go into dirty work and protection services. There's just too many things on the street these days, it's not a smart business."

"Wha-wha-what? Rinoa! Hello? Are you listening?" Irvine was close to flipping out, "Are you stupid? Yes! You really are if you're thinking about dropping the drug profits. And … murder and protection? What is wrong with you? Why go into murder and protection?"

"Because Trepe's in that district and I want to piss her off." Rinoa hid nothing and laid her cards flat out on the table, "She's been a real bug up the ass lately. We've lost eighteen men last time we trespassed on a bit of her property. That means she's being a possessive bitch. She's allied with DeGracia. By the time she works and works at him, forget the narcotics, Irvine. Do you know what DeGracia owns?"

"The airports." He mumbled incoherently.

"That's RIGHT! So every plane that lands on DeGracia's runaway that has our ticker number on it will go KABOOM!" She said as if she was explaining the situation to a kindergartener, "Do you get my point? Good." She answered her own question, deeming it unimportant whether or not he did get her drift.

"Oh, and Diabolos himself told me to relay the message …" Irvine began on a tangent, "Your lover boy'll be out of prison by tonight … he told me to remind you that you owe him fifteen thousand dollars for the bail and six thousand dollars for forcing him to hire Leonhart."

"Tell him that he doesn't need to remind me. I don't forget these things." Rinoa began biting her nails in a fit of anxiousness, "Did he tell you what kind of jobs he's going to give him?"

"Told me … driving and stuff. By the way, Trepe's lured Diabolos in some interesting business. I wouldn't be surprised if she hired Squall as soon as she sees what he can do." Irvine briefed lightly so not to anger her to a fit of rage that brought upon destruction.

"Great." She snapped sarcastically, "That's the last thing I need."

"Well, what were you expecting?" He asked casually, "You don't want to hire him, you hand him over to the Diabolos. Word'll eventually spread across the street that he's one good handyman. Quistis'll pounce on him as soon as she knows you've had a former relationship." He turned a left into Oak Lane and sped up as not many cars were obstructing the road.

Rinoa said nothing and continued to nervously chew her nails.

"HOW ARE WE bailing?" Prisoner 180988 whispered at the lunch table.

His companion slapped him on the back as if they were old buddies and replied, "Patience, amigo, patience. I got it all taken care of."

"How did you even get hold of the Diabolos?" Squall asked again. Pure curiosity was grinding at his insides, "Last time I heard, this was a police-owned facility." The last bit was outlined in sarcasm but it didn't seem to bother Rodrigo the least bit.

"Patience, amigo, patience." The Hispanic lowlife repeated smiling and nodding his head as he helped himself to more watery mashed potatoes, "The little field trip that's planned this evening … that's when the Diabolos are going to work their magic. Eat up, man … you're goin' to need the strength. This ain't a pussy's job."

Squall looked at the food in contempt. He had always been a picky eater and the sticky macaroni and cheese wasn't very appetizing. He picked a bit at his salad and chocolate pudding but left it at that. He would most likely get carsick if he forced himself to eat this crap. "So you're saying Diabolos is going to hire me?"

"Yeah, we been looking for outside connections for years. The big man tol' me himself that he was gunna bring you into the business." Rodrigo informed in a low voice, "To tell you the truth, man … at first he was only goin' to bail me … then something made him change him mind. If you ask me, someone out there's looking out for you."

This made Squall laugh. He had no one 'out there'. Not a soul that would really bother to bail him or cut a deal with Diabolos to hire him and get him on his feet again, "Mhmm, right … can't wait to meet 'em." He joked cynically but couldn't help wondering.

"Anyway … come six o'clock … we'll be out of this joint." Rodrigo shoveled more mac and cheese in his mouth and chewed anxiously, "Then you'll be with the Diabolos and believe me. That's who you wanna be with, we'll take care of you, amigo."

Squall stayed silent and thought to himself, "I'll eventually get other connections leading to you, Rinoa Heartilly. When I do find you, revenge'll be sweet." Bitter thoughts infiltrated his mind and food was his last interest.

Five thirty seemed to take forever to get there, at least to Squall and Rodrigo. They embarked, handcuffed, in the prison bus. Their ankles were tied to the seat legs to prevent any escape. Many other noisy convicted criminals were there to, "We're going on a field trip, field trip, field trip!" One chanted jokingly, "Man, federal agents are getting soft."

"Where're we going Mr. Security Guard?" One called out mockingly, "Are we going to go see a good ol' football game or somethin'?"

The security guard smiled sinisterly, "Nope. You're getting transferred to D-District Prison since we have no intention of releasing any of you." The bus went silent as the prisoners tried to keep the horrified looks from surfacing. No one ever got out from D-District, by release or by escape. It was a death ward.

"You're shitting me." An Asian hit man stated from one of the front seats.

"Never really got that expression, but no Tsang … I'm not shitting you." The guard laughed maliciously and looked at the prisoners as if they were elementary children, "You have a fun trip now." He stepped out of the bus and two another guard stepped in, closed the doors and started the engine.

The trajectory seemed like walking on death's path for all the prisoners except for Squall and Rodrigo who knew they would soon taste freedom. The streetlights of Deling were coming on as dusk settled in. People still roamed the sidewalks though; it was a never sleeping city. A city where there was as much to do in the day as there was at night. Activities were not lacking. The captives looked on at the world they would never be part of again.

It was only when they were passing the industrial district that there was gunshots and the security bus swerved off the road and crashed into a lamppost, "What the hell?" Smoke filled the bus that sent the convicts into fits of chokes and coughs. Sirens could be heard wailing and more explosions. Squall felt his handcuffs loosen and he saw a young man through the dense, acrid smoke. "Come on, man!"

Squall rushed out of the bus and breathed in the polluted air of the city. He didn't mind, it was better than the pungent air that had invaded the bus. He took a look at the scene around him, two cop cars had arrived but the policemen had been slaughtered and were half hanging out of their vehicles. The same young boy who had set him free clamped him on the shoulder, "What're you waiting for, man? Let's get out of here!"

Squall got into the backseat of a suped-up getaway car, "We are free!" Rodrigo was there as well and seemed ecstatic about the idea of never eating mac and cheese again, "From now on, it's tacos and burritos!"

"El Diabolos himself is waiting for you." The driver looked at Squall through the rearview mirror, "He says he's heard good things about you." There seemed to be three other suped-up vehicles following them, from what Squall could tell.

"From who?" Squall asked, unable to contain his twitching curiosity.

"Confidential. I don't even know." The driver answered.

"Oh yeah man, this is Juan, my little brother." Rodrigo slapped his sibling on the shoulder from the back seat, "And the guy driving there, that's Carlos … El Diabolos' right arm. He's got some good ass kicking techniques, eh, amigo?" The three Spaniards laughed and Squall smiled slightly.

The car ride was short and sweet. All four vehicles swerved into a narrow alleyway and fifteen Diabolos members got out and headed towards a door. Graffiti marked the walls; Squall observed it with an artist's eye and trailed behind the pack.

He was let into what seemed to be a dingy warehouse. "Good job, boys, good job!" A solitary pair of hands began to clap. From the shadows, a big, burly man stepped out. This was the big boss, Diabolos himself, "I'm very, very proud." He motioned for the fourteen members that took part in the mission to a few tables. "Each of those briefcase contains your money … enjoy yourself. Rodrigo, you can rest up. I need to talk to our new friend, here." He motioned for Squall to follow him.

They had walked to the chrome stairway and up to the second floor of the warehouse before Diabolos started speaking, "You've got friends in high places." Were the first words he spoke.

"I wasn't aware." Squall replied, truthfully, "In fact, I didn't think I had friends. Could you tell me who paid you to bail me?"

"You're a quick boy, fast learner that knows tricks of the trade." Diabolos observed and led him into a separate room. Cluttered with junk food wrappers and different maps and papers, there was a desk and two chairs. "Sit. I can't tell you who bailed you, of course. They paid me for my silence as well." El boss smiled, one tooth was of gold. It was then that Squall realized he had rings on every finger, "They told me to hire you. So here you are. You'll stay here for a few more hours. Take a shower, spend some time with a beautiful Spanish goddess …" The head honcho trailed off.

"Sounds good." Squall stated.

"Your friend even had the courtesy of giving you clothes." Diabolos smiled wryly and handed Squall a bag filled with two pairs of jeans, socks, t-shirts, a sweater, the essentials. "He or she seems to know you quite well."

"Rinoa Heartilly?" Squall asked in utter confusion, still staring at the contents of the bag. He missed Diabolos' surprised and curious expression that he immediately tried to cover.

"Ms. Heartilly? Isn't she the one that put you in that Hellhole in the first place? Would it make sense for her to pay me a hefty sum to bail you out again?" He questioned.

"No. Impossible." Squall concluded and shook his head, "Anyways … is there somewhere where I can get cleaned up?" Diabolos took him out of the room, down a dim hallway and kicked a door open.

"This is your room for now. I'll send some entertainment." He left Squall to look around his new domain. There was one dirty window that overlooked the industrial sector of Deling. The bed mattress seemed to squeak if you only looked at it and the paint was peeling off the walls. But for starters it was better than a jail cell.

He looked to the left and cautiously walked towards the door. It was a bathroom, not of the cleanest sort, but still a bathroom nonetheless. The toilet looked unclean and the mirror was shattered. The tiles on the floor seemed embedded with dirt and other substances. He turned on the shower and cringed. The pipes had been neglected for so long that the water came out brownish with rust. "Oh man …" He sighed a rubbed the back of his neck. After letting the water run for a few minutes, it had returned to the normal translucent color.

He undressed slowly and got in, the warm water was comforting. With the sound of only the rushing water he was able to think straight. Who had paid for him to be bailed out? And why? Who had cut that deal with Diabolos, who was close enough to know what he usually wore? That could have been an educated guess. Any Joe Blow wears a t-shirt and jeans. Things just seemed to be more confusing for him.

When steam blurred the cracked mirror, Squall turned off the water and dried himself. He put on a t-shirt and pants and semi-dried his hair with a towel. He left that towel drape over his shoulders and he went out into his room. "Whoa." He gaped, "He wasn't joking about the entertainment and goddess, was he?" He thought, bemused.

"Hi …" The young woman lay on the bed, smiling seductively.

"Uh … hello." He replied, going stupid, "Is there … a particular job you've come to do?" His eyebrow rose inquisitively.

"Actually … there is." She motioned him over with her index finger. He grinned and went over to the bed thinking, "This is going to be great."

RINOA TWIRLED THE telephone cord in her apartment nervously, "So is it done?" She asked anxiously, "Is he with you right now?"

"In my little cult of Diabolos, Miss Rinoa. You need not to worry, he seems quite healthy. He's spending time with one of our girls right now." The boss of the Diabolos replied at the other end of the line, "Now let's talk money, chica-"

"Spending time with one of your girls? You gave him a whore? What-why? I never told you to do that! Now are you going to charge me extra for her services? I'm not paying!" Rinoa snapped angrily.

"I think you should calm down, senorita. There will be no extra charge and I fail to see what it bothers you that he's cleaning some chica's chimney, now I want to talk cash." Diabolos defended himself, and brought the topic back around currency.

"You'll get your money. Have I ever let you down before?" Rinoa restrained the gnawing urge to start yelling obscenities at the Spaniard again, "What's his lineup of work?"

"You seem very curious of the happenings in his life, Miss Heartilly." The accomplice remarked, "He seemed very pleased with the clothes, by the way. His lineup of work? First, he'll go pick up the money from our regular pushers around town. Next, he'll go pick up your briefcase full of money. Then, and I'll be frank with you, he'll go pick up Miss Trepe to bring her to me so we can speak business."

"Goddamnit!" She yelled in the receiver, "Are you doing this just to spite me?"

"No, I'm doing it for the money. The pick-up will be at the corner of Benshire and Mahogany Avenue. It's in your turf I believe and our friend will be able to find it easily. Have the money ready Monday evening at seven p.m. Whether you show your face or not, I don't care. Adios." He hung up.

She slammed the phone back down and paced around the room angrily. Irvine was sitting on the couch, watching a news bulletin, "I thought you were over him." He remarked to the tyrannous woman.

"What are you still doing in my apartment? Get out! And I am over him for your big, fat information!" She screamed back at him, "Does it look like I care that he's screwing a Spanish whore and that he's about to affiliate himself with Trepe?"

"Yes, actually, you look furious about it." Irvine turned off the TV and grabbed his car keys. He slipped into his coat and looked at his angry boss, "You going to be ok?"

"No." She replied truthfully and sank down into the couch, "I'm not." She rubbed her temples in agony. A migraine had begun and she knew it wasn't about to leave her alone.

"You know … I don't understand your reasoning. If it bothers you so much that he'll be affiliated with those people than why did you jail him in the first place? You know, he's where he is right now entirely because of you. You manipulated the guy till the last drop, Rinoa. If you are over him, than why does it bug you so much? Why'd you bail him?" Irvine asked tentatively. He wondered if he would ever know her real intentions.

"Just leave me alone." Rinoa asked as kindly as the moment allowed, "Just go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Take care." He called out, opened the door and shut it closed behind him.

"Yeah … Sure …" She mumbled and got up from the couch. She went into her kitchen and searched for her bottle of painkillers that she usually kept in her armoire. She swallowed two down without even the need of water. He's where he is right now entirely because of you. It was true. You manipulated the guy till the last drop. "Well, now it's finished. He's on his own. On his own and against me." She thought bitterly.

Important Note: This isn't a GTA-FF8 crossover! The idea for this story was only sparked when playing GTA III and evolved in MY head. NOT A CROSSOVER … ok? GOOD.