Ok this is my first time at writing in first person but I thought I'd give it a go. Sorry for the excessive swearing but I have rated it 'R'. Oh, and I guess it's easier to get Reno's personality and state of mind across if you try and imagine being Reno yourself. That was quite an experience let me tell you... Characters copyrighted to Squaresoft inc.
.:Chapter 2 – Easy Rider, Raging Bull:.
I can't remember how I got back; all I can remember is seeing the door to my apartment forced wide open. It took a while to sink in. I was still in a state of "mental enlightenment"… well, in other words, I was drunk. My eyes refused to focus, in fact, everything in front of me seemed to just fuse together; the walls merged into the doorframe whilst the graffiti swirled into an endless spiral of colour. I was sober enough to have charged my EMR and take the safety off my .45, but whether I was sober enough to actually use them was another matter entirely. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as this overwhelming surge of adrenaline just pulsed through all my veins as I edged towards the open doorway. On previous Turk missions, this adrenaline buzz just majorly psyched me up, now, it was more of a burden than anything; I was drunk for Holy's sake, the addition of this chemical to the multitude of others already swimming around my body did not help at all.
I pressed my back up against the cold, graffiti-daubed wall of my rundown apartment, listening as my breath became inaudible, even to me. It was a neat party trick – there were countless times people thought I was actually dead, works a treat with the ladies. You know that whole 'mouth to mouth' thing – well, you get the picture right? I looked at the end of my EMR as it shot out blue and white sparks of intense heat; I could feel their heat on my knuckles. It left me imagining what my targets felt when I shocked them with this baby. A grin flashed across my face, although this really wasn't the right time to be smiling, I mean, some damn son-of-a-bitch had broke into my fuckin' apartment and so help me Gods he was gonna pay.
I guess it's at these extremely touching moments of exacting revenge that you wonder whether my conscience comes into play. Let me tell you something. My conscience? You know that sneaking annoyance that sends you, time and time again, on those fucked up morality trips? Well, my conscience got left behind when I found out I had to kill to survive. The situations in which it was either kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted. Along with that whole conscience shit, I lost all the capability I had of feeling emotion. But, hey, big deal. Emotions slow you down; they make you weak. Killing people was something I did, something I do… something I enjoy doing. I mean, I'm not a bad person – jeez, how many people can you name that honestly have a conscience? I'm talking about a real, fully working conscience. You know, I can't actually think of anyone. I count not having a conscience as a blessing – unlike you, I don't have to go through that 'yes/no' morality bullshit which, believe me, saves a lot of time. Let's just say, I got over that whole conscience thing a long time ago.
It was pay back time.
My drunkenness began to subside as I forced my eyes to focus on the doorframe. All I could think of was what I was going to do to the bastard who broke my damn door hinges. I thought I could probably just pump the unsuspecting vandal with a couple of thousand volts dealt out by my EMR, but that'd be too easy. Then I thought, well, I could torture the fucker, but that really wasn'tmy style – hey, I'm a smooth talker not a damn interrogator. Then, I considered, you know, maybe shooting him in the kneecaps, watching him writhe around in agony but then, jeez all that blood yadda yadda yadda, its gonna be messy and, to be honest, I really didn't want to have to pay for a new carpet as well as a new door. It was probably best just to go with the flow…for now anyway.
I snuck into the door way and press up against the inside wall. Turk tactics – you gotta love 'em. It was quiet… probably meant that the bastard had done a runner, but, never assume the obvious – Turk Lesson number 14. A distinct smell of cigarette smoke hung about the room, definitely not the smell of my brand. This smoke came from a much more expensive 'exclusive' brand, definitely unlike my own – probably something like 'Mild Seven.' I surprise myself sometimes, but being a self-proclaimed cigarette connoisseur I guess it just comes naturally.
Unholstering my .45, I stood doubly armed, feeling much more in control and definitely much less assuming as I saw the remains of a smouldering cigarette butt polluting my ashtray. A professional never leaves evidence behind – this person was very, very unprofessional.
"Cheeky sod..." I whispered under my breath, as the hazy smoke coiled around my novelty Costa del Sol ashtray. It had sentimental value – yes, even a conscienceless guy like me gets sentimental once in a blue moon. It was a gift from Tseng… yeah, Tseng.
I was fuckin' fuming, probably due to the vast amount of alcohol I had consumed, but fuming nonetheless. That was it – I wasn't a goddamn Turk anymore. I was reminded of that every time I walked into this shitty apartment. I didn't have to conform. Hell, I didn't conform when I was a Turk anyway – that was Elena's job. She was such a conformist brown-noser and total lapdog to the ShinRa but damn, do I miss that girl. She was, well, she was spunky in a weird sorta way and… I was constantly letting my mind slip from the impending job in hand. Gotta stop doing that...
Anyway, I decided that, you know, if I stormed in guns blazing I'd catch the intruder off guard, right? So, that's what I did; I stormed into the middle of my rather untidy 'living' room, tripping over pizza boxes, beer cans etc – you name it, I tripped over it. Well, I was still drunk and you know, that whole adrenaline thing, it really gets ya. I know, excuses, excuses, but if the bastard were still in my apartment then he damn well knew I was back. I'd show him, I'd put the fear in him. Wise guy, thinking he could mess me around….
What was that noise? Like bones clicking – knuckle bones. It was coming from my goddamn bedroom. Son of a bitch! I ran into my bedroom guns blazing, all gung-ho. I really looked the part, might I add.
And that's when it hit me, quite literally.
I felt a row of knuckles connect with my cheekbone as a flash of pain burst across my face. Everything went black, then white, then black and then a few reality sequences were thrown in for good measure. I was floored, well and truly floored by some unknown assailant, but little did I know all was to be revealed.
"Reno, you asshole!" screamed an obviously feminine voice, "You could have fuckin' killed me!"
Great, just great. I had just been floored by a chick. If it were a hot chick then I wouldn't mind ya know? I mean she obviously wanted me on the floor for a reason, but if it was a broad? Sheesh, it just don't bear thinking about.
Gods I keep doing this don't I? Keep on track Reno, for Holy's sake.
ANYWAY, I'd just been punched really fucking hard. My face throbbed, I'm talking proper throbbed, all I could see were these pink chicobos flying in front of my eyes… quite beautiful actually.
"Ow, what the fuck…who are you? What the fuck was that for? " I shouted, enraged that my face would be tainted with a nasty purple bruise.
"I thought I'd put you outta action before you zapped me," the female coolly replied. Her voice… it was becoming more familiar each time.
"Listen lady, I don't take kindly to being punched in the FUCKING FACE!" I bawled as I tried to stumble to my feet, before unsuccessfully falling back to the floor.
"Oh, sorry, my bad. I'll try the stomach next time," replied the female sarcastically.
"Har-fucking-har, we're quite the comedian," I replied as dryly as I could. "Look, are you going to tell me who you are?"
There was a rather prolonged pause, a seriously prolonged pause…
"If I reveal to you who I am, you wont believe anything that I am about to tell you," began the chick in this really serious voice.
We're not just any bog-standard serious tone; I mean we're talking 'the end is fucking nigh' type serious. It must be something about serious voiced chicks, but they really get me going. I think it's the whole sense of urgency… or something.
I stumbled to my feet with the aid of this serious chick. She was wearing combat gloves. Luckily, she punched me with her right fist; the left fighting glove had a huge pronged claw attached to it. Man, I would have been scarred… not just scarred, more like fuckin' mutilated. I mean I'm already scarred but I deal, chicks dig it and guys fear it… makes me look tough so it's all good, but if I was covered in puncture marks? Yuck, it'd just look, well, you know, it'd look like I'd had a nasty encounter with a pitchfork. Not macho, not macho at all. But, anyway, what chick goes around wearing combat gloves, pronged combat gloves at that, and breaks into people's goddamn houses? I mean, I associate with some pretty random people, but well, I sure don't think I'd associate with that. And there's the other thing, she knew my name. Yeah I could put it down to the fact that I was a damn Turk, but she knew me… like knew me, knew me. It just didn't add up.
"Look, I'm not in the mood for this cryptic shit. I'm pissed; my face feels like, Gods how can I describe it? Like it's been punched! And, my door is hanging off its hinges. Now tell me who the fuck you are and quit arsing around." I declared in a rather stern forceful tone.
The chick went silent and I could hear her nervously grinding her teeth, debating whether she should come clean or not. The sound of grinding teeth does nothing for me at all, it just makes me cringe like nails do when they are scraped slowly down a chalkboard. I had to listen to this grinding for five minutes, five minutes of pure torture. Until…
"Fine," she sighed as if she had to make some life-changing decision, "Turn on the light then."
It took awhile to register than in order for the lights to come on I had to find the actual light switch. Believe me, it was a difficult task for a drunken guy who'd just been punched in the face. Fumbling my way in the dark I found the switch, and flicked it up…
Welcome to Instant Illumination, and what a delight it was.
"No fucking way!" I exclaimed as I stood face to face with her, the chick that had broke into my apartment and punched me in the face, "No fucking way…"
I think I might do a third person/first person alternation throughout the rest of my chapters. Sorry for the excess use of the f-word and sorry if Reno sounds a little OOC and sorry if I haven't gone into loads of detail about his past – that's for the next chapter. Ok, well seeing as you have read this, please review?
