Rude looked up at the large sign hanging over the bar. The Black Hole. He had heard of it before, but had never gone to it because of its distance from his apartment. The bar was one of the more popular ones in Sector Seven, though Rude could not see why.
It stood on a large wooden deck with three steps leading up to it. From where he was standing, Rude could see that part of the deck had been removed in order to try and fix the building. This resulted in holes in the deck from where the boards had been taken. Though the building had at one point been painted a mustard yellow, the pollution under the plate had stained it brown.
Rudes' eyes traveled up the rotting steps, and landed on the western-style doors. Through them, he could see into the bar. There were a couple tables scattered about the room, though for the most part they didn't have proper chairs. Customers had to sit on wooden boxes that may have at one point held food. The only chairs with backs were already taken.
Most of the customers sat on stools at the bar. A TV showing sports highlights seemed to hold their attention. One man forced his gaze away from the screen as he realized that he was out of booze. Pounding on the bar, he quickly caught the attention of the waitress. She poured him another drink, then went back to re-arranging the many bottles of liquor that sat behind the bar.
Rude reached into his pocket and pulled out his favorite pair of sunglasses. It was dark outside, and though the lights inside were not as bright as they could be, he thought it best to put them on anyway. Besides, he liked the professional feeling they gave him.
This is it Rude, he thought to himself. It's all come down to this one test. You mess this up an' you'll never get outta this joint. His orders had been simple enough; if you want to be a Turk, kill the survivor. That was all there was to it. He didn't have to know why Shinra wanted this person dead, he just had to kill them. Ask no questions, just do as you're told. His hand moved to the gun they had given him, checking to make sure it was there for about the tenth time that night.
"Dead men don't talk," he muttered under his breath. Running his hand once over his shaved head, he climbed the rotting steps and entered the bar.
Tifa stood watching them from behind the bar. She had tried to make herself look busy, first by arranging all the bottles of liquor in alphabetical order, then by trying to make conversation with her new customer. But she had nothing to do now, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was curios as to what they were talking about.
They had been at the bar for about half an hour, and though Tifa had told them she wanted nothing to do with whatever they were planning, she was beginning to have second thoughts.
Shinra had destroyed her hometown, killed her father and her friends, had taken everything away from her. But their cruelty didn't stop there. Trying to find more ways to torture her, they had somehow tricked Zangan into bringing her to Midgar, where she would be forever stuck in a stinky, poorly lit prison.
Of course, thinking about one's problems never made them go away, or even get better. Considering all Shinra had done to her, didn't she have more than enough reasons to fight them?
Tifa bit the inside of her lip. No, she decided. I won't settle for just committing random acts of violence. I'm going to do something, and the only way to accomplish anything is to work with others.
Coming out from behind the bar, Tifa walked over to the table where the five of them sat.
Rude took a sip of his beer. Somewhere in this bar, was his prey. Rude felt like slapping himself. He was beginning to sound like a detective on one of those bad cop shows.
—"He's out there somewhere."
"Who is detective?"
"The one cursed to be followed by creepy music, just like I'm cursed to say these corny lines."—
Rude chuckled to himself, Gotta love those parodies.
Turning around on his stool, he looked at the customers not seated at the bar. There were five of them sitting at the largest of the three tables. They seemed to have something spread out on it, and were leaning over to look at it.
The waitress had joined them, and was leaning over the big man's shoulder. She stood in between him and the little girl. Upon noticing that the large man seemed to have replaced his hand with a gun, Rude studied him more carefully, then smirked.
He drew his gun and carefully adjusted his aim. With all of them looking down at the table, Rude figured nobody would notice him. Without warning, the little girl turned around and looked up at the TV, her eyes passing the would-be Turk. It was too late for him to hide his gun, the brat had already noticed him.
"Daddy look out!" she screamed, and ran around the waitress to the big man.
Rude swore and quickly pulled the trigger, but he missed his target because everybody had reacted quickly and ducked down under the table.
The large man got up and began firing his own gun like a maniac. The other people were all hiding under the table, the little brat having been pulled under last.
Throwing his arms over his head, Rude ran out of the bar and down the street. Needless to say, it was not the way he had hoped the night would go.
"What the hell was that about!"
The gunman had fled the bar, dropping his pistol as he left. Biggs walked over, holding his head where he had bumped it on the table, and gingerly picked up the gun. He looked at it for a moment, then handed it to Tifa.
"You should probably keep this. There seem to be more an' more fights in this bar, and the number's probably just gonna keep goin' up."
Tifa nodded and took the gun. She walked over behind the counter and placed it carefully in a small drawer.
It was only after Tifa had rejoined them that the rest of the group noticed Marlene hadn't yet gotten out from underneath the table. Barret was crouched down in front of her, speaking quietly. Marlene, who was holding her left shoulder and sniffling, allowed Barret to remove her hand. He looked at the shoulder for a second and took the time to swear before turning around.
"Get me a potion," he growled.
"Marlene was hit?" Jess asked, moving towards him.
Barret pushed her away. "Get me a potion, NOW!"
Tifa ran behind the counter, and hurriedly withdrew the small supply of healing potions the Boss kept for emergencies. Fumbling with them, she walked quickly back over to Barret, who had lifted Marlene up onto the table.
"H-here," she said, shoving the potions into his hand.
Without acknowledging her, Barret slipped part of the bloodstained dress off Marlene's shoulder. Cursing, he carefully opened the first vial and dabbed some onto his finger, and then onto the bullet wound.
Marlene winced as the potion started to take effect. "That stings," she said in a small voice.
"Good." Barret grunted. After applying both the potions Tifa had given him, Barret turned to the others, who were standing just behind him, craning their necks to see how bad Marlene's wound was.
All six jumped as the doors swung open and Tifa's boss walked in. Tifa checked the clock above the bar, before turning to the large man that stood in the doorway.
He was tall, and wore black jeans with a black tank. His shoulder length blond hair hung in thick, greasy clumps.
He walked in past Barret and Marlene to the temporarily stunned Tifa.
"What happened here?" he asked, his smooth voice hiding whether he was angry or not.
"There was a man, um, a new customer, he just turned around and shot at them. Um, the little girl was hit before they managed to get her under the table. Then the, um, the big man there, Barret, he got up and chased the guy out by shooting with his gunarm. Yeah, so I gave him a couple potions for his daughter, if you don't mind."
Black nodded and turned to Barret and Marlene. "Is she alright?" he asked.
"She'll be okay. I'm gonna take her home now though."
"Probably a good idea. What did the man look like Tifa?" he asked, turning back to face her.
"He was tall, and bald, and was wearing his sunglasses, so I couldn't see his eyes. Yeah, he looked better off than most people around here, like he had just gotten a lot of money or something."
"Did you recognize him?"
"No. I've never seen him before."
"If he comes in here again, I want you to call me immediately. I don't need people like that in my bar."
"Yes sir."
Barret picked up Marlene and headed towards the doors. Tifa ran around her friends and Black towards him.
"Barret? Do you know why that guy was shooting at you?"
"I dunno. Must be sumthin' 'bout Corel."
"What about Corel?"
"Later."
"Kay. Marlene, you get better, okay?"
She nodded weakly before burying her face in her father's shoulder.
"Thanks fer thu potions," he said before walking out of the bar.
Jess, Biggs, and Wedge looked at each other for a moment, then put the chairs back upright and sat down at the table.
Black stuck around to help Tifa out as the bar got busier, and didn't talk about the incident with the gunman for the rest of the night. Tifa didn't go over to see Jess, Biggs, and Wedge for the rest of the night, instead opting to remain working behind the bar.
Working with her boss proved to be less interesting than making plans for rebellion, so Tifa started taking particular interest in Black's actions. She noticed that his eyes darted about the room quickly, despite the calm and composed manner in which he held himself. It was obvious that he was anxious for the mysterious bald man to return to the bar. Though Tifa was not looking forward nearly as much to his return, she did catch herself often looking over towards the old, rotting doors of the Black Hole, continuously asking herself the same question, what did that man want with Barret and Marlene?
Rude slumped down on his bed, the thin pillows that propped him up slipping down. He cast a sideways glance at the telephone that sat on the table beside his bed. I should call, he thought, but how can I tell them I failed?
Pushing himself up to a sitting position again, Rude played with his sunglasses as he continued to debate whether or not he should call. Fed up, Rude tossed the black shades onto the bed beside him. I need a drink, he thought, standing up.
Leaving the dark bedroom, Rude walked with heavy steps over to the kitchen. Turning the light on, he walked over to the beer-filled fridge. Opening the door, he took out a drink then walked back into the bedroom, turning the kitchen light out as he left.
Rude had lived in the slums his whole life; his mother was a whore who spent all her money on drugs. A pimp had killed her after she had gotten pregnant and tried to dump the baby on him. Rude's father, a Shinra employee, had brought him up to survive in the slums, but rebels shot him just last week when he was riding the train home from work. Rude had never cared much for his father, he was an arrogant asshole who always managed to put the blame elsewhere, but for some reason, his death had sparked something in Rude.
Three days after his death, Rude had called up Shinra Headquarters. He had gone in for an interview two days ago, and was given an initiation mission. The orders Heidigger had given him were simple and to the point. Kill the survivor and we'll make you a Turk. They had given him all the necessary information, he just had to go there and kill the damn person.
But he'd botched it. He'd missed his shot because of that stupid little brat who had turned around to watch the TV. If it weren't for her, he'd probably be a Turk by now. Maybe he'd kill her too.
The phone rang, causing Rude to jump. He propped himself back up and answered it.
"Did you do it?"
Though he didn't recognize the voice, he knew exactly what they were talking about.
"No, I missed."
"It doesn't look very good if an aspiring Turk misses his shot."
"I know, but I wasn't expecting there to be a man with a gunarm there."
"Gunarm?"
"He had a gun grafted onto his right arm in place of a hand. When I missed he got up and began shooting. I had to run out and didn't get to fire anymore shots."
"The man's name is Barret Wallace, Scarlet ran into him when she was destroying Corel. He's since moved to Midgar and there are rumors that he might be starting a rebel group. Keep your eye out for him."
"Yes sir."
"Don't call me sir, I'm not your boss yet. Kill that bitch and I might be," he hung up.
Rude put the phone back down and took another drink of his beer. Guess I didn't have to call after all, he thought. He reached into his coat to retrieve his gun, and found it not there. Frantically, he searched both his coat and his pants and found only an old gum wrapper. He opened the drawer to the bedside table, but it wasn't there either. He searched the entire apartment, but the gun was nowhere to be found.
Rude tried to think back to what had happened at the bar. He had fired the gun, and now he didn't have it. When had he lost the damn thing? He had kept it in his coat pocket specifically so that it wouldn't fall out. He must have dropped it, and the last time he had held it in his hand was when he was firing. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember putting it back inside his jacket. The gun must be somewhere in the bar still. Rude knew he couldn't go back after what had happened that night. He decided to lay low and go back to the bar in a couple days, retrieve his gun, and shoot the girl sometime later.
Fuck. This is the last thing I need, he thought, as he trudged back into his bedroom. He sat back down on the bed, and picked his beer up again. Oh well, nothing good is ever easy, right?
Tifa ran down the dust road towards The Black Hole. She was supposed to open the bar twenty minutes ago. Praying that Black wouldn't find out, she ran past the regular who was sitting on the steps.
"Hey Teef, you're late," he said as rushed past him.
"I know, I lost track of the time," she said, fumbling for the keys to the bar.
"Black ain't gonna like that."
"Black ain't gonna find out if you don't tell him."
"What'll ya give me?"
Tifa rolled her eyes. "First drink is on the house."
"You got yerself a deal girl!"
Tifa got the doors open and walked into the bar. The man stood up and dusted his pants off before following her in.
It was dirty, which was nothing new. The bar always seemed to be dirty, probably because nobody ever bothered to clean it up. All the stools and boxes were gathered around the largest of the tables. While empty beer bottles and shot glasses adorned its surface. Tifa picked up some of the glasses and brought them with her behind the counter.
The man went straight to his favorite barstool, turning around on it as he watched Tifa get the place ready.
"So when am I gonna get my drink?"
"When we're open for business."
"I thought you were open once you came in."
"I have to get the place ready first. Why are you here so early
anyway?" Tifa asked as she moved the boxes and stools over to the other tables.
"Had a fight with the missus."
"Uh-huh. What now?"
"She's complaining I drink too much! Can you believe that?"
"Where she gets that idea I'll never know," Tifa said, the sarcasm in her voice evident. "Let me get this straight; she complains that you drink too much, so you come over here even earlier to drink?"
"A man's gotta have his drink," he stated adamantly.
"Oh I agree completely, your plan of action for getting back on her good side doesn't seem like it's gonna work though."
"Yer only agreeing wit' me cuz you'd be outta business otherwise."
"You're right there." Grabbing the rest of the shot glasses, Tifa walked around the bar, turned the TV on, and then faced her customer. "So what can I get you?" she asked, putting both hands down on the counter and leaning slightly forward.
"Anything hard."
Turning around, Tifa poured the man his drink then sat down on her stool behind the bar. Taking his booze in one gulp the man set his shot glass down on the bar heavily.
"Another one," he demanded.
Tifa raised an eyebrow, and poured the man another drink. The doors opened and two more men walked in. They sat down at one of the tables and signaled for Tifa to go over.
She walked around the bar and towards the two men. Recognizing them as regulars, she smiled and shook her head. Everybody seemed to be coming in earlier than usual today.
The taller of the two men was one of Black's buddies from the
gym. He wore his usual exercise outfit, blue sweats and a yellow T-shirt. His hair was black on the bottom half, then bleached lightly at the top. His chin seemed to disappear into his thick neck. Tifa wouldn't have been surprised if he was on steroids. His huge, bulging muscles seemed to scream drugs. It was really quite disgusting to look at. His skin was bronzed, as if he'd been tanning a lot. Tifa wondered what he used, most of the people in the slums were pale because they didn't get any sun. You could make a lot of money selling bronzer or some form of Vitamin D down in the slums.
The other one was much shorter compared to his friend. He wore a denim jacket, done up so you couldn't see the shirt underneath, and faded jeans. He was chubby, leaning on the fat side. His fingers were short and thick and he scratched his face an awful lot with them. He was doing so now, giving Tifa an ugly grin as she walked over.
"And what can I get you two?" she asked, leaning against the table.
"Two beers," the shorter man said, holding up a couple gnarled fingers.
"Hey, is your kitchen open yet?" the other asked.
"No, the cook isn't here," she answered, walking back towards the bar to get the men their drinks.
"That sucks."
"Hey, that's what you get for coming early!" she walked back over and set the two beers down on the table. "Promise me you won't get too drunk tonight, I don't want any trouble this time."
"Oh yeah, I remember a couple nights ago when that bald guy there shot at those people! He hit the little girl right? How is she?" the man asked, tapping his misshapen fingers on the table.
"Uh, she's okay. The doctor said it would heal. Why?"
"Just wondering. I ain't allowed to be concerned about others now?"
"No, it's just, never mind."
She turned and went back behind the counter. More customers came in, along with the cook, whose food prompted some to leave. The night went on without a hitch, leaving Tifa to think about what the man had said. She shook her head, It's just that nobody's ever cared before…
It had been almost a week since Rude had first missed his shot, both in aim, and for the job. He had decided against going back to the bar to retrieve his lost gun. The waitress had probably told her boss, who had probably told his other employees, who would probably be on the alert for anyone who so much as had a shaved head. Rude shook his head, what were the slums coming to?
He pushed his way through the crowds of Wall Market, heading deeper into Sector Six. He passed the restaurant, making a note that they were giving away free Pharmacy Coupons. He quickened his pace as he neared the dress shop, up ahead, not too far, just past the gym, was his destination.
When he came to heaps of garbage, he knew he was almost there. The old man who owned the Weapon Shop had a habit of collecting useless junk, and even hired people to sort through it.
Rude passed one man who was probably hired to do just that. He wore black pants and a black shirt. His clothes matched his hair, which was long, and held back from his face by a red bandana. When Rude passed, he stopped what he was doing to watch him walk by. Rude didn't like the way the man was looking at him, there was hostility in his gaze as he shifted his position atop the garbage to get a better view.
Rude entered the Weapon Shop, still having the feeling that someone was going to come up behind him and stab him in the back. He desperately wished he had a gun, but hey, that's what he was here to get, right?
The Weapons Shop in Wall Market was a strange place. As soon as you walked in, you noticed a chain-link fence that separated you from the merchandise. Half of the store was for business, while the other half was where the owner worked on repairing the garbage he kept outside. He was working on a tank when Rude came in.
Seeing that nobody was in the business half of the store, Rude walked over towards the owner.
"Hey, I need a gun."
"Business is on the other side of the store," the man said, not looking up from his work.
"There's nobody over there."
"Biggs!"
Rude turned around to see the same man who was glaring at him before walk into the store. He pushed past Rude and through the gate that was the only way to get on the other side of the fence.
Being careful not to step on any of the garbage lying around, "Biggs" placed a hand down on the tank for support as he half hopped, half tiptoed around to the business side of the store.
"What can I get you?" he asked, still glaring. He seemed to be sizing Rude up in a rather hostile way.
The tingling in his back returned, and Rude almost left the store. He stopped himself, put his sunglasses on, and answered. Some Turk you'll be, Rude, he thought to himself. He immediately pushed the thought from his mind, and focused instead at returning the young man's glare.
"I need a gun."
"How much money you got?"
"600."
"You wanna spend it all?"
"You got a gun worth 600 gil?"
The owner looked up at the two men. If you just looked at them, you would think they were two regular guys, one of which was trying to make a sale. But the owner knew better. He had been listening before he looked up, and had heard the hostility with which the men spoke to one another. He had a sneaking suspicion that the bald customer had something in mind for Biggs with that gun he was gonna buy, and that Biggs knew it.
"I got a 600 gil gun," Biggs said, opening a drawer and pulling one out.
"I'll take it."
"Not many people in the slums can afford a 600 gil gun. You just got a raise or something?"
"I don't see how it's any business of yours."
Biggs smirked and handed Rude the gun. Rude handed over the money and turned to leave, placing the gun safely in his coat pocket.
"Need any clips for that?" Biggs called.
Rude ignored him and walked out of the store. He had clips at home.