Killing all of them will take time. Patience. Not among my multitude of virtues. They aren't all dead. Divided maybe, but not extinguished. The greatest height from which a person has fallen without mortal injury is 3300 feet. Gaea's cliff is half that. The swipe from a demi-god's Masamune would have been healed by the Mako when they hit the walls of the crater. I hope none of them rolled down the slope, cause I sure ain't keen on the idea of hauling their asses out and killing them. It might be Strife's definition of a good time, but then he is the one who pretended he was a SOLDIER Lieutenant so he could sleep with a slum bartender. And that freak Valentine.
Not all the experiments were failures. Hojo was particularly proud of me. I don't feel anything when I think of what he did to me, and to my mother. Perhaps he engineered me that way. I doubt that; I think at some stage, be it due to my making a career out of my talent for murder or the manner in which I was raised, through glass screens and fed with syringes, I just quit feeling to save myself. Don't pity me, I feel no pity for myself, and nothing but interest for those I kill and the money it brings me. I was born in a tube on the peak of Mt. Nibel, infused with the powers of fire and stealth. I was the only survivor of a batch of fifteen. Hojo reasoned that I had been the strongest sample, feeding from my siblings and killing them as I grew. He tried different kinds of Mako afterwards, but having placed so little faith in the concoction that spawned me he was unable to reproduce it. His studies moved into the Shinra mansion before returning to Midgar on the new President's orders. He could never equal Gast, and that still pisses him off. Creating Sephiroth, myself and all Rocha's brothers was merely a posthumous bid for supremacy, to placate his sick compulsion. Why he got off on locking people in coffins I don't know. He should've just shot Vincent again and done the job properly, freaking scientists can't ever make a clean job of it. But I guess he learned his lesson when he shot me. His sons aren't easily killed.
* * * * *
"Here ya go honey, enjoy it", the waitress chirped, then buggered off again. Enjoy this. Yeah. Watch me. It might be coffee, it wasn't anything remotely like coffee last time but miracles do happen. So, this is my life. Since the Lifestream hit there's just a fucking asshole in the ground where Midgar was, all the action pretty much flooded into Nibelheim and Kalm and shows no signs of abating. There are plans and schematics drawn up for two new cities, lying somewhere in Reeve's office. Fuck knows why he took over after Rufus bit the big one. I guess because he had the presence of mind to survive the apocalypse, making him the most senior Shinra executive, hence also the least qualified for the post.
"Jesus, you look even happier than usual". Macon Rude pulled up a chair opposite me and laid his brimming mug down on the table. The liquid inside didn't even vibrate.
"Of course I'm happy. Who wouldn't be in my situation?" He shook his head and got almost half way to a smile before remembering why he'd come. They must be paying him well for what they've got him doing. There's no amount of money on the Planet that would make me do that for a living. I think I'm the only Turk to ever be promoted. Or demoted, I'm not sure which you'd call my current mission. I wonder what will happen when it's over. If it ever does end.
"Yeah, I see your point. So we heard you got Rocha". News travels fast in the loyal ranks.
"You heard right. No sense lying about it". I took a gulp of the whatever-it-was. Hot, bitter, still not quite delivering the caffeine hit I paid for. Might be chicory syrup and paint thinners. Yum.
"I got his body after lunch", Rude drank slowly, searching the far reaches of the dark ocean for what he should say next, "He didn't have a tattoo". I leaned forward and ran my hands through my hair, sighing under the weight of my chosen profession. Hell, I don't have one either, it doesn't mean anything. It just means he was a lab rat and not a clone. My old friend's gaze dragged my eyes up from my palms to meet his. Tell me he was a clone, Rude.
"Don't worry. He was manipulated with Mako, and it clearly bears that fuckhead Hojo's hallmark. If you hadn't done him he would have done you, and many more. He was about to snap, his brain activity was, like, somewhere up here, you know?"
He indicated to a spot above his head, his eyebrows rising over the rims of his reflective shades for effect. I almost wanted to thank him for something I already knew. When you don't know who or what you are, though, it becomes somewhat difficult to trust what is evidently 'fact'. The way we talk has not changed, and I doubt it ever will. Since we used to do field assignments together, and make bets over whether Elena would ever get the whole suicide thing right.
"Yeah. You know best, you did the autopsy", he nodded respectfully at my acknowledgement of his role in this whole ghastly affair, "So we know who's next?"
Rude swept a hand across the smooth surface of his hairless head, throwing it upward in mock despair.
"You will before I do", he sighed. Funny how the roles have been reversed, now his income depends solely on my leftovers.
"Gotcha. Well, it's been fun, but I've got shit to do", I left enough cash to cover both drinks and turned to leave.
"I'll bet you do. Oh, and Reno", I grinned, sure in the knowledge of what I was about to hear, "Buy yourself a decent suit, you're a Knight of Neo-Midgar for fuck's sake". Rude smiled back, raising his coffee in a farewell salute. I left with a slight spring in my step, into the cool windswept streets of a remote mining town, now a sprawling metropolis of overcrowded shacks.
Not all the experiments were failures. Hojo was particularly proud of me. I don't feel anything when I think of what he did to me, and to my mother. Perhaps he engineered me that way. I doubt that; I think at some stage, be it due to my making a career out of my talent for murder or the manner in which I was raised, through glass screens and fed with syringes, I just quit feeling to save myself. Don't pity me, I feel no pity for myself, and nothing but interest for those I kill and the money it brings me. I was born in a tube on the peak of Mt. Nibel, infused with the powers of fire and stealth. I was the only survivor of a batch of fifteen. Hojo reasoned that I had been the strongest sample, feeding from my siblings and killing them as I grew. He tried different kinds of Mako afterwards, but having placed so little faith in the concoction that spawned me he was unable to reproduce it. His studies moved into the Shinra mansion before returning to Midgar on the new President's orders. He could never equal Gast, and that still pisses him off. Creating Sephiroth, myself and all Rocha's brothers was merely a posthumous bid for supremacy, to placate his sick compulsion. Why he got off on locking people in coffins I don't know. He should've just shot Vincent again and done the job properly, freaking scientists can't ever make a clean job of it. But I guess he learned his lesson when he shot me. His sons aren't easily killed.
* * * * *
"Here ya go honey, enjoy it", the waitress chirped, then buggered off again. Enjoy this. Yeah. Watch me. It might be coffee, it wasn't anything remotely like coffee last time but miracles do happen. So, this is my life. Since the Lifestream hit there's just a fucking asshole in the ground where Midgar was, all the action pretty much flooded into Nibelheim and Kalm and shows no signs of abating. There are plans and schematics drawn up for two new cities, lying somewhere in Reeve's office. Fuck knows why he took over after Rufus bit the big one. I guess because he had the presence of mind to survive the apocalypse, making him the most senior Shinra executive, hence also the least qualified for the post.
"Jesus, you look even happier than usual". Macon Rude pulled up a chair opposite me and laid his brimming mug down on the table. The liquid inside didn't even vibrate.
"Of course I'm happy. Who wouldn't be in my situation?" He shook his head and got almost half way to a smile before remembering why he'd come. They must be paying him well for what they've got him doing. There's no amount of money on the Planet that would make me do that for a living. I think I'm the only Turk to ever be promoted. Or demoted, I'm not sure which you'd call my current mission. I wonder what will happen when it's over. If it ever does end.
"Yeah, I see your point. So we heard you got Rocha". News travels fast in the loyal ranks.
"You heard right. No sense lying about it". I took a gulp of the whatever-it-was. Hot, bitter, still not quite delivering the caffeine hit I paid for. Might be chicory syrup and paint thinners. Yum.
"I got his body after lunch", Rude drank slowly, searching the far reaches of the dark ocean for what he should say next, "He didn't have a tattoo". I leaned forward and ran my hands through my hair, sighing under the weight of my chosen profession. Hell, I don't have one either, it doesn't mean anything. It just means he was a lab rat and not a clone. My old friend's gaze dragged my eyes up from my palms to meet his. Tell me he was a clone, Rude.
"Don't worry. He was manipulated with Mako, and it clearly bears that fuckhead Hojo's hallmark. If you hadn't done him he would have done you, and many more. He was about to snap, his brain activity was, like, somewhere up here, you know?"
He indicated to a spot above his head, his eyebrows rising over the rims of his reflective shades for effect. I almost wanted to thank him for something I already knew. When you don't know who or what you are, though, it becomes somewhat difficult to trust what is evidently 'fact'. The way we talk has not changed, and I doubt it ever will. Since we used to do field assignments together, and make bets over whether Elena would ever get the whole suicide thing right.
"Yeah. You know best, you did the autopsy", he nodded respectfully at my acknowledgement of his role in this whole ghastly affair, "So we know who's next?"
Rude swept a hand across the smooth surface of his hairless head, throwing it upward in mock despair.
"You will before I do", he sighed. Funny how the roles have been reversed, now his income depends solely on my leftovers.
"Gotcha. Well, it's been fun, but I've got shit to do", I left enough cash to cover both drinks and turned to leave.
"I'll bet you do. Oh, and Reno", I grinned, sure in the knowledge of what I was about to hear, "Buy yourself a decent suit, you're a Knight of Neo-Midgar for fuck's sake". Rude smiled back, raising his coffee in a farewell salute. I left with a slight spring in my step, into the cool windswept streets of a remote mining town, now a sprawling metropolis of overcrowded shacks.